#the world needs to know django | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

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Son of Melody II

Well y'all are in for a wildish ride as Dio cooks up something wild and free.

Django laid sprawled across his bed, half tangled in a blanket, his breath deep and steady in the soft morning quiet. The world was just beginning to glow with the amber hush of early light when a knock echoed from the front door — soft at first, then more insistent.

He groaned, buried his face deeper into the pillow, and tried to ignore it. But the knocking persisted, now paired with a sing-song voice.

“Django…” Chaewon’s voice floated in, honeyed and mischievous.

Grumbling, he dragged himself upright, sleep still clinging to his bones, and shuffled to the door. He cracked it open and was met with a vision: Chaewon, dressed in one of his oversized shirts and a wicked little grin, her soft brown eyes gleaming with mischief.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do today,” she said sweetly, but there was a glint in her eye that told him this wasn’t just about work.

Django blinked, still somewhere between dream and waking. Then, without a word, he scooped her up bridal-style and carried her into the bedroom. She let out a little giggle of surprise, nestling into his chest.

He set her gently onto the bed before collapsing beside her, one arm winding around her waist like a magnet drawn home.

Chaewon smiled, but she wasn’t about to let him slip back into sleep. Not yet.

She leaned in, brushing her lips over his jawline in the lightest of touches — then again, down the curve of his neck. Her fingers traced the line of his collarbone, a dance between affection and temptation.

“Django,” she whispered against his skin, “I need you.”

Her voice was featherlight, warm as breath on cold glass, and he stirred beneath her touch. Her kisses traveled slowly, deliberately — lips brushing over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his throat — as if every kiss was a quiet claim.

“Wake up,” she murmured between kisses. “Come on, sleepy hero. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Twenty minutes passed like a slow sunrise — languid, teasing, and intimate. His breathing shifted. One eye blinked open, then the other. He looked up at her, tousled and flushed with sleep, and gave a low, amused groan.

“Chae… what do you need? It’s my one day off this month.”

Chaewon gave him a dramatic sigh, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Hestia came to the rec center asking for you. Apparently, it’s urgent.”

Django exhaled into her shoulder. “Of course it is.”

He nuzzled against her one last time, then sat up reluctantly. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him with that same coy smile.

“You know,” she said, teasing, “you’re much more agreeable after a few kisses.”

“And you,” he replied, still bleary, “are dangerous before coffee.”

Chaewon smiled as she slid off the bed with a practiced stretch, the hem of Django’s shirt falling just below her thighs. She caught him watching, and smirked.

“Don’t get distracted,” she said, padding toward the bathroom. “You’ve got a goddess waiting on you.”

Django scrubbed a hand through his hair and followed her with his eyes. “Hard not to be when said distraction is strutting around in my clothes.”

She peeked around the doorframe, brushing her teeth and still managing to look smug. “Then maybe you should stop lending me your shirts.”

“I don’t lend them. You steal them.”

“And you never complain.” She winked, rinsing her mouth out. “I’m practically doing your laundry a favor.”

By the time they were both dressed — Django in a rumpled hoodie and jeans, Chaewon in a cropped jacket and shorts with her hair tied in a ribbon — the mood had shifted from lazy intimacy to easy momentum. But the air still buzzed with something unspoken between them.

As they reached the front door, Django grabbed his guitar case, slinging it over one shoulder with a sigh. “You think Hestia’s going to make me fight a war on my day off?”

Chaewon slipped on her boots. “Probably. But hey, I’ll be there.”

He looked at her — really looked at her — and the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That makes it better.”

Chaewon smiled and bumped her shoulder against his. “Come on, Songbird. Let’s go be legends.”

They drove to the back grove of the rec center entrance hoping to avoid needless chatter and chaos from other demigods

As They took the back way through the woods, letting the canopy filter morning light in soft gold patterns across the path. The air was cool, but not cold, and Django’s hoodie hung loose around him as they walked side by side.

Chaewon reached out and laced her fingers with his without a word.

For a while, they just walked.

But then something strange — and beautiful — began to happen.

Faint lines of silver-blue light shimmered across Django’s forearms where his sleeves were pushed up. The runes, normally invisible, had begun to pulse softly like a second heartbeat. They shimmered along his skin, tracing over his veins, intricate and old — protective runes, blessings, bindings from older lifetimes.

Chaewon slowed her steps and turned to face him, reaching out to gently run her fingers along one of the glowing lines.

“They’re getting stronger,” she murmured, her voice reverent.

Django glanced down, frowning slightly. “They’ve been doing that since… the sword. Since Brigid.”

“It suits you,” Chaewon said, eyes still on the light that danced across his skin. “Like the power was always waiting for you to stop hiding.”

Django looked away, embarrassed but warmed by her gaze.

“You’re glowing, you know,” she added with a teasing smirk. “Literally. You’re lucky I have good self-control, because you look like a whole divine snack right now.”

Django let out a low laugh. “You say that like it’s not mutual.”

Chaewon grinned. “I know it is. I’ve seen the way you look at me in my sleep shirt.”

“You stole that sleep shirt.”

“You left it at my place,” she countered, bumping his hip with hers.

They laughed, and the sound carried through the trees like music.

But as they reached the edge of the forest path and the rec center came into view, Django’s laughter faded just slightly.

“Still feels weird,” he admitted quietly. “Having people see me like this. Like I’m… something I didn’t earn.”

Chaewon pulled him to a stop, made him look at her.

“You earned it just by surviving,” she said. “The rest — the magic, the runes, the sword — that’s just the world finally catching up to who you’ve always been.”

She kissed his knuckles, right over the glowing sigils, and led him the rest of the way in silence, her grip never leaving his hand.The rec center buzzed with the usual mid-morning energy — training dummies thudded under weapons, a few demigods sparred in the courtyard, and music poured from the open window of the arts wing. It smelled like sweat, monster dust, and freshly baked empanadas someone had smuggled past Dionysus’s “no snacks outside the mess hall” policy.

As Django and Chaewon stepped onto the main path, two familiar voices called out from above.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to roll out of bed,” Yunjin sang, perched lazily on the roof overhang with a bow resting across her lap, golden light catching in her eyes. A few doves flew past her shoulder, trailing sunlight — daughter of Apollo, always extra.

Sakura leaned against a nearby column, eyes sharp, lips curved into a sly smile. “Was the quest too tiring or was the hammock too… cozy?”

Chaewon didn’t blink. “Both.”

Yunjin gave a mock gasp. “Scandalous. You two were definitely not that domestic before the vampire-slaying sword-magic bonding arc.”

Sakura snorted. “You mean their pre-wedding mythic trials? What’s next, a matching prophecy and a dog?”

“We already have the phoenix,” Chaewon replied, perfectly deadpan, as her bird chose that moment to land behind her with a smug caw.

Django flushed slightly, but the runes under his skin flickered once — not in warning, but in quiet agreement.

Yunjin’s eyes flicked to his arms, widening slightly. “Whoa. Okay. The glowing magic tattoos are new. Are you turning into a god, or is that just really good moisturizer?”

“They’re runes,” Chaewon said, stepping in like a bodyguard with a press statement. “Of protection, resonance, and cosmic hotness.”

“I knew it,” Sakura whispered to Yunjin. “He is her magical boyfriend.”

Yunjin nodded sagely. “Only question left is: how long until she proposes?”

Chaewon rolled her eyes, amused, but Django was already shaking his head with a chuckle. “You two really don’t take days off, huh?”

“Nope,” Yunjin said cheerfully. “But seriously, you’re looking for Hestia, right? She’s in the amphitheater wing. Came in like a quiet storm, said she wanted to talk to you — specifically.”

Chaewon’s teasing smile faded just a touch as she looked at Django. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a breath. “Let’s go see what the hearth goddess wants.”

Sakura called after them, “Try not to bring home another legendary weapon, Chaewon — we’re running out of armory space.”

Yunjin added, “But if you do, at least make it dramatic!”

Chaewon glanced over her shoulder, winked, and said, “Wouldn’t dream of anything less.”

They were almost to the main hearth hall when Django’s sword — the divine, radiant-drenched contradiction of light and dark — suddenly flared in his hand.

Chaewon blinked. “Uh… is it supposed to do that?”

Before Django could answer, the light twisted upward like smoke. Shadows curled into form. And with a brief flash of silver and obsidian, a figure stepped out of the glow, barefoot and smirking, like she owned the air she walked on.

She looked… like Chaewon.

Well — if Chaewon had wolf cut streaked with starlight, wore a dress woven from shadow, and carried herself like the embodiment of every sultry ballad Django had ever tried not to write about her.

“Midna,” Django groaned.

the sword’s spirit — tilted her head, eyes glowing like moonlight filtered through stained glass. “Aw, Songbird. That’s not a very warm welcome for your partner.”

“I have a partner,” Django muttered, glancing at Chaewon, who was watching with very amused curiosity.

Midna sashayed up to him, trailing a hand down his arm like a silk ribbon. “And she’s delightful. I adore her. Really, I can see why your heart trips over itself around her. But I’m the part of you that likes danger. The part that sings when we’re fighting monsters and bathed in blood and glory.” She looked over her shoulder, grinning at Chaewon. “Don’t you think we make a wonderful trio?”

Chaewon, to Django’s horror, actually smiled.

“I mean,” she said, arms folding under her chest, “she’s not wrong. You get this very focused, intense look when you’re fighting, and it is kind of hot.”

“Chae.” Django half-whined.

Midna winked. “See? She gets it. And let’s be honest — you need both of us. One to anchor you, and one to keep you sharp.”

Chaewon stepped up beside the sword-spirit, now practically sparkling with mischief. “So what happens if we both tease you at once, Songbird?”

Django backed up a step. “Then I probably implode.”

“Oh good,” Midna purred. “Explosions are my specialty. It will totally counteract that ”

Chaewon and Midna exchanged a look — one of instant and uncanny understanding, like two facets of the same star — before they both turned toward him, identical smirks curling on their lips.

Django pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not even real,” he told the sword.

Midna ran a finger down his chest. “I’m as real as you need me to be.”

“And besides,” Chaewon added innocently, “if your weapon is going to flirt with you, she should at least have good taste.”

Midna grinned, looping her arm through Chaewon’s. “Oh, I like you.”

“Of course you do,” Chaewon said, clearly delighted.

As they finally resumed walking — Django muttering curses under his breath and the two girls laughing like conspirators — the camp slowly came into view ahead.

They probably should’ve been worried about whatever situation Hestia had summoned them for.

But honestly? Django was a little more worried about surviving these two.

As the trio neared the main hearth pavilion, the camp began to buzz in the background — kids of every godly lineage darting between training posts, celestial bronze clanging in the air, and Yunjin’s unmistakable voice echoing across the yard. But Django barely noticed. Not with this nonsense happening.

Chaewon and Midna had taken to walking on either side of him, practically draping over his shoulders like twin storms made of affection and menace.

“So,” Chaewon said lightly, her voice honeyed with mischief, “does this happen often, or am I just lucky enough to witness your sword gain a personality and flirt with me?”

Midna flipped her hair — stars scattering like glitter. “Oh, he likes to pretend I stay dormant. But I’ve always been here. Just… waiting for the right moment to step in.”

Chaewon quirked a brow. “And when was that exactly?”

Midna smirked. “When he renamed me. That’s when I got my form back.”

Django groaned. “Chae, she’s been quiet until I gave her a proper name. I didn’t know it would come with a whole theatrical debut.”

“You named her Midna?” Chaewon’s tone was delightfully accusing. “As in, mysterious twilight princess?”

“She’s literally made of moonlight and Daylight,” Django muttered. “It felt right!”

Midna twirled, spinning into a dissolve of sparkles and smoke. “Flatterer.”

With that, she vanished — the light-dark sword in Django’s hand briefly pulsing before going quiet again, as if smug.

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

“So you really like the Wolf Cut huh?” Chaewon teased

“What do you mean Chae?” Django asked

Then Chaewon leaned in and whispered, “You really have a type, huh?”

Django raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Chaewon only gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, a sly smile on her lips. “Just saying… you clearly go weak for powerful, slightly chaotic women who are obsessed with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest. Thought better of it. Closed it again.

She beamed. “Exactly.”

And with that, she took his hand and tugged him toward the glowing entrance where Hestia was waiting, warmth and calm wrapped in fire.

Django followed, sword humming quietly on his back, heart somewhere between nervous wreck and completely enchanted.

The amphitheater shimmered with golden light, the nearby hearth ever-burning, casting warm orange flickers across the stone. As Django and Chaewon approached, the scent of smoke and cinnamon filled the air. From the heart of the flames, Hestia stepped forward, her form coalescing like steam into the shape of a young mother—soft, round, grounded. Her sweater dress hung comfortably over her frame, her hair loosely braided, barefoot and radiant.

“Ahhh, Danny,” Hestia greeted with a glowing smile. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

She pulled Django into a warm hug without hesitation—motherly, grounding, the kind of embrace that could burn away grief or fear.

Chaewon felt her jaw tighten, and immediately hated herself for it.

There was no threat here. And yet, every molecule in her body tensed. Her blood still ran hot from the lingering effects of ovulation, and seeing Django—her partner, her chosen—wrapped in someone else’s arms made something primal coil tighter inside her.

And it wasn’t even jealousy, not really.

It was instinct. Readiness. Her skin ached with it. Her heart raced with the wild certainty that she wanted him, needed him—hers. So watching him smile under Hestia’s touch, even innocently, made her want to throw a protective arm around him and growl.

“Oh, and you brought Chae too. Perfect!” Hestia chirped as she turned to Chaewon, her eyes warm with recognition.

Chaewon managed a smile, keeping her voice light. “Wouldn’t let him out of my sight.”

Hestia chuckled softly before stepping toward the hearth again, fingers twirling in the flame. “Don’t worry, dear. I wouldn’t dream of imposing. Besides—” she added with a fond smile, “you remind me of someone very dear to me.”

That stopped Chaewon. “Who?”

Hestia’s tone softened like a lullaby. “Kwon Eunbi.”

Chaewon’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected that name.

“She was one of mine for a while,” Hestia said, turning the fire slightly so that it flared in shades of pink and plum for a second. “Steady, fierce, and gentle when she chose to be. I remember watching her lead others without needing to dominate. She loved like a flame—not to consume, but to warm.”

That comparison cracked something open inside Chaewon. She felt the tightness in her chest loosen just a little, her body responding to something older, softer. She hadn’t known how much she needed to hear that. That someone as ancient and sacred as Hestia could see her that clearly.

And now, she could see Hestia a little differently too—not just as a goddess, but as someone like Eunbi. Comforting. Steady. Safe. A keeper of warmth, not a taker of it.

So when Hestia turned to Django again with a wistful smile and said, “I’ve known this one since he stumbled into Camp Jupiter with a bruised-up guitar and eyes too old for his face,” Chaewon’s reaction was no longer defensive. It was curious.

“He wasn’t even claimed yet,” Hestia said, watching the fire spin. “But I knew there was a hearthfire in him, something sacred. So I kept him close. Fed him. Gave him a warm bed. Then placed him under Jason Grace’s wing.” Her voice shimmered with memory. “Jason gave him structure. I made sure he didn’t burn out.”

Django looked down, a little bashful. “She was the only one who called me Danny back then.”

Chaewon smiled softly now, her earlier possessiveness softened into something warmer. “He doesn’t let anyone call him that,” she murmured.

Hestia winked at her. “I know.”

Turning back to the hearth, she lifted her hand and summoned flames that peeled back like theater curtains. Inside the blaze: Percy and Annabeth mid-battle, swords clashing against a glittering, massive serpent whose hide sparkled like diamond-scaled armor.

Chaewon flinched instinctively. “The Nemean Serpent.”

Hestia nodded. “I’m calling in a pre-favor.”

Django blinked. “A what?”

“You’ll need something from me eventually,” Hestia said, “so I’m calling mine early. I need you to help Percy and Annabeth put that oversized scale-worm down.”

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she added: “Don’t worry. Wonyoung and Charlie are already there holding the line.”

That was all Chaewon needed to hear.

“Wonyoung’s there?” Her voice sharpened, protective instincts drowning out everything else. The heat that had been building inside her turned to urgency. “Then we have to go—now.”

Hestia smiled, deeply pleased. “Exactly the kind of love I trust him with.”

“Django,” she added with an incline of her head, “would you do the honors?”

Django stepped forward, drawing Midna’s blade — shadows and light swirled together. He dipped the tip into the ground and traced a slow, practiced circle. Runes lifted into the air, golden and radiant, as the portal began to shimmer open.

Chaewon stood close at his side, the fire reflected in her dark eyes. The echo of readiness still hummed inside her — but now it was tempered by the knowledge that others had seen Django’s worth long before she had. And trusted her to carry that fire forward.

As the portal completed its ring of flame and light, she reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered.

He looked back, smiling. “I know.”

The winds whipped through the treetops above the clearing, and Wonyoung leapt gracefully from rock to branch to stone again, her glaive spinning in precise arcs as she carved glowing sigils into the air with each swing.

She felt alive.

The Nemean Serpent roared, its silver-diamond hide gleaming beneath the filtered moonlight like an indestructible river of mirrors. It lunged—too fast for something its size—but Wonyoung didn’t flinch. Her eyes narrowed, calculating, and she vaulted backwards mid-spin, letting the monster’s strike crash harmlessly into a warded pillar.

“Ugh,” she groaned, landing in a three-point crouch. “Why is it always the giant, magic-immune types with a grudge against architecture?”

Charlie, hovering just a few meters away in a bubble of humming light, chuckled and hurled another bolt of celestial fire. It scattered across the serpent’s hide like rain on steel. “Don’t pretend you’re not having the time of your life!”

“I was,” Wonyoung snapped, vaulting again. “Right up until this thing decided I couldn’t have my post-quest gel manicure.”

She ducked under the serpent’s tail, slashing again—not to wound, but to redirect. The blade shimmered in her hands, singing slightly as it passed through the serpent’s magic. Still not enough. Not yet. But soon.

Because while Wonyoung loved a good fight—and gods knew she’d earned the right to indulge in one—this? This was just rude.

She panted lightly as she landed again, twirling her glaive and holding her ground. Her hair was windswept, her cheeks flushed, and yet her smirk was radiant. “We’ve almost cracked its rhythm,” she muttered to herself, catching the way the serpent hesitated now before every strike.

And yet—her body was starting to tire.

Not that she’d ever say that out loud.

Just as Wonyoung braced herself for another charge from the serpent, a shimmering light flared behind her. The air cracked—not with lightning, but with warm, golden static. It shimmered like stage lights warming up, runes flaring in the sky with radiant precision.

Late. Dramatic. Familiar.

Wonyoung didn’t even need to turn. She grinned and said, “Finally. Took you two long enough.”

A voice replied from the glow: "You don’t use a boulder to crush an ant… though, to be fair—this ant might need a boulder."

Charlie, already halfway singed and covered in dirt, spun around and shouted, "Can you please just help us finish this thing?! We were getting its venom for Hestia and Hecate!" Her voice cracked with exasperation.

Django stepped calmly into view beside Chaewon, blinking up at the towering serpent that writhed through the broken trees. He tilted his head, thoughtful.

“This isn’t a venomous snake,” he said, voice smooth. “Skeletal structure’s wrong. Muscle shape’s all wrong too. It’s a constrictor—”

“Do your snake science after it’s dead!” Annabeth bellowed from across the clearing, dragging a dazed Percy behind a boulder.

Chaewon didn’t answer—she was already moving. With a sharp whistle, her phoenix burst into the air, soaring high above the serpent. Flame curled from its wings as Chaewon launched upward with it, spear igniting mid-spin. She descended with brutal grace, sending arcs of white-hot fire slicing into the beast’s flank.

“Thank you!” Wonyoung called breathlessly.

“About time,” Percy muttered.

“Unbelievable,” Charlie and Annabeth groaned in sync.

Django raised an eyebrow, then unslung Midna from his back. The black-and-gold electric bass shimmered and elongated in his hands, its strings humming with life.

He strummed a few notes, and waves of healing energy pulsed across the field. The scorched, bruised, and battered straightened, color returning to their cheeks.

“That’s better,” Charlie muttered.

Midna cooed in Django’s mind, voice warm and syrupy. "Darling, do the thing. The one from practice."

“That was a joke move,” Django replied mentally.

"So is your life, and yet here we are."

He sighed. Of course she was like this.

Then louder, dry and resigned, Django muttered, “Light of Orion… descend.”

Annabeth’s head whipped around. "Wait—what did you just say?" she said, but the light was already building.

A golden aura erupted from Django’s core, wrapping around him in shifting armor—gilded bracers, radiant shoulder plates, and a chestpiece that gleamed like sunlight forged into steel. His eyes blazed with light. Even Percy looked mildly impressed.

Annabeth blinked. “Okay, what is he—”

“Just Django things,” Chaewon said, smirking mid-air as she soared by.

“Everyone down!” Django warned.

The group hit the dirt.

Midna howled like a chorus of storm sirens as Django raised her high, then brought her down in a single, sweeping chord. The air split—sharp pillars of hyper-condensed fire erupted in front of him, slicing through the serpent like divine blades. The creature screamed once, then collapsed in dozens of steaming, perfectly seared pieces.

Silence fell. The forest echoed with birdsong that had finally dared to return.

Charlie stood, brushing ash off her pants. “Did… he just barbecue it?”

Chaewon landed lightly beside Django, her phoenix settling on her shoulder. “Snake steak, anyone?”

Midna dissolved into her spirit form, glowing faintly with pride. “Gods, the power you flow through me. I adore it.”

Wonyoung blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Unnie… why are there two of you?”

Chaewon looked over her shoulder—and sure enough, another Chaewon stepped from the glowing brush behind them, just as serene, just as battle-worn, just as smug.

They exchanged a look. Then both smiled identically.

Django looked between them, sighed, and said, “It’s… a long story.”

The battle site still smoked from Django’s overkill.

The serpent’s remains sizzled, grilled to mythic perfection. Wonyoung was the first to break the silence, flopping onto a charred log with a dramatic exhale.

“I’m never eating barbecue again,” she muttered.

They were half-recovering in a scorched clearing, passing around canteens and protein bars while keeping a wary distance from the roasted serpent chunks.

And then there were the Chaewons. Plural.

Django sat on a boulder, clearly trying to disassociate, while the second Chaewon—glamorous, floating slightly off the ground, and smirking like she knew everyone’s secrets—twirled a lock of her hair. She shimmered faintly with embers around her ankles.

Charlie side-eyed Django so hard it might have qualified as an attack. “Okay, why does your weapon look like Chaewon?”

Django muttered, “I didn’t ask for this.”

“She’s my favorite form,” Midna said sweetly, in Chaewon’s exact voice, flipping her hair. “Confident. Elegant. Just enough menace to keep him humble.”

The real Chaewon burst into giggles, leaning into Wonyoung’s side. “Oh my gods, I love her.”

“I hate this,” Django muttered into his hands.

Midna leaned toward him, floating upside down now with her long hair hanging like a curtain. “You love it. You talk in your sleep, you know.”

Everyone stared.

Wonyoung blinked. “You made your sword look like your girlfriend?”

“No My sword did that all on her own. Plus She’s not my girlfriend,” Django snapped.

Midna and Chaewon said in unison, “Yet.”

“OH MY GODS,” Charlie groaned. “I am living in a fever dream.”

Annabeth, who had remained suspiciously quiet, suddenly blinked like a lightbulb had flickered on. “Wait a minute… talking weapon, attachment issues, chaotic commentary…”

Everyone turned toward her.

“My cousin Magnus has a sword named Jack,” she explained with the exhausted patience of someone who’s seen too much. “It once flew off during battle because it got bored.”

Percy wheezed. “Jack’s real?! I thought that was a bit.”

“Nope. Jack was chaos incarnate.”

Annabeth gestured at Midna, still floating upside down like an affectionate ghost. “This? This is Jack with fashion sense.”

Meanwhile, Chaewon noticed a faint scorch on Wonyoung’s sleeve. Her smile faded instantly.

“Yah. Why didn’t you say you got hit?” she asked, brushing her fingers gently over the burn.

“I’m fine,” Wonyoung said quickly, pink rising in her cheeks. “Just a glancing blow.”

“You didn’t even flinch.”

“I was handling it. Besides…” She trailed off, glancing toward Charlie, who was joking with Percy by the fire. “Charlie had it covered.”

Chaewon gave her a look, then followed her gaze. Her grin returned, sharp and knowing. “Oh. Ohhh. You’re staring.”

“I’m not!” Wonyoung said, horrified.

“You have a crush on the chaos bard.”

“Unnie!”

Across the camp, Midna—still as Chaewon—drifted lazily above Django. “Should I look like her next?” she asked, nodding toward Charlie. “Give Wonyoung a little motivation?”

“I will throw you into Tartarus,” Django mumbled.

“You say that like you didn’t cry when I got cracked during sparring last week.”

“Because I didn’t know you could even chip let alone bleed sparkles. It was confusing.”

Midna scrunched her nose happily. “You’re adorable when you panic.”

Real Chaewon chuckled. “So, to recap: your sword turns into me, flirts with everyone, has an emotional attachment, and is somehow more composed than you?”

Django deadpanned, “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” she grinned.

From the firepit, Percy sniffed the air. “Okay but like… do we eat the snake or nah?”

“I vote yes,” said Charlie, already flipping a filet.

Annabeth looked around the group—two Chaewons, one war-crush, a blushing Wonyoung, and a sulking cowboy with a musical sword.

She sighed. “Yeah. Definitely Magnus-level weird.”

The crackle of hearth-fire and the scent of myrrh announced their arrival before the gods even appeared.

A soft shimmer of golden warmth flared at the camp’s edge, and from it stepped Hestia, kind-eyed and serene, her presence making the flames of their fire straighten like soldiers at attention. A moment later, a violet shimmer folded the air beside her, and Hecate emerged—regal, robed in shadows, her hair trailing embers like spilled ink in moonlight.

“Children,” Hestia said gently. “We sensed the end of the battle. Do you have the serpent’s venom?”

Wonyoung and Percy froze. Annabeth made a sound that could only be described as a sigh-whimper. Charlie immediately gestured to Django, like she was throwing him to wolves.

Django blinked, surprised, then stood and gestured to the neatly sliced coils of the monster’s grilled remains. “Uh… so… about that.”

Hecate raised a brow.

“See,” Django began, already pushing his sleeves up, “I’m afraid there’s been a taxonomical misidentification.”

Chaewon’s eyes sparkled. Midna—in her Chaewon form—leaned forward, beaming with barely restrained joy.

“Oh gods,” Annabeth muttered.

“While this creature has been labeled the Nemean Serpent, closer inspection of its skeletal structure and musculature density shows a marked lack of venom glands or fangs consistent with known viperid or elapid monsters. Instead, the jaw flexibility, body length-to-width ratio, and scale texture all point toward a constrictor-based morphology.”

“He’s doing the thing,” Percy whispered.

Django, now animated and pacing like a caffeinated professor, continued: “More importantly, its aura signature lacked the acidic volatile energy often present in magical Venom. In fact, it relied entirely on brute strength and coiling behavior, a hallmark of hybrid Pythonic constructs, possibly with Nemean lion enchantments woven in—notice the gold flecking in the hide? Classic divine tampering.”

Charlie had her face in her hands.

Annabeth whispered to Wonyoung, “He’s worse than Magnus. Magnus just winged it.”

Midna turned toward Hecate, delighted. “Isn’t he adorable when he spirals?”

Hecate, to everyone’s shock, smiled. “Oh, I quite like him.”

Hestia nodded gently. “He reminds me of my youngest hearth-keeper. He cataloged all the wood ash by regional tree species. Unprompted.”

Django continued, now pointing to a diagram he was somehow drawing in the dirt with his finger. “You see, even in the ancient retellings, the serpent was referred to as ‘unyielding’ not ‘venomous,’ which should’ve tipped us off that it was misclassified through retellings. Heroic myths are riddled with biological inaccuracies. And don’t get me started on hydras.”

“You were supposed to get the venom for Hestia’s purification spell and Hecate’s potion,” Charlie deadpanned.

“I’m not saying it’s my fault,” Django replied, “but we may need a different snake.”

“You grilled the wrong snake,” Percy said, awed.

“You grilled the wrong snake beautifully,” Wonyoung added diplomatically.

Hecate sighed and waved a hand. The grilled serpent lifted into the air and neatly packed itself into floating containers.

“I can salvage it for hidework and spell components,” she said. “Still—shame about the venom.”

Chaewon stood beside Django and ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute and a genius.”

“I’m lucky my weapon looks like you and tells me what to do.”

Midna blew him a kiss.

Charlie looked between them all and groaned again. “This is the worst group project I’ve ever been part of.”

Annabeth muttered, “And I fought a cyclops while failing Algebra.”

Hestia, ever serene, just took the remaining tea from their thermos and gave Wonyoung a reassuring smile. “At least you didn’t burn the camp down.”

As the group settled into post-battle chaos—Charlie sulking into her half-melted water bottle, Percy poking the snake fillet like it might bite back, and Annabeth muttering angrily about ecology tangents—Hestia stepped toward Django with a warm but pointed look.

“Django. A word?”

He blinked, surprised, wiping soot off his hands. “Uh… sure?”

She guided him a few paces away, her presence oddly calm despite the scorched battlefield. He glanced back at the others—Chaewon watching curiously, Midna floating at her side like an amused echo—and then followed.

Once they reached the edge of the trees, Hestia turned to face him. “You said it wasn’t the right snake.”

Django shifted awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. That serpent we just killed? Constrictor class. Musculature was too dense along the spine and lacked venom sacs. The skeletal proportions alone—”

Hestia chuckled softly. “Django. I believe you. That’s why I brought you out here.”

“Oh.” He paused. “…Really?”

She smiled. “You’re not just a weapon, Django. I see that. So tell me: what kind of serpent should we be looking for?”

He blinked, clearly not used to being taken seriously in this way, then slipped effortlessly into full monster ecologist mode.

“Well… if it’s for Venom, real venom—not acidic bile or death aura mist—you’d want something with abyssal genetics. Stygian Ash Vipers would be ideal. Their venom corrodes both matter and enchantment, and their fangs act like natural runic needles.”

Hestia raised her eyebrows. “You’ve encountered them?”

“In theory,” he said. “The last known habitat is a ruined grove in the Umbra Wilds. I read about it in one of Apollo’s old temple archives. Cross-referenced with surviving dryad accounts and lunar maps.”

Her eyes sparkled like hearthfire. “You might be a kindred spirit after all.”

Django looked floored. “…What?”

She just smiled again and began walking back. “Prepare a route. If you’re right, we’ll need that venom soon.”

Back at the clearing, Hecate had pulled Chaewon aside, brushing soot from the younger girl's shoulder with delicate fingers. “You’ve grown sharper since the last time the threads crossed,” she murmured.

Chaewon blinked. “You… remember me?”

“I marked you, little raven,” Hecate replied with affection. “Before you were even born. The spear. The phoenix. Even your laughter. These things are part of an older pattern.”

Chaewon swallowed, heart racing. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means,” Hecate said, touching her brow gently, “you’ve always had more than one mother watching.”

Midna, still in Chaewon-form and floating nearby, beamed proudly. “She’s the favorite, obviously.”

Chaewon groaned. “Don’t start.”

Meanwhile, Django was returning, blinking like he’d just come out of an honors thesis defense. Annabeth met him halfway and groaned. “You’re gonna give me Magnus flashbacks. His sword used to make pancakes and argue with ducks.”

Django looked mildly betrayed. “Midna only argues with people who deserve it.”

“Thank you,” said Midna, popping up beside him. “Finally some respect.”

Wonyoung had flopped dramatically into Chaewon’s side, muttering, “Unnie, I think I’m in love.”

“With who?” Chaewon asked knowingly.

“Charlie,” Wonyoung admitted, covering her face. “She had me do the spinny glaive thing and said ‘Try it again, sweetheart’ and I almost passed out.”

Charlie, still within earshot, snorted. "You'll have it down next time I promise.”

Wonyoung shrieked while Chaewon burst out laughing and Midna clapped her hands. Annabeth just muttered, “We are never going to get anything done again.”

The grove was quiet except for the low crackle of Hestia’s ever-burning lanterns and the subtle pulse of Django’s fingers tapping against his knee.

Hestia sat across from him, the goddess of the hearth cloaked in soft amber light and long silences. But this time, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind you made room for when you were about to say something that hurt.

“You know,” she said eventually, “I never liked how Brigid looked at you.”

Django blinked. “What do you mean?”

“She saw your light and thought it was hers to shape,” Hestia murmured, eyes on the flame in her palm. “Not nurture. Not protect. Claim. She loved you the way some gods love cities—because they want to see their reflection in the windows, not the people living in them.”

Django’s mouth tensed into a line. “She said I was born under fire and thunder. That I had a divine legacy to carry. She made it sound beautiful.”

“It is,” Hestia said. “But it’s yours. Not hers.”

She looked up at him, something maternal and pained swimming behind her expression. “You were never a prophecy to me. You were a boy—bright, lonely, stubborn, and brave. And I have watched you grow into a man who still apologizes for shining too brightly in the dark.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m trying to stop,” Django whispered. “I really am.”

Hestia smiled softly. “I know.”

⸻

The fire between them shifted, throwing long shadows that flickered like memories. Django stared into it, and then said quietly:

“Do you ever think about Jason?”

The name landed like a stone in the fire, cracking embers.

Hestia’s shoulders fell, and she nodded. “Every day.”

Django’s voice was raw now. “He understood what it meant to carry something sacred and heavy. He never asked for praise. He just… was good.”

“He was,” Hestia said. “And he was tired. I saw it in him near the end. That quiet ache of someone who gave too much and didn’t know how to stop.”

She looked over at Django. “You remind me of him, sometimes. Not because you’re the same. But because you’re walking a similar edge.”

Django swallowed thickly. “I didn’t even know him that well. Just a few conversations. But every time he spoke to me, he made me feel like I mattered. Like I didn’t have to prove myself.”

“That,” Hestia said gently, “was Jason’s power. And maybe yours too.”

⸻

They let the silence stretch again. But this one felt necessary—like a breath held in reverence.

Eventually, Hestia stood and brushed the ash from her robes. “Go on. You’ve got chaos waiting for you. And I imagine Chaewon’s already threatening to duel Midna over who gets to check Wonyoung’s bandages first.”

Django chuckled as he stood. “You know, for a goddess of peace, you cause a lot of mayhem.”

Hestia grinned. “Peace is just well-managed chaos, child. Now go be ridiculous. You’ve earned it.”

The fire crackled low now, reduced to glowing embers and soft voices. Most of the camp had quieted down. Chaewon sat cross-legged near Django’s side, carefully re-braiding Wonyoung’s hair as the younger girl dozed against Charlie’s shoulder. Midna, still in her Chaewon form but now draped in Django’s oversized hoodie, sat opposite them, staring into the coals.

“Why me?” Django asked suddenly, his voice quiet but steady. “You could’ve chosen anyone. You were forged by Hecate herself.”

Midna tilted her head, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “I didn’t choose you at first. Not really. I woke up in your hands and expected another wielder who wanted a weapon.”

Chaewon looked up, interested.

Midna smiled, small and sad. “But you… you wept when I was cracked. Like I was a friend who’d been hurt, not a blade that failed. You used blessed oil to polish and attend to keep me safe when I was still bound in my sleep form. You gave me a name that meant more than just my purpose.You play music for me, Django. And—and you ask me if I’m okay before we fight.”

Her voice thickened, a rare vulnerability showing through the echo of confidence she always wore.

“I didn’t know I was allowed to be something more than a tool,” she said, softly. “But you—you made me feel safe. Like how you do for Chaewon how you do for everyone. Like I’m not here just to cut.”

Django blinked, startled. “But you’re so good at it.”

Midna chuckled. “And that’s why I’m yours.”

Chaewon glanced between them, eyes curious but quiet.

“You trust me,” Midna went on. “More than anyone. You let me decide what’s a threat. You don’t use me—you ask. You’ve given me what I never had even with Hecate: a voice.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand with a smirk. “And that’s why I’ll never let anyone else wield me ever again . I don’t want to be a sword. I want to be your brush that you paint the world in with your magic. Your partner.”

Django cleared his throat, face suddenly flushed. “Midna, you’re being real intense in front of my—uh—”

“Girlfriend?” Midna teased.

Chaewon raised an eyebrow. “Partner in soul-forged chaos?”

Django groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Why do I surround myself with women who scare me.”

Midna and Chaewon said at the same time, grinning: “Because we make you feel safe.”

The fireflies drifted lazily around them, casting amber and emerald reflections off the soft moss. Chaewon leaned on Django’s shoulder while Midna lounged across both their laps in her Chaewon-shaped form, humming to herself.

“I still want to know,” Chaewon said after a beat. “Why me? Why do you look like me?”

Midna stretched like a cat and smirked. “Because you’re beautiful. Duh. But also? Because you’re what steadied him when he could’ve shattered. I’m not a sword anymore, not really. I’m a conduit for his power. Like your phoenix I just think you’re prettier.”

Chaewon flushed at the compliment, but stayed quiet as Midna shifted her weight, resting her head gently on Django’s thigh.

“Truth is,” Midna continued, voice softer now, “I wasn’t always free to choose how I looked. Or who held me.”

Her golden eyes glowed faintly in the dark. “I was once a weapon of Hecate’s. Not forged—summoned. Magic bent into form. A thing of pure will and arcane logic. I was obedient, efficient, terrifying. I belonged to one of her warlocks—a cruel man with no poetry in him. He used me for rituals, for executions, for fear.”

Chaewon sat up straighter, watching Midna carefully now.

“Did you hate her?” Django asked gently.

“No,” Midna said, surprising them both. “Hecate made me with purpose. She gave me knowledge, language, shape. She didn’t abuse me—but she never asked what I wanted to be. To her, I was a function. A tool. And when my warlock died, she sealed me in a vault of failed relics.”

She looked at Django now, her smile tremulous and full.

“You woke me up by accident. You didn’t even know what I was. And still, you spoke kindly to me. You spoil me with magical energy and your extensive care. You gave me music, warmth, laughter, stories. You called me Midna before I even knew my own name.”

Django swallowed thickly, words caught in his throat.

“I bonded to your soul because you never treated me like an object,” she whispered. “You treated me like someone. And so I became someone. I chose this face not just because of her—” she nodded toward Chaewon, “—but because I like who I am now. And I love who I belong to.”

Chaewon wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, blinking hard.

Django let out a breath. “Midna…”

She flicked his forehead. “You’re still an idiot, though.”

Chaewon laughed, the sound sweet and clear in the firelight.

“Gods,” Django muttered, eyes narrowing affectionately. “I’m surrounded by beautiful, dangerous women who keep calling me names.”

Midna stretched again. “You’re welcome.”

Chaewon kissed Django’s cheek. “You’re lucky we like you.”

Midna smiled before telling Django to go to sleep or she’ll make his next attack go haywire. Sighing he did after finding a quiet section of camp.

Chaewon meanwhile watching Midna stretch in her Chaewon-shaped form like a smug cat who’d just eaten all the attention in the camp.

“You’re doing way too much with my face,” Chaewon said flatly.

Midna smirked, folding her arms behind her head. “You’re just mad because he listens to me when I tell him to rest after a fight.”

“That’s because you threatened to short-circuit his tendons if he didn’t.”

“He needed sleep,” Midna replied innocently. “And besides—are you really jealous of yourself?”

Chaewon’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not me.”

Midna paused, then nodded with a surprising seriousness. “You’re right. I’m inspired by you, sure. But I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not in love with him like you are.”

Chaewon raised an eyebrow. “But you love him.”

Midna’s smirk softened. “Yes. In the way a blade might love the only hand that ever polished it like porcelain. In the way a song might love the one person who can actually hear every note.”

Chaewon hesitated, unsettled—not threatened, but… processing.

“I don’t want his heart,” Midna said gently, “but I want to be the thing that channels it. I want to catch every wild, endless surge of power inside him and turn it into something beautiful. Useful. Or terrifying. Or both.”

She stretched again, firelight catching the golden threadwork of her borrowed features. “And when he lets me pull raw flame through his spine or call storms from his ribs—it’s intoxicating. I’m not saying it’s love, but… feels so fucking good.”

Chaewon groaned. “Midna. My face.”

Midna winked. “Don’t worry, princess. You’ve got the heart the mind, the spirit, and the bed. I just get the magical blood geysers, the rage and the symphonic power rush.”

Chaewon rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite fight the smile. “Fine. But at least stop flirting with people in my body. Wonyoung didn’t like your joke and is already suspicious.”

“I won’t flirt with your friends, but I make no promises when it comes to Django,” Midna said cheerfully. “But… I do appreciate you, Chaewon. Without you, Django wouldn’t be this version of himself. And without him—well. I’d still be gathering dust on Hecate’s shelf.”

There was a pause. Then Chaewon nodded. “He really does have a habit of fixing girls like us.”

“Mmhm,” Midna hummed. “ Dear there was nothing to fix we were never broken he just gave us space to be ourselves made us dangerous in the process.”

While laughter and embers crackled at the campfire down the slope, Percy and Annabeth stood with Hecate beneath a canopy of shifting moonlight, where her garden bloomed in spirals of nightshade, witch hazel, and glowing moth orchids. The stars above pulsed softly with arcane rhythm.

Hecate was quiet at first, stirring a chalice of ink-dark tea with a wand of rowan. Finally, she said:

“So. The blade speaks.”

Percy tilted his head. “You mean Midna?”

Hecate smiled faintly. “She was once mine. Or rather… she was of me.”

Annabeth crossed her arms. “You created her?”

“Shaped, not created. She’s living will—magic given form, tempered in necessity. I made her during the War of giants. She was never meant to bond. She was meant to end.”

Percy raised his eyebrows. “Yikes.”

“I forged her with elegance. With discipline. She was silent, efficient, and above all—obedient.” Hecate’s voice drifted wistful for a moment. “I never asked if she wanted to be more than that. Perhaps I was afraid she’d say yes.”

Annabeth frowned, her mind racing through parallels. “And now she’s bonded to Django.”

Hecate nodded slowly. “Not just bonded. Changed. She’s soft now. Laughs too much. Wears the face of that fiery little crow-child, Chaewon. Dresses like a trickster goddess on festival day.”

“She seems… happy,” Percy offered carefully.

“She is,” Hecate replied, not unkindly. “And I do not begrudge her that. But it stings, to see a thing you shaped bloom without you. To realize it took a boy with a bass guitar to teach your most lethal spell how to giggle.”

Annabeth chuckled dryly. “Magic changes. So do weapons.”

“I know.” Hecate sipped her tea. “But still, when I see her flitting around that campfire in Chaewon’s face, stealing peaches and snuggling into Django’s coat like a cat—I see what I didn’t let happen when I had the chance.”

Percy looked thoughtful. “Do you want her back?”

Hecate turned to look at them, moonlight sharp in her silver-lined gaze.

“No,” she said. “She’s already home.”

After Hecate vanished in a shimmer of starlight and myrrh smoke, Percy and Annabeth remained standing in the stillness, leaves rustling gently around them.

“Didn’t think I’d hear Hecate admit she was wrong about anything,” Percy muttered, scratching his neck.

Annabeth didn’t respond immediately. Her storm-gray eyes were fixed toward the flickering lights of the campfire below, where Django could be seen laughing, slouched between Chaewon and Midna, both of whom were teasing him relentlessly.

“Does he remind you of anyone?” she asked softly.

Percy followed her gaze. “You mean besides a caffeine-addled college dropout who got bit by a music muse?”

Annabeth gave him a sidelong look. “Magnus.”

Percy blinked. “Oh. Huh. Yeah… I kind of see it. Not the fashion sense though.”

Annabeth smiled faintly. “Not just that. It’s the way he moves in a crowd—awkward at the edges, but magnetic in the middle. Like he doesn’t realize he’s drawing everyone in. Magnus had that. Made you feel like even dying with him would be hilarious.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And the Jason part?”

She exhaled slowly, heart heavier now. “It’s the way Django hesitates when he’s called a hero. That… recoil. Like it’s a label that means guilt, not praise. Jason wore that same look near the end.”

“Like he couldn’t breathe under the expectations anymore,” Percy added quietly.

They both stood in silence for a moment longer.

“He cares too much,” Annabeth murmured. “That’s why the sword loves him. Why Chaewon’s soul keeps threading into his. Why even the gods watch him.”

“You worried for him?” Percy asked, softer now.

“I’m worried he’s not,” she replied. “And that’s exactly how the best of us burn out.”

The crackle of hearth-fire and the scent of myrrh announced their arrival before the gods even appeared.

“Children,” Hestia said gently. “We sensed the end of the battle. Do you have the serpent’s venom?”

Wonyoung and Percy froze. Annabeth made a sound that could only be described as a sigh-whimper. Charlie immediately gestured to Django, like she was throwing him to wolves.

Django blinked, surprised, then stood and gestured to the neatly sliced coils of the monster’s grilled remains. “Uh… so… about that.”

Hecate raised a brow.

“See,” Django began, already pushing his sleeves up, “I’m afraid there’s been a taxonomical misidentification.”

Chaewon’s eyes sparkled. Midna—in her Chaewon form—leaned forward, beaming with barely restrained joy.

“Oh gods,” Annabeth muttered.

“He’s doing the thing,” Percy whispered.

Django, now animated and pacing like a caffeinated professor, continued: “More importantly, its aura signature lacked the acidic volatile energy often present in magical poisons. In fact, it relied entirely on brute strength and coiling behavior, a hallmark of hybrid Pythonic constructs, possibly with Nemean lion enchantments woven in—notice the gold flecking in the hide? Classic divine tampering.”

Charlie had her face in her hands.

Annabeth whispered to Wonyoung, “He’s worse than Magnus. Magnus just winged it.”

Midna turned toward Hecate, delighted. “Isn’t he adorable when he spirals?”

Hecate, to everyone’s shock, smiled. “Oh, I quite like him.”

Hestia nodded gently. “He reminds me of my youngest hearth-keeper. He cataloged all the wood ash by regional tree species. Unprompted.”

Django continued, now pointing to a diagram he was somehow drawing in the dirt with flame from Midna’s tail. “You see, even in the ancient retellings, the serpent was referred to as ‘unyielding’ not ‘venomous,’ which should’ve tipped us off that it was misclassified through retellings. Heroic myths are riddled with biological inaccuracies. And don’t get me started on hydras.”

“You were supposed to get the venom for Hestia’s purification spell and Hecate’s potion,” Charlie deadpanned.

“I’m not saying it’s my fault,” Django replied, “but we may need a different snake.”

“You grilled the wrong snake,” Percy said, awed.

“You grilled the wrong snake beautifully,” Wonyoung added diplomatically.

Hecate sighed and waved a hand. The grilled serpent lifted into the air and neatly packed itself into floating containers.

“I can salvage it for hidework and spell components,” she said. “Still—shame about the venom.”

Chaewon stood beside Django and ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute and a genius.”

“I’m lucky my soul-weapon looks like you and tells me what to do.”

Midna blew him a kiss.

Charlie looked between them all and groaned again. “This is the worst group project I’ve ever been part of.”

Annabeth muttered, “And I fought a cyclops while failing Algebra.”

Hestia, ever serene, just took the remaining tea from their thermos and gave Wonyoung a reassuring smile. “At least you didn’t burn the camp down.”

Wonyoung, who had absolutely nearly burned the camp down, said nothing.

The sky had only just begun to flush with the first hints of color when Django stirred. The others remained asleep—Chaewon’s head tucked against his shoulder, Wonyoung curled like a cat under a blanket Midna had pulled over her during the night.

Something pulled him upright. Not quite a voice, not quite a dream.

Barefoot, he padded away from the camp, Midna resting in blade form across his back. The forest was hushed, thick with that liminal stillness between night and morning. He reached a clearing bordered by leaning oaks and curling mist, and found her waiting.

Hecate.

Wreathed in dim starlight and the scent of old magic, she stood barefoot in the grass, watching the last stars fade. She didn’t turn—she didn’t need to.

“You’ve grown,” she said.

Django exhaled. “You keep saying that.”

She smirked faintly. “Well, it’s true. You no longer carry your birthright like it’s a burden.”

He glanced down at his hands. “Still figuring out how not to treat it like a loaded weapon.”

Hecate finally turned to face him, her eyes reflecting moonlight and something more ancient.

“Not everything divine needs to be dangerous, Django. But your father’s side… Brigid gave you power. Not guidance.”

Django’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Yeah. She’s about as emotionally available as a marble statue.”

Hecate’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “You don’t seem bitter.”

“I used to be,” he admitted. “But I think I finally accepted that waiting for her approval is like asking a volcano to bake you cookies.”

Hecate snorted—an unguarded, amused noise. “That’s… almost poetic. She wouldn’t hate that.”

Django chuckled softly. “She’ll manage.”

There was a long pause, soft and fog-wrapped. Then Hecate tilted her head.

“You’re not a swordsman,” she said bluntly.

Django winced. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re not,” she continued with a teasing grin, “You’re actually terrible with traditional forms. Your footwork’s lazy, your strikes are too wide, and you always favor your off-hand like a bard looking for applause.”

A shimmer of energy pulsed behind him as Midna sprang into her Chaewon-shaped spirit form, arms crossed and glowing faintly.

“He is not a terrible fighter,” she said, voice sharp with loyalty. “He’s just not a boring one.”

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

Midna stepped forward, her eyes flickering with a soft, molten light. “He doesn’t rely on brute skill. He reads magic, intention, soul. And he’s competent with more weapons than most demigods ever bother learning—he just lets me choose what’s needed.”

She looked fondly back at Django. “He lets me shift into forms that suit the rhythm of the fight, the shape of his magic. Sword, bow, scythe, polearm—sometimes even a harp made of flame. He trusts me to decide what to be.”

Django scratched the back of his neck. “I just like having options.”

Midna rolled her eyes affectionately. “You just like improvising.”

Hecate chuckled. “So you’re a chaos duet.”

“We’re a symphony,” Midna corrected, proud.

Hecate studied Django for a long moment. “You’re more mage than warrior. And yet… you fight like someone who doesn’t want to kill anything unless he has to.”

He nodded. “Because I don’t.”

Her voice dropped lower. “Even when you should?”

Django hesitated remembering David and Max, then looked away. “I’ve seen what killing does. Not just to the dead.”

Hecate said nothing. The breeze shifted around them, slow and sacred.

“You weep for your weapon,” she said eventually. “You mourn when she’s chipped. You speak to her. Thank her.”

“What’s the point in having something and not taking care of it, besides She’s not just a tool,” he said simply.

“No,” Hecate said softly. “Not anymore. You made her something else.”

There was reverence in her voice—and something wistful.

“Midna was mine once. A thing of fury and precision. I wielded her when war demanded it. But I never once asked how she felt. That was my failure.”

Midna was silent for a beat. Then she stepped closer to Django.

“Most people don’t check in with themselves enough I’m unsurprised you wouldn’t check in with your weapon. It’s supposed to infallible but it’s hard to be that when things can and will fail. So I check in.”

Midna smiled “He does,” she said. “He sees me. That’s why I chose him. That’s why I’ll never bond with anyone else.”

Django reached back and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Hecate watched the two of them with a strange, soft expression—equal parts pride and distance.

“Jason Grace would’ve liked you,” she murmured.

Django’s expression flickered. “ he did. At least I think so, when I remember my time with him. I think about him sometimes. What he stood for. How hard he tried.”

“Too hard,” she said. “He wanted to be a perfect blade. But perfection is a prison. You—you let yourself be flawed.”

Django smiled and said, “I’m not a blade though,” Hecate’s eyes narrowed and then said, “you’re right you’re a vase,”

There was a pause, then Hecate stepped forward and placed a hand over Django’s heart.

“You’ve made space for divinity and compassion. That is your magic, Django. That is what makes you dangerous.”

The mist thickened, curling once more at her feet.

“Keep walking that line. Between chaos and control. Between sword and song.”

And just like that—she was gone.

The clearing was quiet again. The sky brighter.

Midna turned to Django. “…I like her.”

He smirked. “She terrifies me.”

Midna’s smile turned mischievous. “That’s because she reminds you of Chaewon.”

Chaewon stirred under the woven blanket, her fingers finding only cool linen beside her. She sat up, disoriented by the absence of Django’s warmth. The camp was still hushed in the pale morning light—Wonyoung snoring softly, Midna in blade form resting against the base of a tree.

Chaewon frowned, brushed hair from her eyes, and stood. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her, the air still touched with early chill, and moved quietly through the trees. She didn’t need magic to find him. Not when her heart had already made a home in his presence.

She found him standing at the edge of a quiet stream, his back turned, shoulders loose with thought. The faint trace of magic still clung to him like ash after fire.

“You always wake up early after dreams,” she said softly.

Django turned, and his smile lit something warm in her chest. “Couldn’t sleep. Hecate showed up. We talked.”

Chaewon stepped close, eyes narrowing just slightly in concern. “Heavy talk?”

He shrugged. “Some of it. She teased me. Midna backed me up.”

Chaewon rolled her eyes, slipping into his arms. “She always does. She likes you too much.”

“She said the same about you.”

Chaewon smirked and rested her cheek against his chest. “Smart girl.”

They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment—until Chaewon tilted her head up and kissed him. It was soft, sleepy still, like a promise whispered in fog.

He kissed her back.

The second kiss came with a hum of satisfaction, deeper, slower. She stood on tiptoe to get closer, her fingers sliding into his hair.

But just as she leaned in for the third—crunch.

A loud, unmistakable sound of someone stepping directly on a dead branch.

They froze.

Then—

“Oh gods, I knew it!” Wonyoung’s voice echoed from behind the trees. “You two are cursed! The third kiss never survives!”

Chaewon’s head dropped dramatically to Django’s shoulder as he groaned into her neck.

“You were counting?!” she hissed.

“I always count!” Wonyoung emerged from the brush looking far too smug for someone with bedhead and mismatched socks. “You kissed twice after that fight with the Nemean serpent then Hestia came—this was number three!”

Django looked skyward. “Why do I feel like this is going to be a running joke?”

Chaewon, still in his arms, muttered, “Because the gods hate us.”

Wonyoung gave them both a lazy salute. “Well, Hecate wants us moving in twenty minutes. And I told Charlie I’d braid her hair. Again.”

She disappeared back into the trees.

Chaewon sighed into Django’s chest. “You owe me that third kiss. Properly. No interruptions.”

Django grinned, lowering his mouth to her ear. “I’ll give you a fourth just to make sure.”

Chaewon blushed. But she still muttered, “I’m holding you to that.”

After a flurry of chaotic packing, Django waved his hand and tore open another glowing portal.

“Gods, having a wizard makes everything so much easier,” Percy sighed happily, stepping through.

Annabeth followed, brushing dust off her jeans. “Seriously, not having to worry about monster attacks or breaking down on a flying horse? Ten out of ten.”

“Would portal again,” Charlie muttered dryly.

They emerged onto the edge of the Umbra Farms—a wide, sunless stretch of cursed farmland beneath a sky smeared in gray and rust-colored clouds. Black-stemmed plants twitched unnaturally in the breeze. A foul mist clung low to the soil.

A wiry, sharp-eyed Umbra witch in layered ash-colored robes stood near the entrance, stirring a cauldron with a staff made of bone and ironwood. As they approached, she stopped stirring and stared directly at Django.

She squinted, unimpressed. “What do you want, boy?”

Django opened his mouth to speak—and then something strange sparked in his throat. His eyes glazed slightly.

“Honestly?” he said, far too casually, “I just wanna bounce my girlfriend on my cock until she can’t walk—but right now, I’m on a job for Hestia and Hecate. I need venom. The most dangerous snake you’ve got.”

There was a pause—dead, stunned silence.

Charlie’s jaw dropped. Annabeth blinked rapidly. Wonyoung turned slowly to Chaewon like is this normal?! Percy collapsed against a fence post, wheezing with laughter.

Chaewon’s face turned the color of a blood moon. “Django!” she hissed.

Django blinked like he’d just returned from a trance. “What? What did I say?”

The Umbra witch grinned wickedly, stirring her cauldron again. “Honesty spell. I like you already.”

“Do you have coin?” she asked, tilting her head.

Still recovering, Django fished out three golden drachma from his pouch. The witch inspected the coins, bit one, and seemed satisfied.

“You may enter,” she said, then pointed a bony finger at the others. “Only the son of Brigid. I don’t trust the rest of you sunshine-scented mortals.”

Annabeth held up her hands. “Fine by me. I’ve had enough snake-hunting for a lifetime.”

Wonyoung gave Django a big thumbs-up. “Try not to say anything else… deeply specific, okay?”

Chaewon covered her face with one hand. “He’s going to need a leash.”

“Or a gag spell,” Charlie muttered.

As Django passed through the arched threshold into the fog-drenched farm, he heard Midna’s voice hum in his mind:

“For the record, I liked it. Honest Django is hilarious.”

As Django stepped back through the dark-curtained gate to the outer grounds, his hair slightly mussed and his clothes dusty with chalky soil, the rest of the group turned toward him in unison.

“What took you so long?” Percy asked, arms crossed, brow raised in mock frustration.

Charlie gave him a sideways look. “We were about to send a search party. With snacks.”

Annabeth squinted suspiciously. “You weren’t interrogated by a talking snake, were you?”

Django just blinked slowly and said, “…Yes.”

Midna, still glowing faintly with residual magic as she rejoined him, sighed with amused fondness. “This place is basically paradise for him, cut him some slack.”

“He made a storm bird friend, he got the venom by himself and gave me an upgrade,” she added, as if that explained everything (which, to be fair, it sort of did).

Wonyoung was about to ask what a storm bird even was when one of the older Umbra witches approached Django, sizing him up with a discerning, mildly impressed glance.

“You’re not bad,” she said. “Bit weird, but in a useful way. You’re clearly wasted on the gods. Ever think about long-term work?”

Django blinked. “At a monster farm?”

“We’ve got another site up north near the Draugroot Glades. Bigger. More wild breeds. The kinds of things you don’t learn about in books, even yours.”

She handed him a bone-carved business card with an animated serpent coiled around the border. Django took it reverently.

Midna leaned in. “If you take that job, I’m going too. That snake was so nice.”

“Do not tempt me,” Django muttered, though he was clearly tempted.

As the group started toward the exit portal, Chaewon linked arms with him and whispered, “Next time I find you disappearing into a monster zoo, I will seduce you in front of a talking bird just to get your attention.”

Django grinned. “That bird said I was rare.”

“You are rare. Rare and deeply strange.” Chaewon teased before saying “but I love it though,”

The portal to the rec center opened with a familiar ripple of twilight-blue magic, depositing the group just outside the wards.

Hestia and Hecate were already waiting.

Django barely stepped through before Hecate snatched the vials from his hand with a knowing smirk. “About time,” she said, inspecting the shimmering venom.

“We had to barter with an Umbra witch,” Django muttered. “And then have a heartfelt discussion with a monster snake philosopher, so you’re welcome.”

Hestia smiled warmly and said, “Thank you, Django. This will help more than you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, already turning. “I’m calling it.”

Before anyone could respond, Django walked over to Chaewon, scooped her up bridal-style with a smoothness that made her squeak in surprise, and turned to the others.

“I’m going home,” he declared flatly. “I’m taking her with me.”

A beat of stunned silence — then a wave of laughter broke out. Wonyoung cackled, Charlie muttered something about “simp energy,” and even Annabeth cracked a smile. Midna (in her Chaewon form) gave Django a fond look and simply said, “About time.”

Chaewon, still in his arms, rolled her eyes but wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder with a grin. “Guess I’m being kidnapped,” she teased.

“You love it,” Django replied, and without further ceremony, he stepped through a smaller portal that shimmered behind them and vanished.

At Django’s place…

It was quiet. The kind of warm, lived-in quiet that settled into the bones after a long day.

Django tossed his keys onto a small bowl by the door, carefully setting Chaewon down. She toed off her boots as he shuffled into the kitchen to heat up leftovers. He reheated some dumplings and sweet soy pork while Chaewon flopped dramatically onto his couch, face-first into one of his worn hoodies.

Dinner was eaten in comfortable silence, bodies pressed close under a shared blanket, Midna humming softly in the corner as a guitar leaned forgotten nearby.

By the time the food was gone, Django was already half-dozing, head tipped back on the couch. Chaewon curled into his side, nuzzling his shoulder as she pulled the blanket tighter.

No spells. No monsters. No gods.

Just warmth, food, and quiet.

Home.

The next morning in a haze of lust Chaewon began kissing Django rousing him awake. She groaned as she grinned on his crotch,

“Babe I need you inside me right now or else,”

Django obliged as the two stripped each other and he slides inside her. Chaewon moaned as she started riding Django,

“Fuck so deep,” she said as she bounced on his cock.

Django grabbed Chaewon’s ass with one hand and her tits with the other he felt something click deep within him something that clicked with Chaewon.

Chaewon turned to Django with a sultry look usually reserved for her stages and said, “I’m yours in this life and the next,” Django groaned as he responded.

“And every life after,” they sealed their bond with a kiss as they came together.

The night had cooled, the city beyond Django’s apartment humming low like a lullaby. In the soft glow of the living room — lit only by the warm kitchen light and the faint twinkling of enchanted runes along the bookshelf — Chaewon straddled Django’s lap on the couch, arms looped loosely around his neck, her forehead resting against his.

“You know,” she murmured, voice playful but grounded, “ I don't think that zoo job offer wasn’t a joke.”

Django groaned softly, eyes closing. “Chaewon—”

“No, hear me out,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You lit up there, Jang. Like, glowed. It’s the most alive I’ve seen you outside a battlefield… or bed.” Her smirk curved against his skin. “You were in your element. The creatures respected you. The witches offered you a business card. That place? It made sense to you.”

He let his hands drift along her waist, silent for a moment. Then, with a sheepish exhale: “It’s hard. I’m not used to the idea that something so… sensible could still be me.”

Chaewon leaned back to meet his eyes. “That’s the point, love. You deserve a place where you don’t have to bleed to matter. You could build something. Learn. Teach.”

Their lips met — soft at first, then deeper — a kiss filled with promise, possibility, and the quiet burn of two gods trying to live small for once.

They were leaning into their third kiss of the night when—

Knock knock knock.

Both of them groaned in perfect tandem.

“I refuse,” Django muttered, not moving. “I’m off duty. Let the world burn.”

Chaewon laughed and slid off his lap. “If it’s pizza, you’ll owe me your soul.”

She padded barefoot to the door and pulled it open.

It wasn’t pizza.

It was Hestia. In mortal form — cardigan, sandals, kind eyes that always looked like they knew too much. And beside her stood a young girl with sharp, cutting presence: short black hair, bright wary eyes, and a backpack clutched tight to her chest like a shield.

Django blinked. “Oh. That’s definitely not pizza.”

Hestia offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt your… evening.”

Chaewon cocked an eyebrow. “Is this about the venom already?”

“No,” Hestia replied. She stepped aside gently, nudging the girl forward. “This is Hanni. Daughter of Zeus.”

Django studied the girl for a moment — the lightning tension in her shoulders, the stormy defiance in her gaze — and then nodded slowly. “Huh. That actually makes perfect sense.”

Hanni gave a half-bow. “Hi,” she said, voice clipped but not unfriendly. Just tired.

“She’s powerful. Scary powerful,” Hestia explained. “But she’s being mishandled. There’s rage in her, coiling tighter every day. And I’ve seen what happens when daughters of thunder aren’t given care. She’s fighting her friends. Fighting her label. Her fame. Everything.”

“And you want us to babysit?” Django asked, even as he instinctively stepped closer, eyes softening.

“I want you to mentor her,” Hestia corrected. “You two live in the gray. You love like mortals, but burn like gods. She needs that. She needs you.”

Chaewon glanced from Hanni to Django, then fixed Hestia with a dry look. “You’re aware of our relationship, right?” she whispered.

“I am,” Hestia said, nodding solemnly — then added with a tiny smile, “She’s very sorry.”

Hanni gave a sheepish nod, clutching her backpack tighter.

“She’s cute,” Chaewon said under her breath. “Like if a thunderstorm was shy.”

“I’m not shy,” Hanni muttered, but her ears turned pink.

Chaewon laughed and opened the door wider. “Come in, Lightning Bug.”

Django sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “So much for date night.”

Hestia gave him a radiant smile, then winked. “You can still kiss later. Just maybe… not in front of the kid.”

Hanni glared at her.

Hestia beamed. “You are a child, relative to me.”

And with that, she vanished in a ripple of hearthlight.

Django turned to Chaewon, deadpan. “You jinxed it with the job talk.”

Chaewon grinned, locking the door behind them. “Yeah, but we got a new little lightning bolt out of it.”

Hanni made a face. “Please don’t call me that.”

She glanced around. “Where can I put my stuff?”

“Guest room’s down the hall,” Django said, leading her gently. Midna, now hovering as a spectral Chaewon with glowing eyes, trailed after them.

As Hanni disappeared into the room and closed the door behind her with a firm click, Chaewon turned to Django, her brow furrowed.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Midna asked, voice low.

Django took a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “Hanni’s in a K-pop group. New Jeans.”

Midna blinked. “Oh hell.”

“Yeah,” Django muttered. “New Jeans was managed by a… let’s say ‘complicated’ person. Hybe — the company that owns your label too — fired her to save face. The girls weren’t having it. They fought back. Ugly court case. No one really won. And now? New Jeans is shelved. Stuck. They’re not allowed to release, perform, anything.”

Chaewon exhaled, lips tightening. “And she’s a daughter of Zeus going through that?”

Django nodded. “Yeah. I’d be pissed too.”

They both looked down the hallway.

“Well,” Midna said after a beat. “She’s part of the family now.”

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #le sserafim smut #chaewon x oc #pjo fanfic #pjo #percy jackson fanfiction

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noddytheornithopod · 1 month ago

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ALRIGHT PEEPOS

TIME TO NERD OUT OVER THIS NEW PREVIEW

We got credits on the cut up instagram version: Directed by Amber Tornquist Hollinger, who was a director on Hamster and Gretel

Written by Scott Peterson, makes sense the head writer will do the first ep

Brandi Young is producer, she's been this for Hamster and Gretel and Candace Against the Universe.

Bryan L. Francis and Sang Young Ha did the storyboards.

First... the kids are in middle school! They're growing up!!!!

This actually ties into Isabella saying she looks forward to junior high in Cranius Maximus, so neat detail if intentional. Though Doof 101 implies that they go to elementary school, though as the PnF wiki says when it catalogues this continuity hiccup, maybe they were just visiting the old school to give them neat stuff. :P Also a different school to the one in Milo Murphy's Law.

Sorry to let the Phinabella brainrot take hold, but... LOOK AT HER. SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE COULD LISTEN TO HIM ALL DAY!!!!

...okay, got that out of my system. Baljeet also taking notes, no surprise there.

"We saved the world... again!" Make that all of time and space. But yeah, you seem to end up doing that a lot, huh?

Phineas and Ferb broke up their report over what they did over Summer over the entire freaking school year. Honestly they probably didn't even need to do this given EVERYONE would know what they were up to, but hey, commitment to the bit.

HEY THIS WASN'T YOU

Did Baljeet always look this weird facing forward?

They recoloured some of the extras, do the old ones still exist or are they now the guys lol

Even the teacher is dancing to Phineas singing!

Django's spotted! Also, no glasses Irving shot, lol.

Wait did her hair always go pointy at the end or is this a new animation thing

u ok jeet

HMMMMMM

More forward facing weirdness

"Venomous insectoid robot duty for the last 9 months." Well guess we know Perry's main job in that time, besides all the other times he got tangled up with Doof. :P

I can tell Maulik finds it harder to do the Baljeet voice now, gonna take some getting used to.

Love that Candace is able to get them to build all of the ideas they suggest, like just as an offhand suggestion hoping Phineas will take it, which he does. She made a good play here, she knows that Phineas is good natured and assumes the best like that. Way better manipulative behaviour than whatever was tried in Suddenly Suzy. :v Can't wait to see how EVERYTHING disappears, cuz that was a LOT of ideas.

Also, we got an article from Variety listing some neat stuff! Stuff that sticks out to me.

“In fact, we have one of the new writers who actually knows more about what was on which show when. We used to go to the wiki fan site. Now it’s just easier to ask him.” I WANNA KNOW WHICH WRITER THIS, WHO ARE THEY, WHO IS THIS GOAT???

"for the first few episodes of the revival, it’s been tweaked to say, “there’s another 104 days of summer vacation.” (Povenmire and Marsh say that’s only for the first few episodes, before they revert to the original lyric.)" Heh, neat. I guess the title sequence is gonna be mostly the same then if so? Guess we'll see.

"an episode where a large, inanimate object has what they promise is a “very meaningful storyline,” including a song by Michael Bublé." Huh.

"Meap (as voiced by John Stamos) will return in the long-awaited “Meap Me in St. Louis.”" So new Meap VA. RIP Lorenzo Lamas.

"Dr. Shamai". Hmm, is that the psychologist in Deconstructing Doof?

"Receptionist" Could be Deconstructing Doof or Chip to the Vet, or something else entirely.

"Alan Cumming as “The Haberdasher”" I KNEW IT

"Alliance Commander" "Lieutenant Zarna" No idea what these are, is this the Space Adventure episode, or a Meap Me in St Louis thing, or something else? "Lomond" by Rhys Darby also sounds kinda alien/spacey.

"Samantha Sweetwater" Relative of Adyson's?

"Vending Machine Prime" VENDING MACHINES WILL BECOME THE DOMINANT RACE

So uh yeah, all pretty neat

#phineas and ferb #pnf spoilers

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radiumjuice · 28 days ago

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i need to know your favorite movies !! as an avid lurker of your art i’d love to know where you get your inspiration from (also i’d love to suggest films and other stuff as well, unfortunately i’m too shy to do so TT)

I'D TOTALLY TAKE SUGGESTIONS PLEASE DON'T BE SHY

my favorite movie of all time is inglourious basterds which I'm afraid is fairly obvious (oops)

but i also love

rushmore

miss peregrine's home for peculiar children

jojo rabbit

song of the sea

pacific rim

django: unchained

kubo and the two strings

once upon a time in hollywood

the iron giant

scott pilgrim vs. the world

i'm not exactly a film connoisseur but i am SAT for these.

#radium rambling

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stujet9rainshine-blog · 1 month ago

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I gotta say. My TigerGhost West Side Story au is slowly becoming what West Side Story is to Romeo and Juliet. Same story, but also vastly different.

Like? It's.... Become this really complex mafia/cartel au in the 1970s and I'm not even sure what to call it at this point. Like I went off the mother fucking rails. So I feel the need to post an updated info dump lol

Setting: San Diego, CA/Miracle City, MX (Miracle City is a stand in for the real life city it's based on of Tijuana) in 1971. Most of the Story is on the San Diego side.

Basic Plot: Danny is the adopted son of Vlad Masters, an old money leader of a Mafia like group called the Jets. Danny (25) is being groomed to take over the Masters' estate, both in crime and legitimate business. He's called either Vlad's Lap Dog or Attack Dog by most other people in the crime world.

Manny is the Grandson of Jorge Rivera, the head of the Cartel/Gang of the Sharks. He's very old (97!) and leads with his right hand woman Sartana. Django is Sartana's grandson and Manny's right hand man.

Manny (24) and Django do most of the day to day running of the Sharks but most major decisions are still made by Jorge and Sartana.

Manny and Danny know each other from a distance, because there is an extremely hard rivalry between the Jets and the Sharks that is a few generations deep. But Danny was off the map for a little while (the year in jail from a job gone wrong that Vlad let him rot for a year before he used his power and money to get him out).

But they end up talking at a Mixer that is hosted in response to the active Chicano Movement. Showing that there is a growing interracial harmony. The Mayor hosting is absolutely owned by Vlad and the Jets. Danny goes being ordered to dance with a jet girl, Zoe Avez (Django's fiance).

Manny is like. That Jet Lap Dog looked like he'd rather die than dance with Zoe. And is like. I'm going to learn more about that güero.

Then they both immediately clock the other as another closeted gay guy. And Manny is like. "Oh, the heir to my rival is a repressed, gay white boy. I'm going to absolutely press on this like a bruise."

And it turns into a messy accidentally falling in love. And it's messy and kind of delicious. And it's a mess of betrayal, forbidden love, and dealing with repression, abuse, and recovery.

I've titled it, "Not a Person, Not Really"

#nicktoons unite #nicktoons #el tigre #el tigre the adventures of manny rivera #manny rivera #danny phantom #tigerghost #rambles #danny fenton #west side story au #gangster au #cartel au #Django of the dead #zoe aves

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sanjoongie · 8 months ago

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𝚂𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝙾𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚠

👢#CallMeDjango Collab with @mingsolo @daemour {Welcome to the Outlaw} & @flurrys-creativity

👢Pairing: Vampire! Outlaw! Yeosang x Bounty/Vampire Hunter! Reader (f)

👢Genre: smut, slight angst (happy ending)

👢Trope: monster/slayer romance, e2l

👢au: western au, vampire au, vampire hunter au, historical au

👢Warnings: mentions of blood, death, biting, all things vampire related

👢Kinks: flirty fighting, shaving is sexy, fang kink, sloppy head (m), blood play, penetrative sex with no barrier

👢Word Count: 5,472 (i apologize for the long word count, i got caught up in the world)

👢Summary: when a particular outlaw draws you to a town on the edge of civilization, you find yourself spiraling into the allure of a vampires wiles

👢Author's Note: we are not commenting on the fact that I swore off cowboy!teez and yet, here we are again. Title and concept inspired by Django lyrics of course~

You step off the steps of the hissing train, ignoring the ticketman’s aid down. Habitually, you checked your duel pistols, but they were still snug in their holsters. You had traveled here to hunt down a bounty. Sunset Outlaw, a new name on the list of outlaws, but still one that was dangerous.

The town was bustling despite its existence at the edge of civilization. You pursed your lips in thought and moved down the line of the train to retrieve your horse. Once you had your gloved hands tight around Twilight’s reins and you mounted up, you made your way down the main drag. You noted that it was a busy enough town for its own saloon, bank, and even inn. You tied Twilight at the water trough and then made your way inside.

“Can I have a room?” You inquired to the innkeeper.

She eyed you up and down. The look on her face said that she knew you were trouble but didn’t give a shit--as long as the trouble didn’t happen in her inn. “It’s a dollar for the night. Twenty-five cents more if you want hot water, but you have to go to the pump yourself to get it.”

The ‘lobby’, if you could call it that, had a few scattered chairs where the other guests were lounging. Your sense that told you more trouble was housed here went off. “I’m a bounty hunter,” you supplied. You ruffled around in your saddle bags until you found the poster you wanted. “Have you seen this outlaw? Kim Hongjoong? Miss…?”

“The townspeople call me Bluejay,” the innkeeper insisted. She casted a perfunctory look at your wanted poster but shrugged her shoulders. “Never heard of him. Sign here, and I’ll give you the key to your room.”

You signed ‘Red Hawk’ and plucked the key after placing down your money in rumbled bills. Just as the Bluejay opened her mouth, you interrupted her. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. Call that a downpayment on my room.”

“Be my guest,” she replied with amusement.

Red Hawk was your moniker as a bounty hunter. When you were young, the man you loved was killed by a bandit right before your eyes. You had wept over his dead body. As a consequence, your hair had been dyed red by the blood of my dead love. After you dried your tears, you hunted down that bandit and killed him yourself, with your dead lover’s guns. That’s when you officially became Red Hawk.

After settling your affairs at the inn, you went straight to the bank. That was the last known location of the Sunset Outlaw. You interviewed the few witnesses that there were, more notably, the main banker. Choi San had a large body for such a small countenance. He flinched when you flashed your badge at him, and he stammered through his encounter.

“He t-took everything. He had a g-g-gun but he never shot it or anyone. Although he did…” San chewed on his bottom lip anxiously, looking down at the floor.

“I need all the information I can get, Mister Choi. In order to catch him,” You prodded him.

San nodded his head, but it seemed like a motion he was going through, not that he actually understood you.

You sighed and closed your notebook. “Even if it sounds weird. You never know what kind of clue will help me,” you encouraged him.

San’s eyes met yours, but they were shaky at best. “We had one client at that time that was depositing some money. A lot of money, so he demanded we open the bank for him during the night, when no one else was around. He just finished a deal with a farmer. Bought the land while the farmer was recovering from his family being murdered. He wanted out quickly. The outlaw seemed to imply that our client had sent the bandits that murdered the farmer’s family. Then--” San’s pupils blew, and you tried not to sigh again. You got this a lot in your line of work. Well, your other line of work.

San breathed in deeply, as if he were gathering up his courage to speak. “Then, the outlaw grabbed the client intimately, and he bit him!”

You cursed. “Did you bury him here in the town’s graveyard?”

San’s eyes were wide with fear. “No. The outlaw took the body with him. It was the oddest experience I’ve ever had.”

You patted San on his somewhat broad shoulder. “I hope you never have to experience it ever again.”

Your bounty hunter career was actually a cover for your true calling: vampire hunter. When your family migrated over from Europe, it had been the family business. When it wasn’t just humans that moved over to the Americas, it seemed that your family would need to continue with their work.

In the next couple of days, you continued to gather intel. Just one fanciful encounter from a scared banker wasn’t enough to condemn a man. Except the more you learned about this supposed outlaw, the more you were starting to get some grudging respect for him.

The Sunset Outlaw was a modern-day Robin Hood. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor. There were at least a couple more instances of the outlaw robbing a train cart of government gold, only for it to wind up under the beds of failing businesses in the county. A recently widowed mother found a herd of cattle on her land after a group of bandits were horribly murdered in the middle of the night. The list went on, but no innocent lives were taken. The outlaw just happened to be pissing off the wrong people in power.

You were, however, not getting a clue of where the vampire was holding up. No one could see what the outlaw looked like because he wore a bandana over his face whenever his crimes occurred. Even San said that the outlaw's face was obscured by the man’s neck he had been biting. You were starting to think this hunt was going to end in a dead end for you.

You sat in the local saloon after a long day of investigating. You nursed watery beer, not in the mood to spend more money on something harder. You were going to have to stay here until the outlaw committed another crime, hoping to be able to catch him in the act.

One of the whores that worked in the saloon sighed heavily, causing the one beside her to flutter her fan. “Do you think Mister Kang will come tonight? He sure is a sight for sore eyes.”

“He is the most beautiful man I have ever had the delight of laying eyes on,” the other whore agreed.

You were about to zone out from the conversation when something the first whore said peaked your interest. “Odd for him to only come out when the sun set though, hmmm?”

The fan fluttered and then snapped shut by the second whore. “I know plenty of men like him, hun, it’s not so odd.”

The first whore was clearly newer than the second one, so she persisted. “But even the man at the general store insists he only sees him at night too. He makes a special exception for Yeosang. He buys more food than one person could need. I wonder if he’s supporting a family at home.”

“If he is, that means he’s cheating on his poor wife with us,” the second one reminds the first.

That began your digging into this Kang Yeosang. The locals said he had recently purchased a plot of land that was far from town. He didn’t come in often, and when he did, it was always after the sun had set. Which, for a majority of the settlers that woke and slept with the sun rise, was considered quite odd.

“Must be old money,” the general store owner mused out loud. “One of those first settler families from New York. He dresses well, that’s for sure. Never a speck of dust on that man’s clothes.”

“Pays his tab,” the bartender informed you at the saloon. “Even if he drudges up a tab while buying the whole room a round, he always pays up the next time he’s in.”

“I’ve never seen a man so pale,” An elderly lady told you when you stopped her in the middle of the road during a stroll. The sun was so strong for her that she held a parasol above her. Ironic, considering her take on Mister Kang, but even so.

You were beginning to think that you needed to set up a meeting with this Kang Yeosang. And that perhaps it might lead you to the Sunset Outlaw.

After acquiring some less than solid directions from the general store owner, you took Twilight into the dusty beyond. Even though you left fairly early, the townspeople were not joking that Yeosang lived far from the settlement. Around midday, you stopped at a farmer’s plot of land to beg for some water for your horse.

The farmer was handsome and called his wife ‘sparrow’ which would have been sweet if you didn’t find the domesticity of it exhausting. You had never known a life like that, so it simply did not appeal to you. But the couple seemed happily in love. The wife even delivered you a cup of coffee, laughing when you pulled a face at the bitter brew. You thanked them for their generosity and moved on.

The long hours in the saddle were starting to get to you, so you pulled out your pile of outlaw wanted posters. You had a sneaky suspicion that the innkeeper had been lying about knowing the outlaw Kim Hongjoong, but that was a problem for another day. You were contemplating where you would move on next if you happened to take out the Sunset Outlaw. There was one known simply as ‘little eagle’. She had a similar background to the Sunset Outlaw, it seemed. Helping out some natives from keeping their land didn’t sound like a crime to you, but it sure did from the people she had stolen the deeds from.

You were about to turn around and set up camp for the evening at a copse of trees that grew next to a boulder when at last a house came in sight for you. “Finally!” you said, pulling your hat off and fanning yourself.

You hopped off your horse and guided Twilight to the fence. Not a lot of people took kindly to you walking on their land. Yeosang had sounded like a gentleman, but you weren’t one to take someone at face value, although everyone had painted him as beautiful beyond comparison. Most people also use the same descriptors for vampires.

The sun was still up, but it seemed to be setting. Not a great time to come accusing someone of being a vampire IF they were a vampire, but you had no choice. You did, however, have your crossbow strapped to your back and your quiver at your hip, along with a few recently sharpened steaks, and that would have to do. And if it turned out Yeosang wasn’t a vampire, hopefully, you wouldn’t have to use your pistols on him.

“What's a delicious bounty hunter like yourself doing so far out of town, Red?”

You narrowed your eyes at the front porch of the homestead. The sun was low, and it cast a long shadow over the covered outcrop. “Apparently introductions are not in order,” you drawled.

“Why, of course I’ve familiarized myself with the new face in town,” Yeosang said charmingly. “Especially since such a pretty face has been asking all about little ol’ me.”

You chuckled mirthlessly. “That’s a mighty fine compliment coming from a man they describe as a perfect statue.”

“But my real question is why is a bounty hunter interested in someone of my high standing? Why, I’ve never even stolen as a child. I pay my tabs on time. I even buy a round of beer in the saloon when I’m feeling good. I’m an outstanding citizen, if I do say so myself.”

“Then you would know that I’ve been asking everyone in town about the Sunset Outlaw as well. I figured since you were new in these parts, you would offer a different perspective.” You stared right into the eyes of the devil himself. Now, would he take the bait?

“Since you rode all the way out here and the sun is setting, I would be remiss to send you back out. You should stay, have supper with me and I can answer all your questions.”

You hummed and opened the padlock to the fenced area. “Don’t mind if I do, Mister Kang. That’s very nice of you.”

The inside was as normal as one would expect. It was decorated with taste, and there were a few pieces, including the grand piano, that would have cost a pretty penny. Now, an outlaw might be so inclined to spend his money that way. Or a vampire that had already lived a few centuries might have brought it over, still attached to their material possessions from their human life.

“So, Mister Kang, what brings you to this bustling little town at the edge of civilization?” You wondered, putting down your crossbow and leaning it up against the coathanger.

Now that you were inside and Yeosang out of the shade, you could truly be struck by the beauty of the man. The provincial townspeople had not been telling tall tales about the new man in town. His nose, his jawline, his almond shaped eyes, everything supported how gorgeous he was. His face contrasted with his larger figure, but you figured the body was to dissuade others from picking a fight with him. Although most vampires preferred to appear helpless, which lured in their prey, this vampire seemingly played by a different set of rules.

“Please, call me Yeosang,” the mysterious man insisted.

“Why, that’s awfully informal of you,” You said, meeting his eyes.

The brunette cocked his head flirtatiously. “I do enjoy a lady calling me by my name in my house.”

You snorted under your breath. “I am far from a lady.”

Yeosang eyes traveled over your shirt and vest, dipping into every curve and valley. His eyes seemed to light up as they flowed over your tight pants. “So I see. We’ll have to fix that.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

Yeosang rubbed his chin. “I don’t have a lot of visitors, and as you have learned from the townsfolk, I don’t go into town that much. I would be much obliged if you would help me shave before supper? So I can appear as gentlemanly as one can assume to be in a desolate landscape that we live in. I have a dress upstairs for you to change into. Wouldn’t it be nice to pretend in an uncivilized place such as this?”

“I can help you with your shaving.” You jumped on the opportunity to have Yeosang at your fingertips.

“How lovely,” Yeosang replied. His eyes held a dark light that belied something mysterious. Then again, vampires did love their mystery.

The mysterious man who invited you into his house gave you a brief tour, which included lingering near his bedroom when he announced whose room it was. Then he brought you back to the main floor, to the dining room.

Yeosang had set up a bowl with hot water, and the soap was in a tin with the appropriate brush. He handed you a towel before taking a seat at his dining room table. He had already tucked a towel into his shirt to protect it. “I do appreciate you doing me this favor,” He smiled serenely.

“Call it payback for supplying me with dinner,” You replied coyly.

Yeosang tipped back his head, and you took that as your cue to begin. You lathered up the soap and took the brush, using broad strokes to apply it liberally on his face and neck. You firmly grasped his head to hold it in place

“I don’t suppose you’ve been around when the Sunset Outlaw has been committing his crimes?” You asked your first question. One stroke of the brush up his neck had you admiring the sharpness of his jaw.

Yeosang rolled his eyes up to regard you. “No, I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“But you have heard the town gossip,” You pursued.

“Of course. The townsfolk appear to adore this Sunset Outlaw. He does help them where no one would,” Yeosang offered.

Yeosang was finally completely covered in soap, so you procured the razor from the table. Yeosang wasn’t going to be able to talk during this period as any movement might cause you to cut him, so you took your chance to seemingly gab about what you had learned.

“I will tell you something interesting I garnered from all his stories, however,” you began. The razor glided along Yeosang’s skin easily, and you knew it had nothing to do with how good the soap was. “For some odd reason, the Sunset Outlaw, living up to his name, never does his good deeds while the sun is up. It’s almost like he’s allergic to the sun! Funny, right? But I do find it interesting.”

You paused to wipe the razor of the soap that had run up the blade while you shaved Yeosang, and he took the moment to speak up.

“That is interesting,” He said, his eyes sparkling with interest. “It’s almost like you’ve come to some conclusions yourself.”

You leaned in as if you had a secret just for his ears. “My family is from Europe, you see. So these accounts sound very familiar to me. There are myths of men drinking blood from other men.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened. “A vampire?”

You narrowed your eyes at Yeosang. He was a good little actor. “Heard of them, have you?”

Yeosang’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “I’ve been known to crack open a book from time to time.”

“You two have a lot in common,” you drawled.

Yeosang laughed, and it rang disingenuously throughout the dining room. “Me? An outlaw? My genteel upbringing surely doesn’t call for it.”

“Why am I here, Yeosang?!”

Yeosang chuckled dryly in the back of his throat. “Why, you're helping me shave right now?”

Your hand tightened on Yeosang’s forehead and the razor at his neck. “I don't feel one grain of a stubble under this soap, Partner, so, try again.”

“You're not like the rest of them, are you?” Yeosang drawled, a crooked smirk pulling one corner of his lips.

“No, I don't suppose I am,” you agreed. You continued to shave Yeosang, but it was more threatening now. “But neither are you, are you, Yeosang?”

“Whatever do you mean, Red?” Yeosang faked ignorance.

“Well, none of the townsfolk have seen you while the sun is up, for one thing,” you pointed out.

“I just like staying up until the sun rises,” Yeosang said, a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“And the box your bed is on?” You pointed out.

“Why, I like sleeping raised off the floor, just like everyone else,” Yeosang offered.

You tucked the razor into your pocket after cleaning it and then folding it in half. You took the towel over your shoulder and then began to use it to touch your neck. You pulled aside your hair. “Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?” You murmured.

Something poked against his lower lip and his tongue came out to play along the top line of his teeth. His light eyes took on an almost predatory gaze. “I don't feel the heat like I used to.”

“And the unnatural white skin and long fangs?” You said in a deadly tone.

“Oh no, Hawk, it seems you've triggered the animalistic side to me,” Yeosang purred. “That, I'm sorry to say, is simply encouraged by your alluring scent. You smell like you would taste divine.”

“If my blood smells that good, why don't you bite me?” You prompted.

“Because that would be bad manners, darlin’.”

“Don't you darlin’ me, Mister Vampire,” You finally accused.

“What will you do?” Yeosang wondered. “Your crossbow is propped up at the front door. That razor isn't going to do a lot, but piss me off. Unless you've got something else tucked into that tight little getup of yours. I really wish you'd wash up and put on the dress I laid out for you. Darlin'.”

“I’m done with you toying with me, Yeosang. I'm putting this game to an end,” you declared.

“How quaint. Do you really think you’ll kill me before I can kill you?” Yeosang questioned.

One minute, Yeosang was sitting in the chair, and the next he was behind you. His hold on your head to pull it back mimicked the way you had been holding him as you shaved him. You shuddered as his fangs scraped against your skin. You could feel his cool breath on your neck.

“I believe this is check,” Yeosang snarled, making a chess reference. Educated fucker.

“Is it?” You said through gritted teeth.

You had also pulled the stake that you kept strapped to your upper arm, pulling it stealthily from your folded up sleeves. It was now pointing at Yeosang’s heart. “Let's test your earlier question. It can’t hurt, right?”

Yeosang sighed, his breath causing you to acquire goosebumps all along your skin. “I don’t want to kill you, but it seems you are most determined to kill me.”

“You are a vampire; a monster. An aberration from the evolutionary line of humans. You need to be eliminated before you kill more humans.” You shivered, but it wasn't because of fear.

“But I’m only killing the bad ones!” Yeosang insisted, frustration coating his tone. “Didn’t you discover that during your investigation?”

“It doesn’t matter what your reasoning is!” You yelled. It felt good to yell; to battle against rolling your hips back against his body.

“Surely it does, though? Outlaws can’t go around and kill innocent people because that’s against the law. But you’re allowed to kill outlaws. You protect the good humans from the bad. You KILL the bad humans to protect the good ones. Aren’t I doing the same?”

You froze, Yeosang’s words, causing your world to come crashing down. “You’re wrong,” you spat even though you were lying through your teeth.

“I’m right,” Yeosang insisted. “Only, you can’t handle that.” The vampire's grip tightened, the firmness of his body suddenly tighter against you. Your stake pressed into his flesh. “You can't handle any of me.”

Your pulse stuttered and your pussy throbbed. “What are you doing to me?”

Yeosang’s lips brushed against your sensitive skin as he spoke. “What am I doing to you?”

“Stop that.” You had meant that as a command, but it came out as a whine.

Yeosang peeked down your body and his deep chuckle set your libido on fire. “I can see how hard your nipples are from here, Darlin’.”

There was nothing worse than having a sexual reaction to your mortal enemy. “Let me go before I stab you.”

“I can't let you go. I'm awfully hungry,” Yeosang purred. “I might have to be balls deep in you while I drink from your breast.”

Excitement flared through your body and you cursed at it betraying you. “You wouldn't dare.”

“I would dare, the way your body is screaming for me to do all the debased things I don't dare do with the whores in town.”

Somehow, in your pursuit of triggering Yeosang to bite you and put the final nail in his coffin, so to speak, you had passed over the fence that separated hatred into lust. You desperately wanted what Yeosang was offering. You would be at your most vulnerable if you allowed it to happen, but perhaps it would give you the chance you needed to finish this battle. You had to at least try; Yeosang was a hard nut to crack.

You let your body melt into Yeosang’s hold, letting the arm that you held your stake to Yeosang’s heart fall to your side. “Am I a bad human then? Will you kill me?”

Yeosang let go of his hold on your head and turned you around. “Haven’t you been listening? You and me? We are the same. Our character is morally grey; doing bad things for the good of the world.”

Your throat tightened. Hadn't you been grappling with the same question since you began to kill? Vampire or human, you had wondered if you were becoming one of them; one of the monsters.

Yeosang tipped your chin to meet his eyes. You immediately avoided direct eye contact. As a vampire hunter, you knew never to look him directly in the eyes. He might hypnotize him otherwise. A throaty, knowing chuckle left Yeosang’s pretty lips. “Let me bring you up to my bed. Let me prove to you that people such as us can get along.”

You nodded, and Yeosang threw you over his shoulder. With the speed of a vampire, you were transported to Yeosang’s bedroom. The vampire threw you gently to the bed, and you bounced with the impact.

The vampire watched you with dark eyes as he began to unbutton his shirt and remove it. You followed his lead, removing your vest. When you tried to take off your own shirt, Yeosang was on top of you on the bed, halting your progress.

“Allow me,” He murmured.

His deft fingers undid the buttons, eyes watching as your bosom was revealed, pushed high from your corset. “All rough on the outside, but still a woman under it all,” Yeosang mused out loud.

You felt your cheeks heat up at that statement. “It’s simply for function,” you muttered under your breath.

You helped Yeosang wriggle you out of your pants, and soon you were only in your corset, pantalettes discarded already.

Yeosang knelt between your legs, fangs scraping over the sensitive flesh of your thigh. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed red. “Your scent is tempting. Your blood is beckoning to me.”

You swallowed loudly. How could you be so weak for this vampire? You flipped the two of you so that you were straddling Yeosang instead.

“Focus on the task at hand,” You insisted.

You rubbed the heel of your hand on the imprint of Yeosang’s cock against his tight pants. Yeosang moaned and then his eyes widened. You lowered yourself to undo his belt and take him in your mouth. Men almost always forgot about being lubricated when entering a woman. Yeosang bit down on his forefinger, drawing blood with his fangs, as you gave him sloppy head, in order to prepare his cock for yourself.

His hands shredded the bedding below him before he growled and changed positions again. “Who’s proving what to whom?”

You were both knelt on the bed, Yeosang’s legs inside of your own, and your back to his chest. “Enough games, we both know who’s in charge in this situation.”

You let out a soft cry as Yeosang entered you from behind. Once he was completely sheathed inside of you, one hand slid over the curve of your hip and, the other hand, pulled your hair out of the way.

“Wa-wait,” You stuttered as Yeosang’s hips swivelled and his cock moved in and out of you slowly.

“Oh, I’m not going to bite you immediately,” Yeosang laughed quietly. “But you did shudder for me so deliciously when I did this earlier. I can’t help myself.” Those delicate fangs ran along the slope of your shoulder, and you closed your eyes as you enjoyed the feeling once again.

Yeosang worked himself in and out of you, slowly but surely, nearly driving you insane. He wasn’t like the quick fucks that you were used to. The type where men spilt their seed and you missed your orgasm once again. It was almost like Yeosang was looking for you to attain your high first.

“Yeo…” You moaned his name wantonly.

“Careful, Red,” Yeosang said as he clasped his hand over your mouth. The same hand that was bleeding. He wiped his blood over your lips sensually. “You might appear eager for me.”

Your muffled noises of pleasure randomly escaped Yeosang’s gag. You could feel your pleasure building, and it was only a matter of time before it spilled over. As you moaned with your release, Yeosang bit down on your neck. He pumped himself in and out of you, drinking your blood, and found his own orgasm. He growled against your neck, spilling himself inside of you.

You both collapsed onto the bed in a tired pile, both satiated in one way or another. Facing each other, you both panted as your highs slowly slipped away.

But, as with most men, Yeosang found himself indulging in pillow talk.

“You asked me earlier what I’m doing here on the edge of civilization.” Yeosang brought up in a voice that was deep from having some great, mind-blowing sex.

“It was a rhetorical question,” You mused.

Yeosang dragged a finger along your bare shoulder, playing with some stray hair, the red ends beginning to fade out. “I’d like to answer it, nonetheless.”

You pursed your lips. It was bad enough that you had already started to feel like Yeosang was one of the good guys the way he treated the locals. Even worse, you’d let the very monsters you hunt fuck you. But to listen to his reasons why, surely there was a limit? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Yeosang chuckled low mirthlessly. “Afraid you’ll start seeing me as a human?”

You stiffened as the accusation hit its target. “You are an abomination. You’re like an animal that’s upset the ecosystem. You haven’t been human for a very long time.”

“You’re right.” Yeosang smiled tightly and then it was gone. “But that ties into why I’m here.”

You sat up, pulling the sheet with you to keep you covered. Unfortunately, that took away from the sheet covering Yeosang, and it pooled at his waist scandalously. You swallowed loudly and pointedly looked away. “Trying to make up for lost time?”

“Something like that.” Yeosang smiled slowly. “Like what you see, Darlin’?”

You cleared your throat. “Don’t you have to go to sleep soon? I’m sure the sun will rise eventually.”

Yeosang folded his arms behind his head and shook his head. Unfortunately for you, it only showcased his arms and upper body that much more. “That’s a myth. I never sleep. I simply can not allow the sun to touch my skin.”

“Yeosang.”

“I know. I’ll have to leave. Disappear for a bit until the bounty dies. But I will continue to help people who need it. This place is desolate and it needs some hope.”

You didn’t know what to say, truly. “I hope… I hope I’m not still doing bounty work when it comes up again.”

Yeosang’s light eyes flick over to your hunched body. “What will you tell your family?”

“I’m not sure. If I say I didn’t kill you, someone else will come looking for you, Yeosang.”

“Don’t go back?”

You shook your head. “I can’t do that. There are more vampires out there, killing innocent people. I won’t stop protecting them. It’s my calling.” You rub your hand over your chest, feeling pain in your heart.

“Then…let me come with you.”

Your head whipped backward so fast you gave yourself whiplash. “What?”

Yeosang’s eyes remained on the ceiling above, but you could tell he was holding back hopefulness and bracing for the worst. “What better place to hide from the enemy than with the enemy?” Yeosang’s eyes finally found yours. “Besides, I could help people with you.”

“You’d help me kill your own kind?” You demanded with bewilderment.

“I’d help you,” Yeosang clarified. “I also don’t want innocent people dying for no reason too.”

“You’re awfully dedicated to atoning for your sins,” you mentioned.

Yeosang’s lips tightened. “I have a lot of sins to atone for.” And he left it at that.

You laid back down, using Yeosang’s arm to pillow your head. “I guess I won’t be leaving at sunrise after all.”

And that was the last that was heard of the Sunset Outlaw. Some surmise that he retired after helping out so many people in need. Some believe he never existed in the first place. But other’s swear that the outlaw took up with the likes of a bounty hunter, playing Maid Marian to his Robin Hood. Now wouldn’t that be an interesting story indeed.

#pirateeznet #ateez smut #kang yeosang smut #yeosang smut #atz smut #CallMeDjango #kang yeosang scenario #ateez scenario #ateez fanfic #kang yeosang fanfic #topaz's work #ღatz

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puckish-rogue · 2 days ago

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Okay, so I need to take a moment to actually go off about something regarding SR and my intentions regarding the main canon of this blog. Some of this might be repeated in the intro post for the SR3 revision. But I still want to discuss why I'm so bothered by the way the series (the original one) went, and HOPEFULLY get all my followers to understand why I think the way I do and so on.

A friend of mine had been asking me to share more on my ideas regarding the changes I want to make to the third game because we both love hearing each other go off on our little autistic rambles (we both have the tism). During one of the many points I was trying to make—specifically about how I wanted to utilize the character of Dex better cause the devs really dropped the fuckin' ball with him—I had made some comments regarding Ultor being the scary megacorp with their own internal security team that acts more like a PMC, and how they have corporate espionage going on since a cancelled SR tie-in game was going to involve you playing as an Ultor assassin.

And it was in mentioning the shit with Ultor that I had to pause for a moment and really consider just why the fuck they went in the direction they did. Look, I can speculate all I want. And realistically speaking I know there are several factors as to why they leaned so heavily into absurd bullshit and comedy. But oh my fucking god does it just BAFFLE ME that any of this was an option to begin with.

I mean, think about it for a moment here; you set up a world where the criminal underworld seems to be a major factor in pretty much every facet of living. Corporations, politicians, and any power player you could imagine has some tie to an organization in one way or another. There's some espionage, PMC's (private military companies), mercenary work, and various criminal organization's vying for their own position on the ladder. There is a crazy amount of different stories you could come up with, different antagonists to face, just a wide array of opportunities to create something that is not only compelling, but fun as hell to see unfold.

And I'm aware that a lot of this still sounds like heightened reality. But I promise you that when you start to look into things regarding the concept of the criminal underworld itself and the many centuries it's been around, you'll uncover some real crazy shit that almost seems way too far-fetched to believe. And a lot of that is a helluva lot more interesting than making your player character the president of the US (which might I add is INCREDIBLY out of character), who then fights aliens and then winds up being kidnapped by Satan so they can marry his daughter in some weird fucking epilogue to a series that has drastically pivoted from games about street gangs and hip-hop.

Like I hope this makes sense. I hope you can understand my vision and where I want to take things with my blog. There are so many fun and interesting things that can happen when you decide to not go off the rails like you're writing a fucking plot through Mad Libs. I fully intend on doing a much bigger focus on the main canon of this blog and really expanding things because I feel like I've been slacking pretty significantly. Don't get me wrong, I love my au's. I love being able to put Django into different universes and see how his character would play out there. And it especially helps in being able to interesting with old and new friends who might have Muses that couldn't really work in a modern setting (albeit one that is a big more heightened reality than most).

I love this series a lot. It's the reason why I'm here in the first place. It's the reason why I've found roleplaying and writing in general so much fun. This is a series that I desperately wish could've been handled better. Because I can see the potential. There is a universe out there where SR wasn't reduced to a series that felt the need to outdo itself over and over again. And when the time came to course correct, it wasn't mishandled to shit by higher ups and people who just really couldn't see the vision some of us have.

Do I think my vision for the series is the right one? Absolutely not. This is strictly something that I personally find appealing and wish to explore in my own way. Having said that, it is nice to hear from others that they like my ideas and want to see more of it. And man, it's even better when you get people wanting to write with me and explore that together. Many thanks to anyone who took a moment out of their day to read through this. All I can hope for is that it helps you understand where I'm coming from, and just the frustration I feel regarding the way the entire franchise played out.

Expect the intro post for the SR3 revision to come out soon! I look forward to hearing what everyone thinks.

#out of fucks ⚜ { ooc }

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nateezfics · 10 months ago

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how would you describe the members each now that u seen them on stage?

the concert back on the 31st was my third ateez concert; so i definitely think i can confidently speak on what seeing them live is like😌 and before i speak on them individually, let me just throw out the fact that all eight of them are positively, absolutely, mind-blowingly beautiful in real life. like it’s actually insane how pretty they are!

hongjoong: he is simultaneously a cutie patootie and a demon on stage. in some moments he runs around the stage all bouncy and cute, the other moments he’s absolutely intimidating with how powerful his presence is. he’s very good at finding the cameras, so when looking at the big screen it looks like he’s staring right into your soul lol. also…..matz hongjoong. enough said.

seonghwa: he’s mesmerizing. seeing him in real life doesn’t feel like you’re actually seeing him because he’s so perfect; i don’t even know how to explain it. seonghwa just always looks so perfect no matter what he’s doing on stage. and for this latest tour, he really embodied a character so much and it was astonishing to see him evolve that character! will never get over seeing halazia seonghwa live !!

yunho: handsome golden retriever puppy that also totally bias wrecks tf outta me! he’s so adorable and handsome and silly but damn, watching him perform django really messed me up so bad. he’s so fun to watch perform because his dancing ability is out of this world! a main dancer indeed! also i think we should include him in the demon line, because the way he acts some times on stage is uh…….

yeosang: flawless! ethereal! a fairy! but also he’s so sensual when he wants to be. he actually bias wrecked me quite a lot during the concerts i went to, and i’m telling you this man is so pretty i literally cannot even explain it. super fucking good performer.

san: san is just a whole different breed when it comes to live performance and aura. this man gets so enveloped in the performance, he was truly meant to be on stage. he’s such a sweetie tho, i always love his ments so much! oh, and uh…..constantly thinking about his zoomed in crotch grab during it’s you…….

mingi: energy level x 1000000!!!! he’s insane. so pumped up the whole time. and he knows he fine as hell, you can definitely tell when he’s feeling himself on stage lol. the crowd always eats him up, and he loves it. probably one of the most excitable members during the shows, like he was just always on 100 the whole time!

wooyoung: cheeky little mf. the faces this man makes while on stage…bruh. all the little flirty looks and winks and smirks…he knows what he’s doing. blown away by his dancing skills and live vocals. he just kills it every time, and he brings such an amazing energy to the concert!

jongho: i know he’s known for his vocals but we need to give this man his flowers for his performance! he’s so good, such a good dancer. he kills the choreo while also singing like a good. and a core memory from this last concert is after he sang his song everything, the crowd was wild, chanting his name over and over. like the crowd was absolutely in awe over him and his incredibly vocals. we were all blown away!

#📮 — anons #💌 — asks

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veliseraptor · 1 year ago

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June Reading Recap

Slower reading month on account of I got distracted by cdramas.

King Hereafter by Dorothy Dunnett. I don't know what to do with this book!!! It was by turns magnificent and difficult to get through. It definitely didn't hit me the way the Lymond Chronicles did/does, but even when I wasn't personally feeling it I can recognize a magisterial piece of work when I read one. The Thorfinn/Rognvald dynamic was probably one of the highlights for me, while it lasted. The premise of this one combines the life of the historical King Macbeth and that of Thorfinn Sigurdsson, positing that they were the same person. I did a lot of Wikipedia diving while reading, unsurprisingly. I recommend it for Dunnett readers, I think is what I'd ultimately say, or for historical fiction aficionados, but perhaps not more generally than that.

How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying by Django Wexler. I keep reading Django Wexler because I enjoy his work, and keep finding that while I enjoy it and find it fun there's not a lot of real substance. But this book's gimmick (combining "time loop" and "villain protagonist") was too pointed directly at me for me to not give it a try. And I'm glad I did! It was very fun, and yet again it felt like the real substance was not quite there. However, I probably still will be reading the sequel when it comes out. So you know, I can't be too hard on it.

Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood. I feel like I did not exactly "enjoy" the experience of reading this set of interconnected short stories but I still want to recommend it to others, if that makes sense as a perspective. It also really made me want to read more generally about this period of time, both in fiction and nonfiction.

Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer. This was totally a "let's just try something new for the heck of it" choice - fantasy romances are everywhere right now, this one was floating around in them and sounded potentially like fun in terms of concept, it was an impulse. I can't say it paid off. It wasn't an awful experience but I did find myself repeatedly going "why isn't this fluffy romance not digging more into its characters or implications" and the answer there is "that's not the point, Lise", I guess, and yeah, I think (English language) romance novels are probably just not for me.

The Law of Blood: Thinking and Acting as a Nazi by Johann Chapoutot. This was a really interesting book. It very much takes its point as "what if we take Nazi philosophy seriously as philosophy." I really haven't read anything quite like it before and it was definitely disturbing to read in terms of really...getting into the heads of How Nazis Thought They Were Supposed to Live, but fascinating for those reasons too, and the reasons of exploring how implications of ideology leads to specific real-world policy-making.

Translation State by Ann Leckie. Still haven't read anything else by Ann Leckie that gets close to the high of the original trilogy but I did really enjoy this one. It did make me feel like I need to reread the original trilogy because I've definitely forgotten a lot, and usually when reading something makes me go "I should reread this other work by the same author" it speaks at least somewhat well of it.

Qi Ye by Priest. Hard not to compare this one to TYK since, you know, same author and same universe, and ultimately this one I didn't like quite as much. I think I...wanted the whole "trauma from living multiple lives" to come up more and more often than I felt like it really did here, and the relationship between Wu Xi and Jing Beiyuan was fine but didn't have what I needed to particularly compel me.

Extinction: How Life on Earth Nearly Ended 250 Million Years Ago by Douglas H. Erwin. As something of a mass extinction afficionado (as it were), for the most part there was nothing in this book that was really new to me except for one little brief glancing note at the end of the book about the possibility that we are not yet into the throes of a true mass extinction event and that's good, because if we were it would probably be too late to really do anything about it. Overall, though, it feels like this book falls somewhere in a confusing gap between "true academia" and "slightly too academic for general audiences" in terms of the specific analytical techniques it analyzes when assessing different arguments for extinction causes." Interesting, but not one I'd make a casual recommendation.

Sha Po Lang by Priest. I was feeling sort of middling on this one while I was reading it in official translation release time so I decided to just read the whole thing to see if I wanted to keep buying it, and I think after doing so I've come down on the side of "probably not." It was good, but, to be blunt, not quite good enough to grab me in the way I needed it to for the financial outlay. I still feel like I'm chasing the magic I got out of Faraway Wanderers and (what I've read of) LHJC from Priest and haven't found it again yet. I think part of the gap here was that I really liked Gu Yun but struggled to care very much about Chang Geng. I did kind of love the Pope being a major antagonist, though.

So probably the other reason I didn't read much last month is because I'm having a hard time finding something to read to really get into.

I'm currently reading too many books at the same time due to a confluence of factors including "travel" and "difficulty getting into one of them." The list is: The Grass Crown by Colleen McCullough, A Fire Upon the Deep by Vernor Vinge, Silent Reading by Priest, and (on the side) Black Midnight Holds the BE Script by Teng Luo Wei Zhi. so hopefully I'll finish at least one of those this July.

#reading recaps #sometimes i read things #important text posts

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quoteablebooks · 9 months ago

Text

Genre: Fiction, Adult, Fantasy, Humor

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Content Warning: Violence, Death, Suicide, Sexual content, Torture, Murder, Sexual assault, Rape, Genocide

Summary: From bestselling author Django Wexler comes a laugh-out-loud fantasy tale about a young woman who, tired of defending humanity from the Dark Lord, decides maybe the Dark Lord doesn’t have it all wrong after all, perfect for fans of Terry Pratchett and KJ Parker.

Davi has done this all before. She’s tried to be the hero and take down the all-powerful Dark Lord. A hundred times she’s rallied humanity and made the final charge. But the time loop always gets her in the end. Sometimes she’s killed quickly. Sometimes it takes a while. But she’s been defeated every time.

This time? She’s done being the hero and done being stuck in this endless time loop. If the Dark Lord always wins, then maybe that’s who she needs to be. It’s Davi’s turn to play on the winning side.

*Opinions*

I watch a lot of bookish content, which is why my TBR continues to grow and not shrink, but this is another read influenced by social media. It was a five-star read for the Booktalker (booksandlala) and the premise sounded interesting to me, so I requested it from the library. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not what I got out of this novel. This was a satirical, fourth-wall-breaking romp through this fantasy world of Wexler’s creation. While I enjoyed my time in this world (though with a few critics) this novel will not be for everyone.

How to Become the Dark Lord or Die Trying follows Davi, a chosen one sent from Earth to a fantasy realm to save the Kingdom. The only problem? She keeps failing at this task and dying over and over and over again. The good news is that she always returns to where she started, a pool where she first emerged—the bad news, after a couple of thousand years that gets really old. Eventually, Davi decides that she wants to be on the winning team and tries not to save the kingdom, but become the Dark Lord that eventually destroys it. While there are a lot of false starts on this path as well, eventually Davi has a small horde of Wilders, and on her way to the meeting that will choose the next Dark Lord. However, without knowing how things work on this side of the world, Davi has to rely on her wits and a whole lot of luck to get the title she so dearly wants. Then again, if she dies, she can just try again, right?

The way that Wexler wrote this fantasy novel was reminiscent of a Mel Brooks movie, though I would not state that it is executed as well as one of those movies. Davi takes every well-worn fantasy trope and turns it on it’s head during her time attempting to become the Dark Lord, including murdering her quest giver multiple times. The issue I have is that near the end of the novel, is that Wexler attempts to go from a funny romp to serious questions about the world and Davi mentally manages the change in her understanding of how the world works. I understand that satirical novels need a plot, but the shift to serious lore and Davi losing her mind a little was a pretty serious shift, which is then forgotten after a couple of chapters.

The internal logic of this novel did not work at times well, which I didn’t get too hung up on given that this is a humorous novel, but I did catch it. The biggest one is that Davi does not remember anything about her life before coming to this fantasy world, she mentions this multiple times, yet she uses almost exclusively pop culture and known references from our world. You would think that after a couple of thousand years, she would forget movie lines along with what she used to do for a living. You would also think that she would catch on to the lore and myths of this world and use their slang. She is able to speak Wilder, but decides to confuse everyone around her constantly by continuing to talk in Earth references. I get that it is the humor of the novel, but it didn’t make sense within the logic of the world Wexler developed.

While I enjoyed my time with this novel, but most readers will know within the first twenty-five pages whether they like the narrative voice or if it is going to drive them insane. When describing the humor and overall narrative voice to a friend, I stated that it reminded me of Youtubers, especially in the gaming sphere, in the heyday of its popularity. Think like Smosh or early Markipler and Jacksepcticeye. If that is not the type of humor you enjoy, Davi is going to get on your nerves immediately. At times, I even found her a bit too much but I was enjoying the twist on a fantasy novel that I was able to push through those instances, which happened mostly at the beginning of the novel. Another writing aspect that did not really work for me was any time Davi was thinking about sex, which was a lot (see my comment about Youtuber humor). Now there were not the more egregious issues of a man writing a female main character, but there was something in the way that he wrote her horniess that made it clear the author was a man. I am not saying that women cannot be extremely horny, it is the way that it was written. I wish I had a better way to describe it. Again, I watched a lot of Youtube in my day so I was able to deal with it, but I can see it being an issue for other readers.

I personally did not like Davi a lot, but the surrounding characters were enough to push me through when she was extremely annoying. Still, even the primary romance didn’t hold my attention, mostly due to the issue I had with how Davi was written in terms of her thoughts on sex and her pursuing those needs. I did like her love interest, they were one of the few sincere characters in this novel.

I know this all makes it sound as if I didn’t enjoy the novel, but I had a good time while I was reading it. I just never found that I wanted to pick it back up. This is a story that I am interested in seeing where it is going, especially given the ending, but I will be picking it up from the library. This is a 3.5 read

#book review #booklr #3.5 out of 5 stars #How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying #Django Wexler #Dark Lord Davi Duology

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ninja-muse · 1 year ago

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I need to start walking past used bookstores instead of into them…

Anyway, June was an all right reading month. I read some really good books, and some kind of poor ones, which is fairly normal, but I also didn't read as much as usual. This is a combination of having a few slow reads (Steampunk, Navola) and writing up a storm, neither of which is a bad thing. I am so glad to have written as much as I have this month. The end of the latest WIP is in sight!

Navola, by the way, is really good and if I'd been organized enough to take a photo of the ARC before I unhauled it, it would have gotten a dedicated review here. Think Renaissance Italy, low magic, ruthless politics, a boy coming of age, an unwanted destiny he has no choice but to accept, the trapped soul of a dragon… It's complex and twisted and detailed and layered, the sort of book you have to pay attention to and which will surprise you anyway. Highly recommended if you like George R.R. Martin or Robin Hobb or grimdark that's less about blood and battles and more about everyone being flawed and kind of awful.

This was also a month of ebooks for me, accidentally. I had a few library holds come in (and delayed one until next month because time), and I received not one but two e-ARCs, the second of which I'm working on right now. I also had one of those moments mid-month where I had no idea what to read so went for something radically different—a thriller about a forensic artist, mostly because it had been on my TBR for a bit and was available on Libby the day I needed a book.

And I reread Drums Along the Congo! Which I last read over 25 years ago so it was basically a new book to me. There's a lot of stuff I either missed or forgot the first time, but I was a kid who was reading it for the living dinosaurs rather than an adult reading for the journey and historical moment. I can't imagine the details about Congo in the 1980s would've made much of an impression. If you're into travel writing, it's one I'd recommend.

The third book off my TBR, A Bouquet From France, is that pretty marbled cover. (I nabbed it off my dad's unhaul pile mostly for that.) More interesting than the poems are some of the 1920s-era translation choices and the fact that the book has actual handcut deckle edges, like you can see where the knife went in off-center to cut the signatures open. Also Victor Hugo is introduced as one of France's best poets, with no mention that he might have also written some major novels.

In terms of my book haul for the month: one out-of-print comic book my work got on sale; one memoir a coworker was unhauling; two travel books that the "I've adulted so now I get a treat" used bookstore had in stock. One is the sequel/follow-up to one I hauled last month, so it's nice to have both. The other is excerpted letters by an English diplomat's wife from Constantinople in the early 1700s.* I successfully delayed a trip to the other tempting used bookstore until next month, so stayed tuned for that.

*Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Awesome woman. Look her up.

And that's about it for this time around. I didn't do exciting cultural events or anything, just read and wrote a lot. How was your June?

Click through to see everything I read this month, in the rough order of how glad I was to have read them.

How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying - Django Wexler

Dani’s stuck in a time loop in a fantasy world. She’s supposed to be the Chosen One but that clearly not working. Time to switch sides for funsies…

8/10

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (bi woman), protagonist of colour

borrowed from work

Navola - Paolo Bacigalupi

Davico has always been aware of Navola’s politics and his banking family’s role in them, but also knows he’s unsuited to inherit that power. Unfortunately, in a city that breathes intrigue bowing out isn’t exactly an option. Out in July.

8.5/10

warning: violence, graphic injury, pseudo-incest

reading copy

A Bouquet From France - Wilfred Thorley, translator

A collection of French poetry from the 1100s to the 1920s.

7/10

off my TBR shelves

Steampunk - Ann and Jeff Vandermeer, editors

A collection of steampunk stories, old and new.

7/10

warning: misogyny, racism, eugenicists

off my TBR shelves

Running Close to the Wind - Alexandra Rowland

Avra, rubbish spy, finds himself on his ex’s pirate ship in possession of a deadly trade secret. Unfortunately, selling it to the highest bidder means working with a very sexy monk, and all manner of shenanigans.

7.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (multisexual), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (ungendered, achillean), major character with prosthetic eye, largely brown-skinned cast, 🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: frequent discussions of sex, cursing, animal death

library ebook

Every Time We Say Goodbye - Natalie Jenner

Vivien moves to Rome in the 1950s to work as a script doctor and possibly learn the true fate of her soldier fiancé.

6.5/10

Black American secondary characters, 🇨🇦

library ebook

The Face of Deception - Iris Johansen

Eve Duncan, world-class forensic artist, is drawn into a dangerous web when she takes a commission from a tech billionaire.

6.5/10

warning: animal death, murder

library ebook

The Black Bird of Chernobyl - Ann McMan

Lilah’s happily misanthropic life preparing bodies at her funeral home is upset when her father hires perky Sparkle for community outreach. Then Lilah goes viral… Out in July.

6.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (lesbian), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (lesbian, sapphic), Black secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: death, grief

digital reading copy/won

Reread:

Drums Along the Congo - Rory Nugent

A naturalist travels deep into the African jungle in search of a legendary living dinosaur—or tries to. A lovely portrait of a time and place.

7.5/10

predominantly (Black) African cast

warning: animal death, brief mentions of Congo’s colonial brutalities

off my TBR shelves

Currently reading

The Dishonest Miss Take - Faye Murphy

Desperate to clear her name after a murder she didn't commit, a superpowered former villain stumbles onto a mystery—and a curious assassin. Out in September.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (sapphic)

digital reading copy/won

Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century - Richard Taruskin

A history of early written European music, in its social and political contexts. The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle

Victorian detective stories.

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 8 + 1 Yearly total: 59 Queer books: 3 Authors of colour: 0 Books by women: 3 Authors outside the binary: 1 Canadian authors: 1 Classics: 1 Off the TBR shelves: 3 Books hauled: 4 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 2 DNFs: 0

January February March April May

#booklr #bookblr #adult booklr #reading wrap-ups #book recommendations #rec lists #read in 2024

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dandelion-blues · 8 hours ago

Text

It's Been So Long

{ @house-of-dadneto }

Now on ao3

Summary:

The reveal finally happens! Erik Lehnsherr knows Pietro Maximoff is his son.

Peter just didn't expect it would be because Apocalypse injured him and his mom was called, leaving her and Erik to talk.

Of course, Peter too-drugged up on painkillers to even hear the juicy details. Not cool Hank!

Confession

Peter should have expected this, he really should have — just because he was an “adult” doesn’t mean that his mom wouldn’t be worried.

It certainly doesn’t matter that she was hours away, and surely busy with work. Because when she got a call about his broken leg and arm in a (definitely badass) fight she would never just go ‘huh, alright.’

No, Marya Maximoff, for all she’s Pietro Django Maximoff aunt by blood, she was his mom for all but 2 years of his life — so one can bet their ass that she would race over to Xavier’s Institute (breaking several speed limits undoubtedly) and march up to the front door with the fury of a mama bear facing any threats for her cubs.

Really, Peter should have seen this coming.

Unfortunately for him, his dad, ex(current?) terrorist Magneto, was still helping rebuild the school and thus in full view and revealed to the full fury of Marya Maximoff storming up to the front door. A woman he recognized on sight, despite the growing greys and new wrinkles on her bronze skin.

“Marya?” Erik asks in stunned surprise, his blue eyes like a cloudy sky — murky with past memories, “Is that you?”

Marya twisted back, withholding a snarl at the man who interrupted her path to her son, and fell back in shock when she looked at the man.

Her ex brother-in-law — the father she kept away from her son all these twenty-six years.

“Max Eisenhardt or is it Erik Lehnsherr or perhaps Henryk Gurzsky, or is it some new name now?” Marya spat, “Why in God’s name are you at this school? Didn’t you just try to destroy the world days ago?!”

Erik’s Adam apple bobbed as he wetted his lips to explain, “I-,” The words died in his throat as he eyed Marya’s stern glare and he bowed his head, “I’m helping rebuild the school.”

“Oh?” Marya raised a brow, “And why did the school need rebuilding in the first place?” The accusation was clear in her voice.

Unluckily, or perhaps luckily, Erik was interrupted by the newly-placed mahogany (Charles Xavier was rich after all) front door opening, and the bald man himself came wheeling out, “Marya Maximoff, if you would please follow me, your son is conscious now and probably would be best if you come and explain why he should stay off his legs for a bit longer. Since he found out you were coming, he’s been buzzing with energy and quite frankly isn’t what you would call a rule-follower.” Charles chuckled fondly at that remission on the teen that broke into the pentagon all for the thrill of his kleptomaniac heart.

Marya’s eyes softened with relief upon hearing her son was up, and her lips quirked up with fond exasperation, “That boy,” She doesn’t give Magento a second glance and looks imploringly at Charles Xavier, “Please. I would appreciate seeing Peter now.”

‘Peter?’ Erik thought silently to himself, and oh the memories of the silver-haired boy flew by him. Of the boy — who was the first person to smile nicely at him in ten years and free him from the pentagon. Of the boy that never looked at Erik like he was a monster, even when he was set to destroy the world.

“I’m your… I’m here for family too.”

“I’m holding your neck so you don’t get whiplash,”“Whip…laaaaaaaaaash.”

“They told me you control metal.”

“You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that.”

“Oh,” Erik gasped softly, ‘Even after everything the boy still thought of us as family… my nephew.”

Tears line his eyes at the thought. The peace and joy he felt with Magna — of being welcomed into the Maximoff family. Of having his first daughter Anya… until it all went in flames — literally.

Erik doesn’t blame Magna for leaving. Even if he still holds the belief that all those humans deserved to die for killing his baby — just as the ones who killed his dear Nina and his second-wife (coincidentally named) Magna. He should have controlled his anger and showed that he would have never hurt his wife despite his feelings on other humans.

Alas, that’s all in the past now, and he can do nothing but regret and drown in the pain of his past — hoping to repent for all his sins.

𖥔ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ𖥔

Peter found himself bounding with overwhelming energy. He needed to move… everything was just so slow! But he was trapped in the damned infermany on ‘doctor’s’ orders! Hank’s not even that kind of doctor!

But whatever, Peter just has to wait minutes (hours to him) and his mom will be here. She’s already called ahead that she was at the front gate.

Peter found his good leg bouncing and vibrating on the tile before him.

“Peter!” Hank sternly called, “No powers! We don’t want your metabolism to increase more than it already has and wear off the painkillers in your system.”

Peter sheepishly stopped vibrating in place, but he still couldn’t help but fidget.

He needed to move, like a fish needs water. It was torturous to keep him in one place for so long! Torture!

“It’s not torture Peter,” Hank rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I said that outloud didn’t I?” Peter said, keeping his words slow (it’s practically second nature now) so Hank could understand.

“Yes, Peter,” Hanks said amused, “And oh, look your mom and professor are already here. She can now scold you about not using your powers.”

Peter slumped down dramatically in the medical bed, but smiled as his mom came into view, “That’s not fair man, sicking my mom on me like that!”

Marya rolled her eyes, “Peter, you can handle staying still for a week. You’re just lucky your bones heal so fast.”

“Fiiiiiiiine!”

𖥔ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ⚡︎ᯓ𖥔

Marya smiles, seeing that her son is alright and will fully recover. However, Hank soon puts him on more painkillers as Peter grimaces in pain.

Unfortunately that also has the effect of making Peter incredibly sleepy and he soon passes out, which leaves Marya to have the much needed adult conversation now that she knows her son is alright.

…

Oh, if Peter wasn’t already so injured, she would grab him by the ear and give him an earful of his impulsive decisions and endangering his life, but for now all Marya can do is thank God that he is alright and that her baby returned to her.

And Max! Ugh, if he wasn’t Peter’s father Marya would kill that man!

Marya soon found himself making a coffee upstairs, doing her best to stay away after hours of driving. As much as she would love to fall asleep, she knows that her Lorna will be calling her soon — and despite knowing Peter is fine, she still is on edge. A mother’s plight, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even if it came attached to the incredible but dangerous heritage that is Magneto.

And speak of the devil! Max decides to appear right in the kitchen.

Marya sighs and just asks, “Why did you do it?” There’s no need to explain what the ‘it’ is — ending the world is a pretty big neon sign after all.

She needs to know what in God’s name made him want to end the world. She has an idea, a horrible one. But she recognizes the kind of rage that Max went through — the kind of a parent’s loss, the soul aching pain that makes the world seem worthless.

Marya grips her coffee closer, biting her lip to stop tears from forming as she thinks of Wanda, her oldest (‘Only by 12 minutes!’ Peter would remind her). Even after 14 years… it still feels so fresh.

Erik looks up at the ceiling full of anguish, “Humans killed my daughter and wife.”

Marya stares blankly at her cooling drink, her lips feeling quite dry and she chucks the drink like a shot and stares right into Erik’s steely eyes, “Tell me about them.” She asks softly, her tone rekindling of the family she once was to the broken man.

Erik smiles sadly, “After your son broke me out of the pentagon, and I failed in killing the president-”

“Really, what’s up with you and US presidents?” Marya jokes, despite the seriousness of such a task, but she held no love for Nixon — his derogatory views for Jews enough for that opinion to form. Sure, she was Romani, but it sure didn’t make a difference to Nazi’s when they rounded up all the ‘bad bloods’. And she would fight tooth and nail before letting another drag her people — through suffering and loss and pain — through the mud.

She’s had a lifetime enough of being seen as the ‘inferior people’, and she absently rubs her forearm — the faded inked numbers still scarred into her skin.

Erik gives her a half smile, “Yes, well I did try to save JFK. He was a mutant after all. But Nixon…,” Erik scowled, and oh Marya knew that look, “He was trying to eradicate all of us just because we were born with a gift! Trying to kill us like cattle to slaughter and we are the Homo superiors — the next step in evolution!”

“Chill it with the speech Magneto.” Marya said dryly, “And sit your ass down, or is talking to your ex-human-sister-in-law too demeaning for you?”

Erik paused, his skin heated with embarrassment, and gracefully sat down, “My apologies Marya. I’m just rather… passionate about mutant rights as all mutants should be.”

“Yeah, well after seeing you talk all about your superiority on live-television in front of my mutant son who happens to love his very human little sister and mom, Peter wasn’t exactly in agreement with you.” Marya responded with a bit of a bite.

Erik sighs, “I never have the right words. Magna surely would have.” Then, he grimaces, “My latest wife that is, not that my first wife wouldn’t have. She would have just been-”

“A spit-fire.” Marya laughs, “Yeah Wanda inherited that from her.”

Erik perks up, “Wanda?”

Marya’s face pales and she bites her lip, “Peter’s twin.” She looked down, shallowing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, knowing all too-well that like his Nina her Wanda died, “Nina was only eight.”

“Wanda was twelve.”

Marya sighs and looks over to Erik. She sees so much of the man, her brother-in-law, that she once knew. There’s still that anger coiled in his veins, but there’s also that deep-rooted anguish and love for his family.

“Max, I have something to tell you.” Marya said, straightening her back. She knows that Peter desperately wanted his father to know of their relationship — how he spoke up it with such longing, but was afraid of her reaction when she demanded he stay away.

This is her duty to her son, and it’s Erik’s choice how he'll react after. She just hopes she’s right about this, as much as part of her is screaming not not saying anymore.

“Peter and Wanda were Magna’s Erik.” Marya spoke, her words like an admission of guilt.

Erik stood stoically freezing in place, his face impassive — not letting an ounce of… anything through.

Marya looked at the man sadly, “She didn’t know she was pregnant at the time, but then… the fire happened and you left and she was scared.”

“Then, nine months Wanda Marya Maximoff was born first followed by Pietro Django Maximoff. And God,” Marya let out a wet chuckle, “Wanda looked so much like Anya, and Peter was a mini-you minus his brown eyes and nose.”

Erik let out a stuttering breath — he felt like he'd just been punched as he listened to Marya. Even if he wished to rage against her words, deny it all. He knows it’s true.

And just like that he feels grief overwhelm him. Another child died, and he never even knew her. His daughter. A son was almost killed because of him.

Anya, Nina, Wanda, Pietro.

Their names like a damnation upon him.

Anya.

His oldest daughter disappeared before his eyes like ash. Dark charcoal leaving nothing of her beautiful smile behind. Only screams that haunted his nightmares.

He feels Marya’s arms wrap around him as he lets out choking, raspy, sobs.

Nina.

His youngest’s eyes turned vividly blue in fear as he tried to appeal to the human authority. But she couldn’t control her powers and her blue eyes dimmed as her blood soaked the ground. Just gone.

He feels her tears wet his shirt, and just-like-always he pulls away.

Wanda.

Wanda, another child. A daughter he only knew by name, but he can imagine her playing with her sisters. Wracking up some mischievous scheme with her twin.

Pietro.

His son. His alive son.

He hardly knows what he’s doing as he storms around Charles’ mansion, until he finds himself outside the medical bay.

Not even noticing as Marya followed close behind.

Erik looks at the unconscious boy — no man, no matter how young he still is, he’s an adult now (twenty-six years of never knowing, of being in his own son’s life) — and he allows himself to see himself in his own son. They have the same cheekbones and chin, and his eyes curve just like his while his eyes and nose are all Magna’s. Along with his shock of silver-hair all his own that frames his young face.

This is his son.

Erik didn't notice when tears started falling down his eyes again or when Marya gripped his hand tightly, but he couldn’t stop.

He’s failed another child. He almost let his own son die.

Erik can hear his son’s screams as his bones were shattered… and Erik looked away, content to do nothing!

The metal begins to warp and rattle in his vicinity.

His son’s brow furrows in his sleep at the noise, and Erik takes a deep breath in and controls himself.

Perhaps, it was for the best that Erik never knew of their relationship — that the boy was kept hidden from it, or he would surely have been destroyed by being in Erik’s presence.

It was only when they were apart, after all, that let the boy live to adulthood — and only when Erik was around the boy that he was put in danger.

Really, how reckless was it to allow a sixteen year old to break a terrorist out of the pentagon? To break him out of the pentagon?

And then, because the boy was simply seeking Erik out, he almost died because Erik was wrapped in a foolish plot with a delusional ‘mutant god’.

It would be better for everyone involved if Erik simply stayed away.

“Dad?” A drowsy voice spoke, and Erik's eyes snapped into focus to clearly see his son.

His son’s brown eyes were clearly foggy, and he wasn’t all lucid with the frankly unbelievable amount of drugs being pumped through him to keep the pain away — but he still, on some level, recognized Erik.

He called him dad.

That word felt like an arrow through the heart and Erik didn’t have to think before he sat before his son’s bedside and gripped his limp hand, “Yes, Pietro, I’m here. Mein Sohn.”

Peter blinked slowly, his brow furrowed a bit in confusion before he smiled, “That’s good dad. Love you.”

Erik shakily breathed in, as his son’s eyes fluttered close, and he kissed his son’s brow, “I love you too my boy. Mein Wundersohn.”

Marya smiled at the precious moment and she-for-once would admit she was wrong about this. Erik would never harm Peter, and as Erik fell asleep at Peter’s bedside holding his son's hand like a lifeline, Marya knew she was leaving her son in good hands.

Notes:

I absolutely love how this turned out! Also, I am currently so obsessed with Dadneto so I was super excited that House of Dadneto 2025 event is still ongoing!

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