#this is all chronos' fault

[keenvictory]

Synopsis: Sometimes the best way to distract a villain is with a little more than a witty chat.

: ̗̀➛ Featured Characters: Chronos x Gn!Reader

̗̀➛ Content Warnings: NSFW, (bottom, but not necessarily sub, reader)

̗̀➛  Additional notes: Me? Obsessed with a beautiful, evil blonde man? Yeah.

Ten minutes. All you had to do was keep him distracted for ten minutes.

You'd seen it clear as day this morning, if he managed to escape this room, a shitty warehouse somewhere in the city center, the hostages would die.

Nevermind that the 'hostages' were all low-level villains that had been bothering you for weeks, they weren't in their costumes, neither the public, nor the media, would know it as anything other then civilian deaths.

You'd already sent the brunt of the force towards the second location, if you could hold his attention for just ten minutes, everything would be okay.

Nobody would die. And more importantly, your reputation would be saved.

Chronos stood in the rooms center, illuminated by a single, shitty bulb.

"Come now, Oracle." He purred through the mask, the metallic tinge making your body tense. "Don't get distracted."

Right. Focus. Nine more minutes.

"I am focused. You're not getting away this time."

He'd grin if he could. You can tell in the way he sets his shoulders, the slight chuckle the mask can't quite filter out.

He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I hate to disappoint you. But I most certainly am."

Shit. Wrong approach. He can't back away. He can't get away.

You need to lure him in closer.

He turns, angling his body away from you, looking for an escape?

"Wait!"

He stops. Despite it all, he stops to hear you out. Why does he do that?

"What? Hate to see me leave but love to watch me walk away, hm?"

Again with the flirting! Always flirting. It drives you up the wall.

But... maybe... There's nobody around but the two of you...

"You're wearing a coat. What is there for me to see when you leave?"

He tilts his head. You can feel his eyes boring into you.

"I can take it off."

"You wouldn't. Your suit is ridiculously tight. You wouldn't..."

You trail off, floundering, why is this working?!

"I wouldn't show it off for you? Hah! Why do you suppose I designed my suit like this in the first place?"

He drags a hand down his chest, gloved fingers trailing over defined abs. "I don't dress like this for the public, you know."

Eight minutes. Time feels like it's dragging on.

"You dress like that just for me, then? Prove it."

Chronos' hand stops. Shocked? Repulsed?

Then he grabs the jackets lapel, slowly pulling it off his tall frame.

He drops it to the ground next to him unceremoniously.

You swallow.

"How's that for proof?"

He strikes a pose. Lifting his arms to show off his waist. It's a little dorky. A smile creeps up on your face before you have the chance to fight it.

It's a little... something else, too. But you won't think like that. You can't.

"I don't know. Just taking off a jacket doesn't feel very personal. You could do that for anyone."

He takes a step towards you and you have to fight to calm your racing heart. This is good. Just seven more minutes.

"Now, now Oracle. That feels like you're baiting me to take off my mask. And we can't be having that, can we?"

You roll your eyes, he was the one who said it, not you.

"Scared I won't like what I find?"

For once, he doesn't seem to have a witty retort. But he takes another step forward, coming ever closer.

This is good. Great, even! You just need to keep him entertained.

"You know, Chronos. There's a lot more to your suit then just your mask."

That gets his attention. He pauses, motionless.

What catches your eye isn't your fault. It's his fault, really, with his stupid skin-tight suit. And the tent in his pants is so obnoxiously obvious.

You do the polite thing, averting your eyes, not that he can really tell through your mask. Not that he even particularly seems to care.

You'd meant, like, gloves or something! Maybe some of those stupid belts he wraps around his torso.

You didn't mean... well... did you mean... that? It would be... a distraction.

How many minutes do you have left? You've lost count.

After an excruciatingly long pause, he seems to find his tongue again.

"You should watch your words, Oracle. There's... interesting implications there."

You can't help but laugh. What use is there in beating around the bush like that when he's hard as a rock and basically vibrating where he stands.

"Implications? You're one to talk. Your... reaction, down-there, speaks louder than words."

He glances downward, as if he hadn't noticed. Then clenches, and unclenches his fist. An exercise in self-restraint, maybe?

"Ah." Is all he mumbles, before glancing back up at you. He clenches and unclenches his fists again, and then shrugs. "At least we chose a place without any cameras around. If this made a front page story I doubt either of us would live it down."

He leans down to scoop up his coat. How much time has passed? Not enough, surely.

"Leaving so soon?"

He hesitates, one hand nested in the material of his coat.

"You want me to stay?"

For the good of the people, if nothing else.

"Just seems like a... waste."

He straightens up, tilting his head curiously. It's so hard to read him, his expressionless mask not letting anything slip.

Then he places a hand, tentatively, on his belt buckle.

"A waste... of this?"

Are you doing this? To save a handful of hostages who you don't especially care about the safety of at the best of times?

"It's like you said. No cameras."

You're doing this. You hope those fuckers appreciate it.

"You're... serious? If this is your attempts at unmasking me, it's an underhanded tactic."

You shrug, trying to keep it casual despite your racing heart. Your mother can NOT find out about this.

"We can leave the masks on. This is between us, as hero and villain. Not whoever our real selves are."

He stills seems unsure, so you suck in a breath and step towards him, poking a finger against his chest.

In the past, he's dodged so many of your attacks so effortlessly. You almost expect him to breezily step out of your touch, but your finger simply bounces against the muscle.

"You've made plenty of advance at me in the past. I hope they weren't just for show."

He swallows. You're close enough that you can see his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. It makes you feel...

Nothing. It makes you feel nothing. There is no slight shiver that passes through you. No warmth between your thighs. This is work. Not pleasure.

He laughs, warm and metallic, and places a large hand against your waist. It isn't unpleasant. His thumb gliding across the material of your suit.

"There are much better suited places for this then a dingy warehouse, Oracle."

While the idea of fucking against a dirty warehouse floor like a bunch of animals is not exactly appealing, letting him leave the building at all is out of the cards.

"What, you're going to take me back to your place? Yeah right."

"The least I could do is a nice hotel."

Ugh, a hotel would be nice. A comfy bed, room service after, somewhere to sleep off the weirdness of it all and freshen up before the walk of shame home.

The warehouse will have to do. Fucking hostages.

You wrap your fingers around his belt loops, teasingly.

"And if I told you I didn't want to wait?"

He groans, it's a sound you're about to get incredibly familiar with. Future fights with this fucker are definitely going to get interesting.

"Fuck."

He uses his grasp on your waist to tug you closer, pinning your bodies together. Then he pushes his crotch against your side, rolling his hips to grind into you. It can't feel all that good behind several layers of fabric, but you suppose it is pretty skin-tight.

He groans again, right in your ear, loud and unrestrained. It's nicer sounding then the sirens outside, at least.

"You're so needy. All that talk about taking me a hotel when you're the one who couldn't wait."

Chronos whines, masked face buried into your shoulder as he rolls his hips more desperately. If you stood here, sweet-talking him, you're pretty sure you could get him to cum where he stands, right in his suit.

But where's the fun in that? If you're sinking this low, you're at least getting off too.

"If you're just going to stand there and get yourself off, Chronos, I might as well go home."

His needy whines turn into a throaty growl, his gentle grip on your waist becoming delightfully dangerous as you feel his nails catch in the suit's material.

If he rips a hole in your suit he is a dead man.

Thankfully, his grip relaxes. But only for a moment, as slides his other hand around your waist, and lifts you up, carrying you across the room with ease, and urgency.

A shock of cold goes through you as he drops you on a metal container, perched right on the edge so your legs dangle down.

You can hear his heavy breathing through the mask, as he glances down at you, like he's deciding what he wants to do first.

Then, without a word, he sinks to his knees, pushing your legs apart and laughing breathily.

He taps his metal mask, twice.

"No peaking."

You tilt your head up, half out of politeness, half necessity. If you break the rules, nothings stopping him from ripping your mask off at this distance.

"At least when you take off your mask I won't have to listen to your prattling on."

"Still swapping insults at a time like this, Oracle? No matter. I have much better things to do with my mouth."

At the thought of ripping, you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing, then a cool breeze caressing the inner-most curves of your thigh.

This motherfucker.

You don't even have time to gasp, nor raise a very reasonable complaint, before you hear him happily hum.

"I'll pay for it."

Then the click of metal, as you can only assume he pushes his mask up his face, freeing his mouth for... other activities.

You sneak a glance downwards as he buries his head between your thighs, but all you can see is a mop of blonde hair pushed messily back by his shifted mask. Worth a shot.

After that, you don't have the time, nor the mental fortitude to scheme, his tongue working hard to distract you from thoughts of hero's and villains.

It's a fight not to clamp your thighs around his head, an excellent position to squeeze the life out of him, but you're a little distracted. And it's not a great story to sell to the media.

Moans, both yours and his own, bounce off the run-down walls. If anything, his moans are almost louder than yours, moaning passionately against you with every spare breath he manages to take.

Air seems like the last thing on his mind. He'll choke himself out, at this rate. Desperately hungry for you. You decide not to think about it.

Instead you tilt your head back, basking in the rolling, sweeping pleasure of his tongue in all the right spots.

And it builds, and builds, and builds, and sudden the sweet waves you've been leisurely riding feel too close to breaking. You don't gently climb to orgasm as much as you hurtle towards it.

"Chronos, wait I-"

But it's like uttering his name flips an evil switch in his mind, and he burrows closer, hands gripping at your thighs for purchase so desperately his nails drag open little holes in your suit.

The waves break, and all you have the strength to do is slump forward, hands nesting in his hair, grabbing on for dear life, as you ride out your high on his face.

Not that he seems to mind, the way his hips are bucking into thin air, just as desperately.

When he finally pulls away, he manages to keep his face pointed downwards, identity secure, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Before adjusting the mask back over his face.

Then he stands, looming above you as you sit, still slightly quivering, upon the metal box he set you on.

"I hope you don't think we're done here." He purrs, clicking open his belt with practiced ease.

Thank god for superhero stamina.

He slinks out of his pants, leaving them abandoned in a heap much like his jacket.

He rubs the head of his cock against your bare thigh, trailing pre-cum across your skin. He hisses with pure pleasure, both at the sight and the sensation.

"Hope you don't mind that I'm a little... unprepared. A little lube, a condom or two, could have gone a long way. I'll be more prepared next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time?"

He scoops up the cum on your thighs and slicks his fingers with it, pushing them against your entrance with far too much eagerness.

"Oh Oracle, you'll be weak in the knees at the sight of me after I'm done with you. I can guarantee a next time."

"Mmm... you're so cocky."

He chuckles, nudging the tip of his hard cock against your groin, sliding it against the slick opening as he retracts his fingers.

"I have good reason to be, clearly."

You go to refute, but your mind blanks as he pushes into you. Two inches, then four, then six, then further still, until his hips brush against yours. The moan that escapes him is unholy.

"Fuck. I'm going to be weak in the knees after this." He groans, right into your ear. The metal of his mask is cold as it brushes against your neck.

Absently, you wish his mouth was free to kiss it. From the way he's eyeing it and breathing heavily, you think he does too.

"Are you... in any pain?" He asks, a rare moment of pure consideration.

You adjust yourself, flex your insides to test the depth, the pressure. It's... a lot. Filling, certainly. And you have to bite back a small moan as you really relax against him.

But it doesn't hurt. And after a pause to catch your breath, you nod.

"I'm... good. It's good. Thanks."

"Just good? I'll have to do a better job then that."

He punctuates his sentence with a smooth roll of his hips, the length of his cock gliding out, then filling you up all over again. It's unbearably slow, the temptation to shuffle closer, to wrap your legs around his hips and trap him there, taunts you.

"You'll have... to do a little more... then that." You pant, gripping the sides of the metal container you're perched on for support.

"Oh? You want more?" He purrs, sliding out of you so slowly. And then he pauses, the two of you connected only by the very tip, a twitch away from sliding out entirely.

He's going to say something terrible, isn't he?

"Say please."

You called it.

Your eye twitches. You don't know what's bigger, his ego or his dick.

Definitely his ego.

He's lucky you can't say the same for yourself. You're not above basic manners. But you're not above a little bullying, either.

You lean as close as you can despite the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whisper into his ear.

"Chronos... please just fuck me already."

You can almost hear the thread of tension in his body, snap. The eradication of his self-restraint.

He doesn't have anything witty to say, after that.

His hips snap forward with such strength that you tumble back, losing your grip on him as you lay down flat on the container. The new angle let's him push into you even further, and you both moan in delight.

He looms over you, every thrust punctuated with soft, needy moans.

You reach up, running your hands through his blonde hair. It would easy, to simple pull off his mask, see his real face looking down at you.

Would he be blushing? Smiling? Or would he have a more focused look... Your mind wanders. But it's almost more fun if you don't know.

Instead your fingers grip the strands, pulling slightly as he hits a particularly delicious angle. You both moan in equal surprise and debased pleasure.

There's a moment of pause, as you consider these new found techniques. And then you resume, with twice as much passion as before.

Him chasing that angle over and over, crashing into the spot that makes you shiver and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. You pulling at his hair, and running your nails down his back, enjoying the throaty groans it elicits each and every time.

It isn't long before the feeling returns, waves of pleasure building and building and building inside you.

"Ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum Chronos-"

You don't even finish the final syllable of his name, before he's crashing his hips into you, warmth flooding you as he cums with a long, growl-like moan.

Your own orgasm follows but a second later, his orgasm hasn't slowed him down, if anything he seems to be chasing the afterglow. The uptick in speed pushing you tumbling over the metaphorical edge.

You both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Those ten minutes have to be up by now, right? Time to make a strategic exit to check on the hostages. Well, maybe after you've gotten your breath back.

You shift up, propping yourself up on your elbows. His head is bowed, his cock still buried inside you. But he'll pull out any second now, right?

Then he looks up. Slowly. Despite the mask, you can feel his shit-eating grin.

"I'm not done with you yet, Oracle."

When you stumble out the warehouse, only one lone officer remains on the scene. He gives you a questioning look, and you feel yourself flush, thankful for the mask all over again.

"The hostages are safe, Oracle, thanks for your help. But, uh, you know only had to keep him in there for ten minutes right? It's been..." The officer checks his watch, and then frowns. "Hours. Are you alright?"

You adjust Chronos' cloak, which is wrapped around your middle for privacy.

"It was a tough... fight. But I dealt some serious blows. Managed to snag his coat before he escaped."

"Great work! We could take it in for testing if you'd like."

"Ah, uh, no need! I'll do my own... uh... super testing! See if it triggers a vision.”

It's a terrible excuse. But thankfully, the officer seems stupid. Or maybe tired, it is late. But either way, he nods. And waves you goodbye as he packs himself away into his car.

Now to figure out how to get home without any camera's catching you... indisposed.

The next morning, there's a generous donation to your bank account, from a suspiciously anonymous donor. Enough to cover the expenses of your torn suit, and then some.

It's signed only with a C. Cocky bastard.

[pre-rendered]

more 🍞🍈

[book-of-legends]

[Response to this reply from @ask-team-misfit]

The Meowstic seemed to stare in confusion momentarily as he attempted to process all of the information Lief was saying. When he finally did, one thing stood out from the rest.

"Um. I'm... not sure what you mean by that. I don't understand how spice tolerance is related… Is this some kind of new-age informal language?" Sirius seemed extremely confused at this.

"I really don't get out that much, Is 'spicy' a common slang term Pokemon use now? ...Maybe I need to catch up with the outside world more..." It appears being stuck in his office constantly was starting to take a toll on his knowledge of current trends.

"But to answer your questions... You're actually the, um. Third or fourth intruder? I've lost count already, it's all quite stressful I just got back from a job a few hours ago." He sighed before, thinking over Lief's other questions, they were good but a little hard to explain in one go.

"I'm sorry but I think you might be mistaken, we do not fabricate the U-gates. We can make parts to repair them, yes. But it's virtually impossible to make a deity U-gate. Every time a U-gate attempt has been made by us mortals, they're limited to in-universe travel only. The U-gates I specialize in fixing are made from god magic, they're a type of Hoopa ring. Mortal-made U-gates are under an entirely different subject." "Asking me to explain those is like trying to ask someone who raises Magikarp to tell you how to take care of a Feebas. They're both fish but they have completely different needs."

"Shutting down a gate is... a complicated subject. I could go into the process of how a gate is 'closed off' but I fear we may be here for a while if I do. I will try my best to sum it up, however." "If we're discontinuing the use of a U-gate we're required to assess why, report back to Earendel and if we're able to, contact the Keeper to discuss the matter further. A common reason U-gates are discontinued is because they're located in either feral universes, extremely dangerous ones or the U-gate is just completely broken." "At that point, it's a matter of removing the core safely, dismantling it and bringing it to Lunala for disposal. After that, we ban or remove the universe from our star maps."

"And yes, we can control the gates. That is what the Keepers are for, they help everyday travellers operate the U-gates and be sent on their merry way to whatever universe they'd like." "We keep star maps updated so Keepers can do their jobs. I hope that satisfied your curiosity!" He gave a smile before nodding. "If you have any more questions I'm happy to get into it further."

[by-your-leave]

Despite only having one snow map Genealogy of the Holy War is actually a winter game

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for belconna behind the cut, who wanted just anything fluffy with Kon and is getting "time-travel boyfriend and Tim's bi awakening". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I’m not a stalker. Or a control freak,” he attempts to protest. The most handsome man in the world’s grin turns sly. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Never engaged in a little bit of light night photography? Maybe some casual birdwatching here and there?” 

Tim stares blankly at the most handsome man in the world. The most handsome man in the world keeps grinning slyly at him. 

“We’re in Bristol, not Gotham,” Tim finally says defensively, and the most handsome man in the world throws his head back and cackles. 

“Oh my god, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he wheezes. “This is the best day of my literal entire life.” 

“Are you a supervillain?” Tim asks warily, and the most handsome man in the world laughs again, big and loud and filling up the whole museum-quiet living room–the whole museum-quiet house, it feels like–and then drops down onto the good couch and drapes his arms over the back of it as he kicks his heavy black boots up on the equally-good coffee table and crosses his ankles. They have buckles on them. And steel toes. And buckles. 

Maybe he mentioned the buckles already. 

Tim should tell the most handsome man in the world that his parents don’t allow shoes on the coffee table or slouching on the couch, but the most handsome man in the world’s legs are long and thick and muscled and, uh . . . and Tim was thinking about something, probably? Like . . . something. The coffee table, maybe? His parents wouldn’t really like someone putting their boots on the good coffee table, so that’s, like . . . that’s a . . . 

. . . the most handsome man in the world’s legs are really long. And like . . . long. 

No one’s muscles should look that cut through denim, Tim thinks accusingly. 

“Fuck, you are so cute,” the most handsome man in the world says, grinning wider. Tim completely forgets about the coffee table and tries to be normal about this. He . . . is not, probably. Probably he is not. In his defense, this is the literal most handsome man in the world and the guy keeps grinning at him, and also twenty-five seconds ago he didn’t even know he liked guys, much less big buff gorgeous unattainable ones in leather jackets who are Superman fans, of all things. “Naw, not in this timeline, kid. Maybe if you play your cards right in the long run, though.” 

“What?” Tim says, and the most handsome man in the world gives him a grin that’s all teeth. Both of his maxillary canines are either gold or have gold caps over them. Tim can’t tell which from here, but has some very weird thoughts about creative ways he could find out that are probably his vaguely-acquainted hormones’ fault. Like–really definitely are, in fact. 

“Down, boy, you are not old enough for me yet,” the most handsome man in the world tells him with a snigger. Tim dies of embarrassment, and also thinks–“yet?”

Tim thinks–“not in this timeline” and “maybe if you play your cards right in the long run”.

“Are you from the future?” he asks warily, and the most handsome man in the world looks delighted all over again. Tim is not normal about anything and never will be again, he’s pretty sure. 

He is even less normal about that “yet”, if this guy actually is from the future. Not that he actually expects a straight answer on that, obviously, just– 

“Man, you really are adorable,” the most handsome man in the world says. “Yeah, I am. Kinda fucked up with a magic-user, not actually sure what she did to dump me in your living room. At least I’m assuming it’s yours, I don’t actually recognize this house. You’re gonna move a couple times before you invite me over for the first time.” 

. . . okay. Well, Tim was apparently wrong about the straight answer thing, and doesn’t actually know how he feels about getting an actual straight answer that easily, much less that straightforwardly. He also doesn’t know how he feels about apparently not being straight, though, or about “invite me over” as a phrase, or even that “yet” from earlier, so that’s really just a couple more entries to add onto a pre-established list. 

“Uh,” he says while he’s trying to figure out what to say to that or how to handle . . . just any of this, really. The most handsome man in the world sniggers again. Tim isn’t sure if Current Him or Future Him is the one being laughed at, though he guesses those options aren’t really all that different and if nothing else are definitely not mutually exclusive. 

. . . god, he hopes Future Him isn’t anywhere around here. That sounds like one of those “break the timeline and undo reality and all that stuff by accidentally meeting yourself and causing a time paradox” kind of things. And also, like . . . probably really embarrassing, too. This is already embarrassing enough, and in several ways that make Tim feel like he’s missing something. Or . . . a few things, really. Like. A lot of things. So, so many things. 

Tim really does not like missing things, to be honest? It makes him feel–off-balance, kinda. Or just–weird, maybe? 

Unsafe, maybe. 

“You’re really just always the same cutest little weirdo stalker, aren’t you,” the most handsome man in the world says fondly, leaning his head to one side and resting his temple on his shoulder. His glasses slip down just enough to show his eyes, which are much more blue than Tim knows how to handle. Both of Tim’s parents have blue eyes. Tim also has blue eyes. Not a one of them look like that. 

Tim would probably be able to deal with the most handsome man in the world’s eyes being unexpectedly blue better if the most handsome man in the world’s eyes weren’t also looking at him like he was the most interesting . . . well, person in the world. “Man” would, admittedly, be kind of a stretch right now. 

The look on the guy’s face is still throwing him off, either way. 

Nobody ever looks at him like he’s especially interesting, is the thing. Like . . . ever, really. He says interesting things sometimes, Tim knows, and usually he’s smart and sometimes he’s even funny, but he’s not interesting. Like–not without even trying to be. 

[ladykailitha]

Shut Up and Drive Part 4

If you didn't see chapter three, it is not your fault, Tumblr has hidden the damn thing and it's been two weeks. I can see it on my dashboard and even through the app, but site wide and on browser, nada! I even looked through it and couldn't find anything mature to shadow ban it. Hopefully you'll be able to see this one and it'll have the link to the third chapter.

This story is almost complete. I just have one or two more chapters to go and it's done. I am so excited for you guys to see the end.

In this we have Eddie in AP history, along with Robin and Steve. Yes, Steve. I am still on my Steve is smart and a history nerd agenda.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

Monday morning was rife with speculation on who had called the cops. Eddie chuckled as the racers tried double speak their way out of revealing themselves to their peers.

The only one who wasn’t there come Monday was Steve Harrington. The rumor mill was as much a buzz with his absence as they were with cops breaking up the races.

Eddie had his own theory on who had called the cops. It was either King or Chronos. King for being beat to hell and not being able to race and not wanting to lose. Or Chronos for not wanting to go up against King and lose.

Then he spotted Tommy Hagan.

He looked smug as hell and suddenly Eddie got it. Holy shit, that asshole! He knew Chronos was going to beat King or at least get a hell of a lot closer than Titan would have and didn’t want to be shown up in front of everyone.

Eddie was tempted to go over there and punch Tommy in the face, break a nose, knock out a couple teeth, but he promised Wayne he wouldn’t start any fights, but he was allowed to finish them.

Billy Hargrove caught him staring at Hagan, though. “Hey Munson, take a picture it’ll last longer. Never mind, you’d fwap to the photo.”

“You jealous, Hargrove?” Munson shot back. “You worried I’ll stop jacking off to your picture?”

Billy flexed his arms as if he was going to hit Eddie, but just then a teacher walked by, and Eddie fell in step with them, keeping the teacher between Billy and himself.

The teacher looked over at him and then sighed. “I know what you’re doing Mr. Munson, and I do not appreciate being used as a human shield.”

Eddie grinned down at him. “But Mr. Burton, I am merely on my way to class and we are going the same direction. Besides I am sticking to the edict of avoiding fights with my peers.”

Mr. Burton shook his head. “I thought you had Mrs. Click this period and I am certain she is on the other side of the building.”

“Then are you not heading for your own class, Mr. Burton?” Eddie asked all wide eyed. “I assumed that to be the case when I started walking with you, as your class is right across from hers. You know, both being history teachers and all.”

Mr. Burton turned and looked up at him with a small smile. “I can’t pull the wool over your eyes, you got me. You are going the right direction. I just wanted to see if I could trick ya.”

“Mr. Burton! You tease!” Eddie gasped. “They should take back your teacher of the year award for being so saucy.”

Mr. Burton laughed. “How do you think I got the award in the first place?” He winked at him.

Eddie never had a problem with his history or English classes, so he always got along with the history teachers. Well... most of them. Mrs. Click was a damn fine history teacher, but no one liked her.

“I wish I was in your class this year,” Eddie admitted, ducking his head.

Mr. Burton patted his arm in sympathy. “I know. I also heard she’s flunking you and that’s one of the reasons you’re not graduating.”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why I’m forced to take a history class again, anyway. I have enough credits for history. It’s math, science, and PE that I need.”

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Mr. Burton said sadly. “But I’ll see if I can get together with a couple of the other teachers and see you can’t graduate based on your actual credits and not just them having you repeat your senior year ad nauseum.”

“Thanks, Mr. B.,” Eddie replied with a pained grin. “This is me, so I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

Eddie slumped down in the desk farthest from the front of the room and waited for the rest of the students to file in. Mr. Burton might be ignorant about why Mrs. Click was failing him, but Eddie had no such delusions. He was in her AP class and she was so sure he was cheating instead of, you know, actually knowing the subject.

He watched as the other students filter into the class. It was a strange mish-mash of juniors and seniors and then whatever the fuck he was.

The smartest of the juniors were Robin Buckley and Fred Benson. They definitely deserved to be there. Most of the class were seniors and the greatest dark horse of the class, even more so himself was Steve Harrington and as near as Eddie could figure, he was writing Mrs. Click’s tests.

He was that good. And because he was that good, she let him get get away with murder. He loved to stroll in fifteen minutes late with a bagel that he would eat, making a mess.

That wasn’t even the worst part of the bagel. It was the way he would chipmunk the thing, his cheeks bulging with the large pieces of bagel that he would shove into his mouth. Eddie had to moved directly behind the guy so that he wouldn’t go feral at the sight.

But there would be no bagel porn today because Harrington was home sick. Thank whatever higher power was out there for that.

When Buckley walked in and saw that the seat in front of her was empty she sighed with relief. Most likely for a similar but opposite problem Eddie had. While Steve was Eddie’s crush, he was pretty sure Steve was drawing all the attention away from her crush.

Which even as far as girls went, Tammy Thompson was not on Eddie’s radar at all. Like sometimes he could tilt his head and go, ‘oh yeah, she’s cute’ and not want to bang said girl, but Tammy? He just didn’t get it.

Yes, yes. He knew he was being hypocritical with the Steve crush especially with what he told Jeff just a couple of months ago. But Steve seemed to grow on him.

Not that Steve improved upon closer inspection. Steve was still a smart ass with more sass then sense. But instead of irritating him like it had done in the past...Eddie found it...argh...cute!

He kept that shit to himself though.

He suffered through the class and shambled out the door to his next class, which thankfully was was Mr. Cohen’s class. Science fiction and fantasy writing. Eddie had taken it as an elective to see he could get more English credits.

Mr. Cohen was also the journalism teacher and yearbook supervisor. So he was having the class write poems and shit for the Reflections magazine because there was a distinct lack of interest that year.

Poems were just song lyrics not set to music yet, so Eddie was a having the time of his life.

“The king on his steed

A heart filled with greed

Races to fill some other need

He rushes forward thundering at great speed”

Okay so it wasn’t his best, but he got Mr. Cohen to laugh at all of them rhyming so he counted that as a win.

“All right, class,” Mr. Cohen said after the bell rang. “We going to read a relatively new book in the sci-fi genre called ‘Ender’s Game.’ It came out in January but it took me this long to get it approved for this class. So I want everyone to come up and pick up a copy. On the inside of each book is a number from one to twenty-seven, you will put your name on the signout sheet next to the number of your book. Please do not outline, draw in, or otherwise deface this book, if you do or you lose it, you’ll pay for it, do you understand?”

The class nodded.

They all filed up to the front of the class to grab their book. Eddie hung back until almost everyone else had picked up theirs. He strangely got number eight, but he dutifully put his name to next to the number and shuffled back to his desk.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Cohen said. “I want everyone to start reading chapter one to yourselves. Then be ready on Wednesday to talk about your thoughts.”

Eddie started reading the book and was immediately drawn into the world, he was pretty sure he finish the book by tonight.

Which meant he would probably reread the thing several times before the class was over. Which was a plus as far as he was concerned.

He was actually disappointed when the bell rang for lunch. He shoved the book into his backpack and made for the lunch room.

Again not having Harrington gaze at, made for dull lunch. Well he would have to make his own entertainment then.

He got up on the lunch table and starting a rant about how unless the kid enjoyed it and wanted to do something with math or science, students shouldn’t have take them past the basic level. He was never going need to know the golden ratio or e=mc2 or whatever working for the factory down or as a mechanic.

Just as the principal came rushing in Eddie leapt off the table and neatly on his feet.

“Hi!” he said brightly.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to climb up on the furniture of this school,” Principal Higgins snarled. “Just because you were raised in a barn does mean you get you get treat other people’s property like you’re an animal.”

“Ahh...” Eddie said with the tilt of his head. “I wouldn’t go around talking about my mom that way if I were you. It’s not her fault she got cancer and passed away.”

Principal Higgins looked like he had swallowed a very sour lemon. “Just don’t do it again, do you hear me, Munson?”

Eddie just grinned at him, hands on his hips, staring him down. Eddie cocked his eyebrows and tilted his head, daring the principal to put him in detention, suspend him, or out and out expel him.

Principal Higgins did none of those things. He turned on his heel and stormed off, snarling something at one of the lunch ladies as he passed.

“Well that wasn’t very friendly,” Eddie told the assembled students. “Lunch ladies are sacrosanct, everyone knows that.”

He walked up to the offended lady in question and offered to buy her a Coke, one which she gratefully accepted.

He went back to his table and Jeff glared at him. “You do know you only need two years of both math and science, right?”

“And what good is algebra or geometry going do me working at Thacher’s Tires?” Eddie growled back. “All I need is to know fractions and weights and measurements. I don’t need to find pi or know the circumference of a circle to change a fucking tire.”

“No, but you need to know the radius of the tire to make sure you don’t put the wrong one on,” Jeff said cocking his head to the side.

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Well, shit.”

“Hey, leave him alone,” Brian bit out. “He just found out that it was those two classes that held him back. Again. They’re not for everyone. And yeah some basic geometry is required for life, but pass me on needing to know what a fucking cosign is for working at Bradley’s Big Buy.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Damn, man. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Eddie picked at his pretzels and kicked the leg of their table. “It is what it is.”

“Still,” Jeff said with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I know it’s tough for you.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbled and went back to mindlessly chewing on his sandwich.

It didn’t even have mustard on it. It wasn’t like he forgot, it was that they couldn’t afford to get to the store. All the money he made over the weekend went to buying tires for Wayne’s truck. They were starting to get more bald then the owner of the truck and that was dangerous.

Which meant no mustard for his bologna sandwich.

He jumped when something landed square in the middle of his lunch box. He picked it up and it was one of those mustard packets you get at ballparks and the State Fair. He looked up to see Jeff looking at him.

“The deli my mom gets her pre-made sandwiches from,” Jeff said, “comes with little packets of mayo and mustard and since I don’t like mustard I figured you could use the extra.”

Eddie swallowed around the lump in his throat. It was as good as an apology as any. “Thanks, man.”

He ripped open the packet with his teeth and smeared it all over one side of his sandwich. He took another bite and moaned happily, mustard catching on the edge of his mouth.

“Gross,” Jeff said shaking his head and throwing napkins at Eddie’s face, one of them managing to stick to the glob of mustard.

Eddie cackled, wiping off his face. “Mustard is the seed of life, dude. You are seriously missing out.”

“Seed of life or not,” Jeff huffed, “that stuff is nasty. I can smell it from here.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “Mustard isn’t that bad. I like it in my mom’s meatloaf and in my potato salads.”

“But that’s mixed with other things to mask it’s vile nature,” Jeff insisted. “Anywhere else and you’re beggin’ the devil’s pardon.”

Eddie sat back with a smile on his face, already feeling a little better than when he started his lunch.

The lunch bell rang and he packed up his stuff, listening his friends talk among themselves, thinking today hadn’t be a complete bust.

As he made his way to his last class he over heard a couple of rich kids talking about some big party that was happening that weekend because their parents were going to be in Indy for the weekend.

Eddie slowed down as he took in the details. Things were definitely looking up.

~

Jeff's views of mustard are the views of the author. :D

ETA: Mr. Burton is a real person, or was I'm pretty sure he's passed considering he was my dad's teacher mentor when he did his student teaching. My 8th history teacher and he was exactly like this. He would start each class with a joke and it would always be terrible. And yes, he even got teacher of the year for his sass.

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[vodika-vibes]

The Most Important Date

Summary: Wolffe forgets your first anniversary, and you’re understandably upset about it.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 1542

Warnings: Angst

A/N: So, this doesn't really have a happy ending, more of an open ended ending. I hope you all like it anyway!

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It’s nearly 6 pm, and Wolffe still hasn’t come home.

He swore that he would be here no later than 4:30. But you’ve been waiting for an hour and a half and he’s still not here.

You’re all dressed up in the new dress and heels you bought, specifically, for today. You have a fresh haircut, and you’re wearing the soft perfume that Wolffe loves so much.

But he’s not here.

Well, to be more specific, he’s late.

And you’re starting to wonder if he’s not coming.

Tonight has been in the works for three weeks. And he had been so excited, or, well, you thought he had been excited. He acted excited, at least.

The restaurant had been his suggestion after all. You would have been content with staying home and just spending the evening with him. But he swore that today was something to be celebrated.

He said that your one year anniversary is definitely something that he wants to celebrate, and it’s something he wants to go all out for.

That’s what he said.

But—

He’s not here.

You push a hand through your hair and lift your comm to look at the screen again.

No messages. No missed calls. No anything.

You’re pretty sure he’s not hurt. You know his brothers well enough to know that they’d contact you if he had gotten hurt. And you know that he would have warned you if he got a sudden deployment.

So, with your heart sinking in your chest, you have to conclude that he forgot.

He forgot and he’s not coming.

You drop your comm on your table and rest your chin on your folded arms.

No. No. Wolffe wouldn’t forget. Not about this. Not when it was so important to him, and to you. Traffic on Coruscant is just awful, and his comm is probably dead.

You can wait just a little longer.

30 minutes pass.

Then an hour.

Then two.

And, as the chrono chimes 10 pm, you finally accept that Wolffe isn’t coming for you.

He forgot.

And you spent your first anniversary alone.

The lump in your throat is getting hard to ignore, and you’re losing the battle with the tears threatening to escape from your eyes. And, as you finally push the chair back and pull your new shoes off before you stand to throw them into the back of the closet, you allow the tears to flow.

As you change from the fancy clothes you bought specifically to impress him and into the worn pajamas that you’re more comfortable in, the familiar voice of self-doubt echoes in the back of your mind.

Maybe this is your fault.

Maybe you put too much pressure on him. Maybe you assumed that the relationship was more than he was ready for.

What if he spent your anniversary with another woman? You know you’re not the prettiest or the nicest or the smartest. You know that you have more flaws than you have anything else, anyone would be better than you. You know this, and thought that Wolffe chose you anyway.

You run a comb through your hair, brushing out the gel and hairspray, not able to look at yourself in the mirror.

You thought he chose you in spite of your flaws, but you suppose you were wrong.

You head back to the kitchen long enough to grab your comm and turn out the lights, and you glance at the screen one more time. Hoping against all hope that maybe there’s a message, or an apology, or something from Wolffe.

But there’s nothing there.

You curl your hand around the small device, and head back to your bedroom, feeling as frail as wet paper. You plug in your comm so it’s charge overnight, and for a moment, you consider calling Wolffe. Just to make sure he’s okay.

But, as your finger hovers over his name, you realize you don’t have the courage to press call.

If you call him and he answers and he’s not sorry, you might just shatter into a million pieces and never recover.

So, instead, you just make sure the ringer is on and you set your alarm for 6 the following morning, and you try to fall asleep.

You don’t see Wolffe until after work the next day.

He lets himself into your apartment while you’re standing at the stove making spaghetti sauce.

You still feel paper thin and like you’re heart is on the verge of shattering into pieces, but you greet him quietly as you focus all of your attention on your project. Then, hesitantly, you offer, “I didn’t hear from you much yesterday—”

“Yeah,” Wolffe drops into a seat and rubs his hand down his face, “The battalion went drinking. I didn’t get back to the barracks until 5 this morning.”

You can feel your heart cracking in your chest. “Oh.”

“We even brought some of the natborns along,” He adds, nonchalantly. As if each word wasn’t like a physical blow to your fragile heart, “One of the medics, Andra—you remember her, right? The twi’lek? Well, she nearly drank us all under the table—”

You set your spoon across the top of the pot and lean against the counter, without looking at him.

“And then a bunch of us danced. I think Andra danced with all of us before we went home—”

A helpless, humorless laugh falls from you, “You danced with her?” This is, quite literally, your worst nightmare come to life. He spent your anniversary with another woman.

“Yeah? Come on, cyare. She’s a friend—”

And, all of a sudden, your heartbreak morphs into fury and you slam you hand down on the counter, cutting him off mid sentence. “I want you to leave.” For all that your voice shakes with fury, you don’t raise your voice.

“...what?”

“I want you to leave.” You repeat, your voice still shaking.

“—because I danced with a coworker? That’s not going to happen.”

Another laugh slips from you and you finally spin on your heels to glare up at him, and he falters as he looks at you. His mismatched eyes flickering across your face, lingering on the tears rolling down your face. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Cyare,” He pauses and then stands to approach you his hands held out to you, “I need you to be clearer, sweets. What’s wrong?”

“Unbelievable,” You bite out, “We spent weeks—weeks, Wolffe—planning yesterday. I spent hundreds of credits on a new outfit. And you,” You jab your finger into his chest, “You decided to go dancing with another woman.”

“Cyar’ika—”

“Do not.” You shake your head, “You spent our anniversary with another woman, Wolffe.”

His face falls, and his gaze finally snaps to the calendar hanging on the wall, “Fuck—Cyare, I—”

“I spent three hours sitting here waiting for you to show up,” You interrupt, as if you can’t see the panic growing on his face, “Do you have any idea how I felt when I realized that you weren’t coming?”

“Cyare, sweetheart—” He reaches out to touch you, but you jerk away from him.

“You don’t get to touch me, Wolffe. Not here. Not now.”

“I’m so sorry. Like, so, so sorry. I have no excuse,” His hands fall uselessly to his side, “You could have called, cyare—”

“You’re blaming me?”

“No! No, just...I would have come, I—”

“I shouldn’t have to call you to remember important events, Wolffe.”

“You’re right.” He agrees, immediately, “You’re right, you shouldn’t. I...there has to be a way for me to make this up to you. Right?”

“Make it up to me? The day’s over Wolffe. You can’t turn back time.”

He stares at you for a moment, “You’re not breaking up with me.” He says it like it’s an order, but there’s a desperation to his words that you can’t ignore.

So you sigh, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Cyare—”

“I want you to leave. And when I come up with a decision, I’ll let you know.”

“Please don’t—” he pauses, “Don’t leave things like this. I love you. And I know you love me.”

“Relationships require more than love to work, Wolffe.”

He falls silent for a moment, “I’ll go back to the barracks. But, cyare, I’m going to fight for you.”

“If that’s what you want.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, “Will you answer, when I send you messages?”

“I want you to leave me alone, Wolffe.”

“I’m not going to ignore you, cyar’ika. I don’t care how mad you are at me.”

And, once again, you sigh. “Fine, I’ll answer your messages, but I’m not answering calls. And you don’t get to just show up.”

He looks pained, but he agrees. “I know I fucked up, cyare.”

“You did.”

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, but you did.”

And then Wolffe leaves, but not without a pained look of longing. And you turn your attention back to your dinner while trying to ignore the ache in your heart. Maybe this isn’t the end of your story with Wolffe, but you need time.

He owes you that much, at least.

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[baejax-the-great]

Priceless

Gen | Melinoe & Hecate

“Is that what I think it is?” Melinoe plucks the inexpertly made tassel with fraying edges from Hecate’s purse which she had carelessly left open during their time in the hot spring.

Hecate is surprised the girl remembers it. She was very young when it was crafted, and it is a little worse for wear these days—and it hadn’t started in all that great of condition.

Melinoe strokes the wayward threads and smiles. “I thought you would have tossed this ages ago.”

“I thought I had,” Hecate lies smoothly. “An oversight.”

“Oh? Shall I throw it away for you now, then?”

The question is asked innocently enough, but Hecate scowls.

“Put it back in the bag, Melinoe. And don’t go prying through other people’s things.”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

As soon as Melinoe’s back is turned, Hecate stashes it away deeper in her bag.

It had been Melinoe’s first gift to her, made by a toddler’s chubby hand from stolen supplies. The child hadn’t been able to properly pronounce “talisman” much less make a real one, but she had clearly tried hard, mimicking the knots that Hecate so often employed. The flower she had stuck in it had long since crumbled to dust, but Hecate had kept that dust in a little vial she’d attached to the tassel herself.

“Talismans are mean to do something,” she had told little Melinoe when the child presented it to her. “They are for protection or to bring good fortune. What, pray tell, is this talisman for?”

The girl had thought very hard before saying, “It’s for you.”

“Yes, you’ve made that clear. But what does it do?”

The answer to that never came. Hecate had decided then and there that this was as good an indication as any that Melinoe was ready for her training in witchcraft. They started that day with setting intentions.

There is a bit of magic embedded in the talisman, though not enough to do much of anything other than remind her of Melinoe, which is a sort of magic in itself. When her hand brushes across it, she can almost see the little toddler standing in front of her with a big smile on her face, and there is a certain warmth in her heart to which she is completely unaccustomed.

Or rather, she should be unaccustomed to such feelings, because she should not have these feelings at all. And yet, they have been persistent. It started when Melinoe was just a babe, Hecate rocking her in her arms every night, still recovering from her own lost battles, and a thought which had started as, “I’m glad I’m not alone during these trials,” somehow morphed into the very different, “I’m lucky to have her.”

Hecate was not lucky. It was not luck that brought Melinoe to her. And she did not have her. It was Hecate’s fault that Chronos was able to invade the Underworld. It was her fault that Melinoe’s parents were imprisoned. And it was up to Hecate to use this child to fix the situation she wrought with her own carelessness.

Melinoe was not hers to enjoy. The darling, thoughtful girl should have grown up a princess with her royal parents in her splendid House. Because of Hecate, she grew up in the woods, a refugee, an outcast, a secret, her time devoted to study to become a weapon and nothing else. It was not Hecate’s place to feel a warm gratefulness for her presence, for her natural light, for the laughter she brought to the grove. Hecate had only ever brought her pain. 

Hecate quashed down those emotions no matter how often they came up. Her heart was hardened for the battles ahead. She knew her place, and it was not as a loving mother. Every bit of love spent on Hecate was stolen from her real mother. To accept that role—to indulge in the pleasure of those feelings—would be to spit in Persephone’s face.

So why couldn’t she bring herself to throw away a child’s silly art project?

“I hope you don’t mind,” Melinoe says, “But I made you a new one.”

She holds a talisman out. This one is made with much more impressive knots and threaded with silver that gleams in the moonlight.

Hecate doesn’t take it. In her warning voice, she says, “Melinoe.”

This tactic seems to work less and less often these days. Where once a single word made the girl back down and reconsider her behavior, these trips below the surface have made her grow bold of late.

As predicted, Melinoe proudly juts our chin and continues to hold out the unwanted talisman. “I just noticed the old one was looking a little worn, and I actually know how to make talismans now unlike back then. This one will last a lot longer.”

Hecate sighs. “I have no need for new baubles, Melinoe. The ‘old one’ as you call it is good enough. If it falls apart, so be it.”

She doesn’t back down. “Be that as it may, I’d appreciate it if you kept this one, too. Just in case.”

That’s her mother’s stubbornness, newly found. With a huff, Hecate accepts the new talisman.

“Why you should waste your precious time making me such things—”

“It wasn’t a waste,” she objects primly.

Hecate can feel the magic brimming in this one, but she doesn’t recognize the spell.

“And what does this talisman do, Melinoe?”

The girl smiles. “The same as the last one, headmistress.”

“Which is?”

“Nothing at all. I simply thought about how much I care for you when I made it and I did an incantation so that the silver would remember it. That's how I remember doing it when I was a child, anyway.”

Hecate finds herself in the very rare condition of being at a loss for words. She takes one more look at the tassel in her hand before stashing it away.

“That will be all, Melinoe,” she says stiffly. “I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Yes, headmistress.”

Hecate takes deep breaths as she watches her charge walk away. It was sentimental foolishness to carry that charm around all this time. When Melinoe has left for the night, she’ll put them both away where nobody will ever accidentally find them or touch them and think tender thoughts about a girl she has put into constant danger against foes she herself has no hope of facing. 

Melinoe be reunited with her mother soon enough. Perhaps then, when Melinoe is safe with her family down below and no longer lives in this grove, when she realizes what Hecate took from her and denied her in her ascetic life preparing for this war, then Hecate will wear her talismans and in the shadow of a lonely night indulge in this softness of her heart.

But not until then. 

[blood-starved-beast]

Thinking about what Melinoe's birth must've meant for Zagreus and how upsetting for it to have been for Chronos to show up and muck it all up. All throughout Hades 1, Zagreus had subjected himself to both verbal and physical abuse so that he can bring back his birth mother. Having to own up to his own mistakes and put the affairs of others in order and resolving family drama and conflict. Putting in a lot of work so that in the end, that he and his family are in a better place than before, with that intent from the start or not that was the result. So that in the end, his parents decide that they're willing to try again with another kid, in an environment that is much better than what he had, no doubt due to Zagreus's own efforts. Mel may not be his kid, but that sense of accomplishment must be there you know? For her birth.

Only for all of that to be ripped away the moment Chronos of all people, the one factor no one (other than like, Hera lmao. And the Fates too I guess) could have foresaw. Then when he undoubtedly wakes up he's gonna find that his kid sister grew up a child soldier with her own problems and her own relationships and he and the rest of the family have no part of. Man, for the God of Relationship counseling Blood himself that's gonna be brutal to swallow. Like bad medicine or something. I no doubt believe he's gonna try to play it off ok to not give the impression it's Mel's fault or something but if I were in his place I'd be very very mad at Chronos. Like the House decorations are secondary all that emotional labor lost for that. I hope that's touched upon in H2.

[eeriepromis]

| Characters: Genderbent!Caleb & Zayne | Prompt: Chrono Rewrite | Premise: Caleb and the Love Interests traveled back in time after failing to prevent the world from becoming Philos. Caleb woke up with his body transformed into a females one. || Note: MC is called Mei.

The One Where MC Walks in at the Worst Possible Moment

Caleb was done with this.

The past was already a nightmare to navigate, time travel had screwed with his body, and to top it all off, Zayne was being a stubborn, insufferable pain in the ass.

"Zayne, I swear to God, just give it back!" Caleb growled, his voice sharper than usual - but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that his voice was higher-pitched now, thanks to the whole "waking up in a woman’s body" situation.

Zayne, as always, remained completely unfazed, holding the stolen device high above his head like a schoolyard bully hoarding a toy. His expression was impassive, his glasses reflecting the dim light of the room, but Caleb could see the amusement lurking beneath his usual deadpan demeanor.

“No.”

Caleb’s eye twitched.

“Zayne, I’m warning you-”

Zayne tilted his head, his grip tightening around the small cylindrical device. “You’re in no position to make threats.”

Oh, that was it.

Caleb lunged.

It wasn’t his best move, considering his new center of gravity was still a pain in the ass to adjust to, but he was not going to let this arrogant doctor win.

Zayne, of course, had been expecting the attack. He sidestepped at the last second, letting Caleb’s momentum carry him forward-

Which resulted in both of them crashing into the bed behind them.

Caleb’s legs tangled awkwardly with Zayne’s, their bodies colliding, the device clattering to the side. He barely had time to curse before Zayne - the smug bastard - twisted, flipping their positions so that Caleb was pinned beneath him.

The weight of him was solid, firm, and way too damn close.

Caleb froze.

Zayne did not.

He still had one arm braced above Caleb’s head, the other gripping Caleb’s wrist to keep him from scrambling up. His face was inches away, cool breath fanning against Caleb’s cheek.

And that was the exact moment Caleb decided to make things worse.

"Give it to me!"

He bucked against Zayne’s hold, frustrated and completely unaware of how bad the phrasing was.

Zayne’s eyebrow arched.

And then-

The door swung open.

Silence.

A very long, painful silence.

Then-

“Oh.”

Both Caleb and Zayne’s heads snapped toward the door.

Standing there, holding a plate of snacks, was Mei.

She blinked. Slowly.

Took in the scene.

Zayne half on top of Caleb, pinning her to the bed. Caleb’s wrists caught, legs tangled. Caleb’s flushed, struggling expression. Zayne’s blank but dangerously close posture.

And- Caleb’s words, echoing back at her.

'Give it to me!'

Mei's lips twitched.

She tilted her head. “Am I interrupting?”

Caleb made a strangled noise.

Zayne remained as still as a corpse, likely debating whether clearing things up was even worth the effort.

Mei’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh, don’t mind me~,” she chirped, already turning back toward the door with a suspiciously amused sway in her step. “You two carry on. Have fun!”

“MEI, WAIT-”

The door slammed shut.

Caleb laid there for a solid five seconds, staring at the ceiling, absolutely mortified.

Zayne was the first to break the silence.

“…I’m not explaining that.”

Caleb let out a very, very long sigh.

“…Kill me.”

Zayne adjusted his glasses. “Not in my job description.”

Caleb groaned, wrestling himself free. He sat up, glaring at Zayne. “This is your fault.”

Zayne, completely unbothered, picked up the device and handed it to Caleb.

Caleb stared at it.

Then back at Zayne.

Zayne blinked. “You didn’t specify when I should give it to you.”

Caleb was going to kill him.

But first, he had to fix this mess with Mei.

If she hadn’t already told the entire damn city.

[thebuttsmcgee]

The chronos raid is so unbelievably fucked to think about.

Achilles who helped raise Zag and was helped into reconciling with his lifelong lover, Dusa who went through someone that the residents would look down upon to someone who was respected by even Nyx and a best friend to both Zag and Meg, all of Nyx's children that do reside there, the only place they know they belong and call home, as well as Nyx, each and every single one of them changed for the better by Zag's efforts.

And of course, the family of hades, Persephone who had long abandoned the underworld, only to join back due to her only son who she loved so much she went behind Olympus for it, poor ol' Cerebus who's just a little guy, my sweet lil guy thang.

Each and every single one of them, all having to flee or be caught by Chronos. Having to leave their only home, fleeing to whatever spaces of the underworld that isn't affected by chronos. Imagining the sheer guilt Achilles felt abandoning his boy when alone with Patroclus, the sadness Dusa felt fleeing from her new home and her only friends, and who knows what even happened to Than, who's loyal to Zag to an extreme fault, who I doubt wouldn't try to stay to protect them all.

[sifya]

Hades 2 Ending breaking the time-loop.

I believe we are going to have two possible endings: a time loop ending and a real ending. In the first one, Melinoe continues to ignore the gods' faults, which causes a fallout between her shades and mortal friends. For example, not uncursing Arachne and blaming Dora/Pandora for the fall of humanity would make these women side with the Titans.

At first, these two women siding with the Titans don’t seem like a problem, but they will become instrumental for the Titans against the gods.

Arachne: Some dialogue in the game implies the true motivation she was punished was her ability with weaving. The Fates believe that if Arachne is left alone, she might evolve her skills too much, to the point where she could manipulate fate. So, turning her into a spider was a way to stop that potential. Arachne, learning about this, pushes her ability even further, and despite being a spider, she learns weaving magic. A classic case of self-fulfilling prophecy.

Dora/Pandora: Now, Dora is just a shade without memories who likes pranking, but remembering her past would be devastating for her. Melinoe acting as Pandora/Dora in the wrong would fuel her resentment. Pandora would be an incredible asset for the Titans, seeing that Pandora was created with the gods’ gifts, making her not only beautiful, smart, and cunning, but essentially a "superwoman."

If my theory about Penelope siding with the Titans is correct, Penelope, with her cunning, intelligence, and patience, would already be a precious ally for the Titans. After her death, Penelope’s weaving skills grow so much that she gains weaving magic, and she could teach this to Pandora and Arachne. The Fates don't know about her abilities or her siding with the Titans because she’s dead.

Now, this is the intriguing part: Chronos in the game kidnaps the Fates, but with these three women, it might create three potential new Fates.

Odysseus and Penelope, though separated after their deaths, don’t stop caring about each other. Odysseus would ask the player to give her a quick, definitive death because he understands Penelope is an enemy. However, he begs not to send her to the gods, as they would punish her terribly. If Melinoe allows the gods to punish her, Odysseus would abandon the war. After this event, Hecate loses her strategist, a huge blow, and Melinoe meets Odysseus again, who has drunk from the River Lethe.

Odysseus doesn't remember his past, but he keeps recreating figures of the people he loves but doesn't remember. These figures have heroic or beautiful poses, except for one—Melinoe’s. This one represents Melinoe as a vindictive goddess, but at the same time, it means Odysseus still loves Melinoe, but he fears and is disappointed in her.

After these events, Melinoe tries to kill Chronos with a specific spell, but it fails, sending her into a different timeline ,this happens because time cannot be stopped.

Melinoe, now Hecate, is forced to create a new identity and life. She takes part in the Titanomachy after Hecate swore she would never let Chronos get free and avoid the events of Hades 2, but she failed. Once again, the Titans escaped despite her role as guardian, and once again, her family is captured. She loved Hades' house, even though she could never be part of the family as they daughter. So, her crying about Persephone isn’t about a lover, but her mother. The scene where Hades entrusted Melinoe to Hecate, which is incredibly emotional, makes a lot of sense. For that reason, Hecate refuses to be the mother of Melinoe.

The worst thing is that Melinoe subconsciously remembers the previous loops. In the Book of Shadows, on the page about Melinoe, it is written: "It is all your fault." That would give the players disbelief and shock because, how many times has this happened? Which Melinoe are we playing in the game?

In the true ending, Melinoe doesn’t do the things I mentioned earlier or killing Penelope by request from Odysseus. Instead, she earns the trust of Penelope and Prometheus, showing she is changing her approach with humans and gods. Prometheus reveals he is aware of the time loops, but Melinoe can break them if she stops sorting out Chronos in the gods' way. Melinoe understands she can’t stop time, and she needs the help of Penelope, Arachne, and Dora. Using Dora's box, they create a trap for Chronos. After trapping him, Melinoe would hand him over to Chaos as a jailer.

Like in Hades 1, bringing Penelope home doesn’t stop the game because there is still a big problem. Melinoe needs to find a way to stop the war. Now that she has earned the trust of Penelope and Prometheus, they reveal who freed the Titans: Zeus, because Zagreus, during the game, earns the blessing of Gaia, a sign of future leadership. So he freed the titans in hope to kill Zagreus. Melinoe doesn’t believe it until Hera confirms and explains she couldn’t say.

So, while the war is still going on, Melinoe needs to find a way to prove Zeus' guilt. This time, she has the help of her family now free. Once Melinoe has the proof, she can create a trial against Zeus or use blackmail. The result is a peace treaty between humans, Titans, and gods. The gods can't do whatever they want to humans anymore.

During and after the trial, there will still be rogue elements, and now Melinoe's goal is to put the souls to rest. Melinoe can interact with Penelope and Prometheus, giving them nectar and building relationships with them. Penelope would be seen with Arachne in her lair, spending time together just for their pleasure. Earning Penelope’s trust and completing the trial against Zeus means Melinoe can try to reunite Penelope and Odysseus. Melinoe could learn dream magic from Penelope, while from Prometheus, she learns about time loops and parallel worlds.

[kybercrystals94]

As It Happened

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 28 - Prompts: Denial // CCTV

Rated: G | Words: 798

“Do you think Hunter’s going to be mad?” 

“Why would he be mad? He’s coming to bail us out of holding. I’m sure that this is at the top of his bucket list, right next to having a migraine.” 

“Your sarcasm is not helpful.”

“Wrecker asking dumb questions isn’t helpful.”

Echo stops pacing the cell to loom over the three commandos sitting on the narrow bench. “None of you are being helpful,” he tells them. “None of you have been helpful all night!” 

“Are you implying that this is our fault?” Tech asks, adjusting his goggles and glaring up at Echo through the tinted lens. “Because if my memory serves correctly, and it does, it was you that escalated the situation exponentially.” 

“That’s what I remember too,” Crosshair says, smirking. 

Wrecker nods. “Me too.” 

Echo gapes at them. “Oh, no. You are not telling Hunter that this is my fault.” 

“And you are not telling Hunter that it was ours,” Tech says primly, crossing his arms. 

“Well, it’s somebody’s fault,” Echo declares. “And I know for a fact it wasn’t mine.” 

“Maybe it was none of our faults,” Wrecker suggests. 

“Because that’s believable.”

Wrecker frowns. “Why does everything have to be our fault? Why can’t we ever just be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Crosshair scoffs, “Have you met us? No one’s going to believe that kark.” 

“Your black eye certainly does not help matters,” Tech agrees. 

“Oh, and your split lip does?” Crosshair shoots back. 

Echo groans. “Okay, enough. We need to come up with a cohesive explanation for what happened.” 

“But we don’t even know what happened!” Wrecker cries. “Not really.”

“I know what happened,” Tech says. 

“I am not taking the fall!” Echo reiterates. “Stop trying to throw me under the speeder.” 

“Why not? Hunter won’t be as mad at you.” Wrecker picks at the dried blood on his knuckles. “This is only the first time you’ve been arrested for anything.” 

“The worst you’ll get is the look,” Crosshair says. 

Tech adds, “And a heavy sigh.” 

“Oh, wow, how benevolent of you,” Echo retorts, crossing his arms. A beat of silence. “Wait. How many times have you been arrested?” 

“Irrelevant,” Tech says. “Although I am merely guilty by association on all occasions.” 

Crosshair and Wrecker sputter protests in unison, a mixture of, “You are such a kriffing liar,” and “That ain’t even close to true!” 

“Forget I asked,” Echo groans. 

**

“Seems it was a misunderstanding,” the officer says after reviewing the footage with Hunter. “Your guys weren’t at fault.” 

“That woulda been good of you to figure out before I came all the way down here,” Hunter says. 

The officer shifts uncomfortably from one boot to the other. “Yes, sir, apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll go get your boys out of lockup right now.” 

Hunter smiles at him with a show of teeth that is anything but friendly. “I’d appreciate it.” 

The officer disappears, and Hunter takes a steadying breath and closes his eyes. His head is killing him, and he’d gotten the call about his idiot brothers right after he’d finally managed to doze off. They might not be at fault, but they always seemed to be in the middle of trouble. Naively, he’d thought that Echo would be a voice of reason during their shore leave while Hunter was incapacitated. 

He hears his brothers coming from the back of the station before he sees them, their rowdy voices already aggravating his migraine from afar. When they come through the door, they all go quiet, watching him watching them. He can tell they are trying to decipher to what degree he is upset with them. He gives them a look. “Fun night?” he asks. 

They exchange glances. 

“Not particularly,” Tech admits. 

“It wasn’t our fault, boss,” Wrecker pleads. 

Hunter sighs. “Alright, c’mon,” he grumbles, turning to lead the way out. Once they’ve reached the street, he checks his chrono. “Night cycle’s still young. Get out of here. But if I get another call from the station, I’m leaving you there to rot until morning, got it? I don’t care who’s fault it was.” 

The four looks of utter surprise he receives almost makes the trip down worth it. 

“Really, sir?” Echo asks. “You’re not angry?” 

“Oh, I’m angry,” Hunter corrects him. “Just not at any of you…yet. Please don’t make me regret this.” 

His brothers don’t wait for him to change his mind.

Even after they disappear from sight, his senses follow their distinct, excited voices amongst the noise of the streets a moment longer. Part of him wishes he could join them, but mostly, he looks forward to a few more hours of having the Marauder quietly to himself. 

And he trusts they’ll at least try to behave themselves.

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[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Can Gallifreyans have epilepsy/seizures? If so, could auras and aftereffects manifest differently because of time senses and/or pscionics?

Can Gallifreyans have epilepsy or seizures?

Yes—but it's Gallifreyan epilepsy. This means layered complexity, encompassing psionic, neuroelectric, and chronotemporal aspects.

🧬 Underlying Causes

Seizures in Gallifreyans may be:

Provoked (short-term): triggered by trauma, psionic overload, regeneration, etc.

Chronic (long-term): congenital or inherited instability.

Idiosyncratic (surprise!): unpredictable, context-specific, or biodata-related.

Genetic predispositions are usually caught and treated early. Also notably, one incarnation could experience seizures while others don't.

⚡ Seizure Types & Manifestations

Because Gallifreyan brains operate across multiple integrated systems—neural, psionic, and temporal—a seizure could cascade across all three. Below are core types, adapted from human medicine and extrapolated biologically:

🧠 Focal Aware (Simple Partial)

Consciousness intact, localised disruption.

Ocular tremor: subtle eye flickering or tracking invisible phenomena

Time-stutter: seconds stretch unpredictably for them, or move too fast

Localised motor tics: facial twitching, limb spasms, or finger curling

Memory echo bleed: brief involuntary recall of alternate or parallel timelines

Perceptual distortion: hearing words before they're spoken (I'll call it chronolalia)

🌫️ Focal Impaired Awareness (Complex Partial)

Awareness altered, automatisms that are out of context.

Chronoperception distortion: conversing with people who aren't there... yet

Chronospatial disorientation: misidentifying location or era

Motor automatisms: clothing fidgeting, walking in circles, handling non-existent tools

Echo mimicry: briefly acting like a past self or another person entirely

⚡Generalised Tonic-Clonic

Full-body convulsions, loss of consciousness, postictal fatigue.

Dual cardiac dysrhythmia: hearts fall out of normal sync, pulse may strobe irregularly

Psionic shockwave: accidental thoughtcasting or emotional overload projected outward

Neural cascade: full sensory flood—blinding light, phantom smells, synaesthesia

⏳ Absence Seizure

Short lapses in awareness; 'blacking out.'

Temporal misalignment: subjective sense that time 'skipped'—a second feels missing or misplaced

Memory drift: difficulty recalling what just happened or confusion about sequence

Looping: repeating the same action twice

Telepathic dropout: temporary absence from shared mental fields, noticed by bonded individuals

📡 Psionic Storm (Gallifreyan-Specific, Theoretical)

Seizure originating in the psionic cortex. May involve reflexive time-psionic feedback.

Empathic spillage: others feel intense fear, confusion, or euphoria not their own

Telekinetic lashing: physical displacement of nearby objects via uncontrolled mental force

Room-wide psionic distortion: electronics short, TARDIS faults

Cognitive overlay: voices or memories from other minds accidentally 'bleed through'

Psychic burn-in: a faint imprint or echo of them lingers psychically in the space/objects (highly theoretical)

🌈 Auras: Warnings from Within

Auras are early signals—brief perceptual disturbances—that may precede a seizure. In Gallifreyans, these could be misidentified as benign time sensitivity or psionic flare-ups, and so go underreported. Common aura types may include:

Chrono-slippage: brief disorientation in temporal placement—e.g., not knowing what day, year, or regeneration it is

Psionic shimmer: tactile or auditory 'crackling' within the telepathic field; may be noticed by others

Echo apparitions: hallucinations of individuals not present—may be alternate selves, timelines, or unlinked memories

Biodata dissonance: an intense, gut-level sense that something fundamental has shifted in one's history, without any external confirmation

Auras typically last seconds to minutes, and may be the only warning a patient receives before full symptom onset.

🩺 Postictal States: What Happens After

Following a seizure, Gallifreyans may experience:

Temporal hangover: difficulty anchoring to linear time; past, present, and near-future feel slightly misaligned

Psionic silence: a shutdown of telepathic communication, both sent and received; similar to cognitive deafness

Neural ghosting: temporary interference from suppressed or alternate personality patterns; often distressing

Cardiac asymmetry: one heart compensates for systemic destabilisation while the other resynchronises

In some cases, recovery involves external stabilisation (psionic dampening, temporal grounding, medical sleep) to re-establish baseline identity and neural rhythm.

🏫 So…

Yes, Gallifreyans can absolutely experience seizures—but like everything else about them, it's more complicated than in humans. If your Time Lord companion pauses mid-sentence, mutters something from the future, and accidentally throws your phone across the room with their mind, maybe get them to lie down.

Related:

💬|⚕️💥How would a concussion show up in a Time Lord?: Medical details on how concussion may manifest in Time Lords.

💬|⚕️Midnight (10th Doctor): Looking at the immediate and long-term effects of being hosted by the Midnight creature.

⚕️🔮Psionic Emergency Pathways

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[hayanwulf]

Ironstrange Dinosaur AU

(YouTube fed me with Jurassic Park and Jurassic World shorts while I was trying to study, so here I come; since you're very aware of my obsession with turning everything into Ironstrange)

Tony is a T. rex and Stephen is a Spinosaurus. Enemies to lovers.

Went for a magical mishap instead of a full dinosaur AU.

Tony, the six-ton apex predator, was sulking.

Well, as much as a T. rex could sulk. Which is to say, he was stomping in circles around a patch of ferns, muttering to himself while occasionally snapping at a dragonfly like it owed him child support.

“This is your fault,” he grumbled, trying and failing to scratch his snout with his comically inadequate arms. “I got violated by your stupid fossil, and now I’ve got scales and no fingers!”

Across the clearing, a much sleeker, currently sparklier from a display of attempted magic, and definitely wetter Spinosaurus dwelled half-submerged in a swamp, watching Tony like he was the stupidest carnivore to ever live — which, Tony wanted to take offense to that, but given their current situation, was not entirely unfair.

“Remind me which one of us has given firm, clear, multiple warnings about not touching unknown relics in the Sanctum, and which one of us went ahead and made a wish to the Chronos Fang?” Stephen squinted down at his claws that seemed unable to summon more magic than a few bright sparks. Tony imagined that, if dinosaurs could frown, that was the expression Stephen was making right then. “And now we’re dinosaurs, and I have algae in places I didn’t know existed.”

Tony huffed. “You’re just mad because it turned you into a water lizard. Bet you smell like low tide and bad decisions.”

“I am semi-aquatic,” Stephen snapped. “And I have claws longer than your entire forearm. Don’t talk to me about bad decisions, Mr. I-can’t-keep-my-hands-to-myself. At least this had one good merit, and you won’t be causing me anymore trouble with those non-existent hands while I fix this.”

Stephen ignored the glare Tony directed at him, and went back to his attempts at summoning magic. The only thing that was preventing Tony from quipping back was the fact that it was entirely his fault that they were here.

He mentally amended — no, not entirely his fault — after all it was Stephen who had left the suspiciously fossil-like relic all out in the open for the scientist in Tony to be naturally drawn to it. But they could argue all about that when they were back home again, safe, sound and scaleless.

“...Okay,” Tony said, breaking the silence between them that had stretched for way too long, “But real talk, have you seen yourself? That spine thing? It’s working for you.”

Stephen blinked. “What?”

Tony awkwardly shuffled closer. “Just saying. You’ve got the whole majestic swamp dragon thing going on. It’s weirdly hot. In a terrifying, prehistoric way.”

Stephen stared.

Tony coughed. “Not that I’m into scaly wizard fish or anything, but y’know. If I were, you’d be... uh, top tier.”

There was a long pause. Then Stephen slowly rose from the swamp, water cascading off his scaled hide, and stepped closer. “Tony,” he said, low and dangerous.

Tony tried to look casual, which was difficult when one’s arms were the size of breadsticks and their body weighed more than a pickup truck. “Yeah?”

“You have a fern stuck in your teeth.”

Tony gurgled in horror.

[xjulixred45x]

I just have a BRAINRIOT and i thog of two diferent Angst/Yandere-esque Scenarios for Zagreus x Reader in Hades 2

1-based on a fanart of @artsicfox with a Corrupted Zagreus in Chronos Army.

Zagreus sees EVERY treat as Chronos, but Reader is not a treat, so is the only person he sees as themselfs.

For one side, Reader is so happy that Zagreus is alive and as good as could posible be in the situation, Even if he kind of acts like a mummy and has gone trough so much. Reader wants to stick besides him, he is still their lover SOMEWHERE.

But in the other Hand, it's so heartbreaking seeing Zagreus fight the people who wants to HELP him, His family, His Friends, His allies. And Reader can't do ANYTHING about it (Zag would't allow it, be it by keeping them away from the battles or in His Chambers, and he dosen't really understand what they're saying when they try to explain that what he's seeing it's NOT REAL).

The only thing Reader can do in this Scenario is tell His enemies/allies turn enemies that he just dosen't know what he's doing. That it's not His fault. It's Chronos.

2- Zagreus sides with Chronos "WILINGLY".

This is most likely with a human partner. Imagine Zagreus going trough the same treatment as Hades, but Chronos gives him an offer, his services as a fighter in exchange for the safety and well-being of his mortal lover.

It's something like they did with Prometeus. Zagreus obviously it's just doing it for the sake of His lover and His family, but dosen't Even know how much this hurts Mel, Hades and most of all His lover.

Of course Reader has a good life under Chronos protection, but it's also bc they are a leverage. What keeps Zagreus willing.

Zagreus can either become full yandere and try to keep Reader away from everything bc of his paranoia for Chronos.

Or in the better case, Reader can get away to the Surface where Zagreus checks on them dially (or Even they can get to the camp of Hécate meanwhile Zagreus stays with Chronos. Just temporally solutions until Chronos finds them).

This could also lead to a "Would You Fall in Love With Me Again" moment with Zagreus and Reader when all is over. Bc after all he has done at this point he is so afraid that Reader despistes him. But Reader just sees the man who has done all those thing to be togheter again, the man they fall in love with. (At least this one has a happy Ending).

What do You guys think?