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millenniumfae · 1 year

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Hades Fish - What They Taste Like, And How To Cook Them

TARTARUS

Hellfish - Evolved from pond snails, and as Achilles says in his codex, they traveled from the surface to the Underworld by sticking to the bottom of Charon's boat, and eventually became undead. Around the size of a navel orange. Tastes mostly like regular freshwater snail, except less of the 'dirt' aftertaste and more 'metallic blood' thanks to the Styx. Usually served lightly blanched to avoid chewiness, and served drizzled with oil and salt.

Knucklehead - Originally the spirits of common saltwater sardines and anchovies that convalesced into their own undead species. Classical Greece's fishing economy centered heavily around those two fishes, and that cultural reverence essentially brought the Knucklehead to existence, so to speak, through indirect worship. Average size of 12-15 inches, and they no longer have scales or skin, exposing their translucent green flesh. Has the flaky texture of oil fish when cooked, and tastes like if you stuffed a sardine with pennies.

Scyllascion - Related to the legendary Scylla, but didn't spawn from her as individuals. Like real life catfish, they can keep growing to monstrous sizes, and are aggressive and territorial. Only one Scyllascion hangs out in each large patch of Styx. Zagreus only ever catches the younger, smaller ones, since the huge varieties are too smart to be fooled by a Rod Of Fishing. Caught Scyllascion range from 17 inches to a Great Dane. It's cooked by removing its iron-hard head and fins, then roasted whole or in stews. Meat is surprisingly mild and absorbs flavor well.

ASPHODEL

Slavug - An example of a species that never evolved from a surface animal. They spend an equal amount of time in and out of the lava, sometimes hanging out on the rocks or the shore. An adult Slavug is about a foot long, and five inches thick. When they die, they go from lava-hot to stone cold, and usually cooked by boiled or steamed whole. Slice them like a cake to serve. The flesh is bouncy and porous like bread, and they taste like shellfish.

Chrustacean - These clearly-lobster-adjacent fish are not tolerant to the lava like the Slavug is, its carapace serves as a heat-proof shield. Shades of Asphodel sometimes keep them as pets because of their inquisitive, friendly behavior. Cooking Chrustaceans means prying off their metal shell before exposing them to heat, which leaves their raw, goopy flesh exposed before cooked to firm and usually made into lobster cakes, or as toppings on salad. Tastes like if a lobster was boiled in a sulfur spring.

Flameater - Canonically thought to be native to the Underworld, and perhaps related to the Ladon dragon that Heracles killed. Its large maw is actually a filter feeding system for Phlegathon's minerals, and its passive and shy, making it hard to catch. Average size of a desktop keyboard, and its mouth alone can stretch to the circumference of an umbrella. Cooked through application of frostbite by use of ice, usually by burying it in an icebox for 15-20 minutes. Eaten alone, its weirdly cartilage-ridden and tastes strongly of overcooked egg, but it makes for a great broth or stock starter.

ELYSIUM

Chlam - All fish of the Lethe feed on memories, and this one most of all. Evolved from surface scallops, not clams, lending it its flat, ridged shell and glowing eyes. Usually around the size of a human hand, but the older ones can be the size of a truck tire. Has the soft texture of real life scallops, but its taste depends on what memories it had most recently eaten; bittersweet, salty, horny, etc. Cooking multiple Chlams together in a stew makes for a taste best described as 'headache-inducing' if not spiced correctly.

Charp - The Codex entry implies that its the shade of real life Koi fish (which are colored varieties of the widespread Amur carp), but Hades also implies that its mythology exists independently outside of the Greek world. Koi wouldn't naturally exist above ground, and no one in-game would be familiar with them aside from a possible passing encounter. Therefore, the Charp evolved from common Greek carp into an undead species similar to the koi, and a few worldly shades have remarked on its similarity to a surface species found on distant shores. Like real-life koi, it tastes and cooks like carp, but tinged with memories like the Chlam.

Seamare - Thanks to the Lethe's calm, warmer waters, it has a few reefs that house a natural-borne seahorse-akin fish. They only feed on pleasant memories, lending it a sweet taste, and are usually the size of a dinner plate. They're also intelligent, and can memorize human faces. Catching them is difficult not because they hide, but because they fight back; thanks to all the warrior memories they've swallowed, they have a battle-spun spirit and won't let you reel them in without a struggle. If not kept as pets, they're usually speared on sticks and fire-roasted over coals.

TEMPLE OF STYX

Gupp - Naturally borne from the Styx, it's less of a guppy analogy and more like a Greek freshwater shad. They swim in schools against fast currents, and are usually the length of a pencil case. But like a guppy, they livebirth fry dozens at a time, and are used as utility fish for seeding waters. It lacks scales, like real life catfish, and has the unique life/death cycle of livebirthing pre-existing Gupp in a method of rebirth whereas all other Underworld fish have to wait to respawn upon being eaten. Thanks to its proximity to the surface, it tastes exactly like a regular river fish, just scaleless.

Scuffer - All fish in the Temple are sought-after for their unique overworld-ajacent taste, and the Scuffer even more so for its utility purposes; its tough and giant swim bladder can be made into high quality vellum, its toxin has many medicinal purposes useful to immortals, and its liver a fruity delicacy served raw. Other parts of its flesh are edible to anybody immortal/undead, but you still 'die' so its not recommended. A Scuffer's liver tastes reminiscent of a merlot thanks to its life spent swimming and feeding upon the Styx's floor. The adult ones can be as big as a pineapple.

Stonewal - Evolved from swordfish, and retains their migratory, aggressive behavior. They're an important part of the Underworld's ecosystem, because they regulate the population of any fish that make it too close to the surface world. Range wildly in size, from a modest foot long to as big as a bathtub. Usually cut into fillets and fried upon flat griddles, or served roasted on a rotating spit whole during feasts as a centerpiece. And like the previous two, they have utility purposes as well; their long, sturdy, but flexible bones are made into crafting tools, and weapons like bows and arrows.

CHAOS

Mati - Its appearance is a dead ringer to real life anglerfish fry, but it'll spend its whole life in their gelatinous, bloated form. As a fish of Chaos, it was borne from and represents sapient gaze; AKA, a gaze cast with intelligent emotion. Eating a boiled Mati has the texture of eating an old grape with a hard kernel within, and tastes like if fresh sea urchin was a yeasty porridge. Mati that can be caught are no bigger than a smartphone, but if you look into the distance, you can see car-sized ones.

Projelly - These fish spawn from Chaos like shed skin cells; unconsciously and ever continuing. They're unintelligent except for a minor nervous system that propels their bodies along in a purposeless compulsion. Which is what makes them hard to catch, since they float around too deep for a fisher to just scoop them up, but good luck trying to dredge one upon your hook. Pretty tasteless, but with a pleasant cartilage-y texture. Often served dried out as a snack, then re-hydrated or marinated to be chopped and plated cold with oil.

Voidskate - The biggest fish you can catch in-game. If you look closely, you'll notice that those table-sized Voidskates are seemingly swimming upside down, because when you cast a hook into their reality, you're actually pulling them down from where they fly in the air. Not only that, but their fishable state is their limbo life, and their 'dead, eaten' state is their actual life. They're a source of study from philosophers trying to learn more about life and death, but they never get far. Prepared by slicing into thick, dense steaks, then fried on grills. Has a sour, rich brightness like buttermilk.

#hades #supergiant games #hades supergiant #hades game

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blubushie · 24 days

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Dad's bringing Mattie to the grease monkeys today cuz she needs an oil change (and I can't go because someone needs to watch the house, and I look young so mechanics always try to bilk me).

It's about 9am when he goes to start her up.

She doesn't start.

He keeps trying. She doesn't start. He pulls the choke, maybe it's the chill from last night? No start. Her engine turns over and roars, and then three seconds later it dies. All further attempts and she won't turn over at all. What the fuck?

He calls me out. "Come look at this." We troubleshoot for about 15. Can't figure out the problem. He tries to start her again. I smell petrol and signal him to call quits—overloaded the fuel line. I pop the bonnet, take off the air filter, set that in the grass and let the fuel line and engine and carb vent out the fumes. We wait for the smell to dissipate.

Five minutes later the smell's gone. I get in to see if I can start her—it's been 30 something years since Dad's driven a manual choke, but I drove one just last year in the freezing outback winter, an '87 Holden. And I learnt to drive in a '67 Mustang, manual choke. Sure, I totalled that car, but it wasn't related to the choke at all. Maybe Dad's just doing it wrong.

I pull the choke. Dad confirms from up front that the choke is working. I keep the choke closed, turn the ignition, and tap the accel. She doesn't start.

What the fuck? She was running like a beast yesterday!

I get out. While I get out I happen to look down and I see the manual fuel lever. And it's facing the door.

See, Mattie's a 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special. The Camper Special is made to carry a jackoff camper in the tray. Naturally, it has two tanks for petrol because the added weight is hell on the engine, one tank in the cab under the seat, and one tank in the tray. Now, normally you'd switch tanks from the switch on the dash, but as we've established nothing electrical in her really wants to work, and that includes the switch in the dash. So instead you have to use the emergency backup lever below the seatbelt feeder on the floor of the driver's side, next to the door. If the lever points forward it feeds from the cab tank, if the lever points backwards it feeds from the rear tank.

But the lever was pointing sideways, toward the driver's door. I'd suggested doing this last night as a hypothetical manual fuel shuftoff switch, something people often install on classic cars (or expensive modern cars) to prevent the cars from being stolen. If you run the car with the switch enabled, the only petrol the engine gets is whatever is left in the fuel line. You'll get about a metre before the engine dies. Now, theoretically, the tank switch should work the same way if it's rigged how I think it is—forward opens the front tank valve but closes the back, backwards opens the rear tank valve but closes the front, and sideways... either opens both, or closes both.

Turns out, it closes both. Cuz I got back in, reached down and flipped the lever forward, and turned the ignition. Tapped the accel and she roared up without issue—didn't even need to use the choke.

We sabotaged my truck and both of us ADHD idiots completely forgot we'd sabotaged the truck, so we spent 35 minutes trying to troubleshoot an issue WE caused despite there actually not being any problem at all besides our own forgetfulness.

I feel like a bloody idiot but at least we know the lever is effective theft prevention!

#ford blu #classic cars

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

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Now that it’s the future, things are more confusing than ever. Our ancestors only had to understand a few different kinds of rocks, how to cook a bird they caught, and what sorts of plants they should not try to eat. Like I said, things are different now. Everything has become more advanced, and with it, more complex.

You might not think that things are all that different. After all, those forerunners to our glorious civilization also had to deal with plague, illiteracy, and the horrors of serfdom. Now, we only have that last one left to deal with. I think that you’ve just become used to the polynomial complexity of the modern age. Try going back to 1993 and asking your fellow Hypercolor-shirt-wearing dweebs about why your email isn’t syncing to your smartphone, but works okay on your iPad. You’ll be burned at the stake, even in moderately liberal states like Maine.

I’m all in favour of going back to simpler stuff. Stick axles. Right-angle bodywork. Carburetors. Door handles that burn your fingers because the car’s been sitting in the sun all day while you were working a double at the Kay Bee Toys. Crank windows. Heavy-weight oils that aren’t filtered very well. Bias-ply tires with no grip whatsoever, to the extent that walking on banana peels slathered with mayonnaise will make you feel like an F1 driver by comparison.

Thing is, nobody wants to make that stuff anymore. The new stuff is too good, too efficient, too safe that the automakers and the aftermarket folks have decided that no one on this Earth is stupid enough to want it. Even Chinese factories can’t be convinced to do otherwise; their electric mini-pickup-trucks may cost $2000, but they still have modern metallurgy and plastic headlights. Meanwhile, we’re crushing all this great old stuff and sending it to foreign lands in order to be turned into more boron-infused, tiny-mufflered cough drops that sometimes decide not to let me use Spotify until I break out half an undergraduate computer science degree and/or the Revenge Dremel.

That’s why I’ve decided to start re-learning everything from first principles. I just spent last week checking every book out of the library that I could find on metallurgy. While he was out (in prison,) I was going to turn my neighbour’s new chain-link fence into part of a 4x4 chassis. I had pulled a bunch of it out of the ground and started to build a crucible in which to melt the precious ill-gotten aluminum into ingots. That’s when I realized that the barbecue lighter I was using had a child-safe trigger. I had to go back and dig through the dumpster I found it in, just so I could figure out how to make flame shoot out of it. Friends: this shit has got to stop.

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dontspillthefrijoles43 · 27 days

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Lost hero XV -Leo & Breisa

A sense of impeding doom

Warnings: Cursing, monsters, near death experiences, fire, canon typical violence (not graphic), teenagers being teenagers, first heroic experiences

Word count: 4k words

Summary: Cyclops…Why did it have to be cyclops?

<<Prev

—

Leo stopped at the door and tried to control breathing.

The voice of the earth woman rang in his ears, reminding him of that night. The last thing he wanted was to plunge into another dark warehouse.

Like he was eight years old all over again—alone, small, and helpless as people he cared about were trapped inside and in trouble.

“Oye, nada de eso.” Breisa said. “Don’t let her get to you. Alright? We got this.” She was shaking, but she held her own ground.

That didn’t make him any less scared. But it gave him enough courage– he breathed and creaked the door open.

Together they peered inside.

Nothing looked different.

Gray morning light filtered through the hole in the roof. A few light bulbs buzzed, but most of the factory floor was still covered in shadows.

But he was able to make out the catwalk above with shapes of heavy machinery along the assembly line, but no movement. No sign of his friends.

Leo almost called out, but something stopped him—a sense he couldn’t identify. Then he realized it was a smell.

Something smelled wrong—like burning motor oil and sour breath. Something not human was inside the factory.

Leo was certain. His body shifted into high gear, all his nerves tingling.

Somewhere on the factory floor, Piper’s voice cried out: “Leo, Breisa! help!”

Breisa held a finger to her lips. Her voice rang in his mind, ‘She couldn’t have gone off the catwalk. Not with a broken ankle.’

They slipped inside and ducked behind a cargo container.

Slowly, with weapons in hand, they inching toward the center of the room, hiding behind boxes and hollow truck chassis.

Finally, they reached the assembly line, crouched behind the nearest piece of machinery—a crane with a robotic arm.

Piper’s voice called out again: “Leo? Breisa?” Less certain this time, but very close.

They peeked around the crane.

Hanging directly above the other side of the assembly line was a massive truck engine—just dangling thirty feet up, as if it had been left there when the factory was abandoned.

Below it on the conveyor belt sat a truck chassis, and clustered around it were three dark shapes the size of forklifts.

Beside the forklifts dangling from chains, on another crane, were two smaller shapes—maybe more engines. One of them was wriggling around as if it were alive.

Breisa held a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Then one of the forklift shapes rose, and Leo realized it was a humanoid of massive size.

“Told you it was nothing,” the thing rumbled. Its voice was too deep and feral to be human.

The other forklift-sized lump shifted. It called out in Piper’s voice: “Leo, help me! Help—” Then the voice changed, becoming a masculine snarl. “Bah, there’s nobody out there. No demigods could be that quiet, eh?”

The first monster chuckled. “Probably ran away, if they know what’s good for them. Or the girl was lying about the demigods. Let’s get cooking.”

Snap.

A bright orange light sizzled to life—an emergency flare—and Leo was temporarily blinded. He ducked behind the crane until the spots cleared from his eyes.

‘Santa madre de los dioses.’ Breisa’s thoughts flood rushed him. She was still looking over the crane.

Then he took another peep and saw a nightmare scene.

The two smaller things dangling from the crane arm weren’t engines. They were Jason and Piper. Both hung upside down, tied by their ankles and cocooned with chains up to their necks.

Piper was wriggling around, trying to free herself. Her mouth was gagged, but at least she was alive.

Jason didn’t look so good. He hung limply, his eyes rolled up. A red welt the size of an apple had swollen over his left eyebrow.

On the conveyor belt, the bed of the unfinished pickup truck was being used as a fire pit. Which, from the smell of it, had been doused in kerosene.

A big metal pole was suspended over the flames—a spit, Leo realized.

‘They're gonna cook them alive!’ Breisa’s eyes stayed on the creatures as she gripped her weapon.

He looked at the creatures and almost choked.

They were most terrifying.

Monocle Motors: that single red eye logo.

Why hadn’t Leo realized?

Three massive humanoids gathered around the fire. Two were standing, stoking the flames. The largest one crouched with his backside facing Breisa and Leo. They were each ten feet tall, with hairy muscular bodies and skin that glowed red in the firelight. One of the monsters wore a chainmail loincloth that looked really uncomfortable.

The other wore a ragged fuzzy toga made of fiberglass insulation, which also would not have made Leo’s top ten wardrobe ideas.

The two monsters could’ve been twins. Each had a brutish face with a single eye in the center of his forehead.

The cooks were Cyclopes.

Leo felt his legs shaking. He’d seen some weird things so far—storm spirits, magic girls, winged gods, and a metal dragon that liked Tabasco sauce.

But this was different.

These were actual, flesh-and-blood, ten-foot-tall living monsters who wanted to eat his friends for dinner.

He was so terrified he could hardly think.

If only they had Festus. They could use a fire-breathing sixty-foot-long tank about now.

But all he had was a tool belt and a backpack. His three-pound club hammer looked awfully small compared to those Cyclopes. No better than Breisa’s ax— a mere kitchen knife.

This is what the sleeping earth lady had been talking about. She wanted Leo to walk away and leave his friends to die.

That decided it. No way was Leo going to let that earth lady make him feel powerless—never again. Leo slipped off his backpack and quietly started to unzip it.

The Cyclops in the loincloth walked over to Piper, who squirmed and tried to head-butt him in the eye.

She was fierce, even in the worst possible situation— Breisa respected that.

“Can I take her gag off now? I like it when they scream.”

The question was directed at the third Cyclops, apparently the leader. The crouching figure grunted, and Loincloth ripped the gag off Piper’s mouth.

She didn’t scream. She took a shaky breath like she was trying to keep herself calm.

Meanwhile, Leo found what he wanted in the pack: a stack of tiny remote control units that he founded in bunker 9.

‘'¡¿Qué estás haciendo?!’ Breisa telepathically asked.

‘Improvising’ He remarked–feeling around the robotic crane and propped open a maintenance panel.

He slipped a screwdriver from his tool belt and went to work, but he had to go slowly.

The leader Cyclops was only twenty feet in front of him. The monsters obviously had excellent senses.

Pulling off his plan without making noise seemed impossible, but he didn’t have much choice.

‘Keep an eye out or something.’

‘This is crazy.’ She grumbled but kept her ax ready.

The Cyclops in the toga poked at the fire, that billowed noxious black smoke into the ceiling.

His buddy Loincloth glowered at Piper, waiting for her to do something entertaining. “Scream, girl! I like funny screaming!”

When Piper finally spoke; her tone was calm and reasonable, like she was scolding a naughty puppy. “Oh, Mr. Cyclops, you don’t want to kill us. It would be much better if you let us go.”

Loincloth scratched his ugly head. He turned to his friend in the fiberglass toga.

“She’s kind of pretty, Torque. Maybe I should let her go.”

Torque, the dude in the toga, growled. “I saw her first, Sump. I’ll let her go!”

Sump and Torque started to argue. But then the third Cyclops rose and shouted, “Fools!”

Leo almost dropped his screwdriver. Breisa's ax slipped.

The third Cyclops was a female.

She was several feet taller than Torque or Sump, and even beefier. She wore a chain mail-like sack dress that Leo’s crazy mean Tía Rosa used have—a muumuu.

Her greasy black hair was matted in pigtails, woven with copper wires and metal washers. Her nose and mouth were thick— and mashed together, like she spent her free time ramming her face into walls; but her single red eye glittered with evil intelligence.

The woman Cyclops stalked over to Sump and pushed him aside, knocking him over the conveyor belt. Torque backed up quickly.

“The girl is Venus spawn,” the lady Cyclops snarled. “She’s using charmspeak on you.”

Piper started to say, “Please, ma’am—”

The lady Cyclops grabbed Piper around the waist. “Don’t try your pretty talk on me, girl! I’m Ma Gasket! I’ve eaten heroes tougher than you for lunch!”

‘Probably more than heroes.’ Breisa thought.

Leo grumbled ‘Shut up. Genius at work here.”

With furious concentration, he was able to twist wires and turn switches: hardly thinking about what he was doing. He finished attaching the remote. Then he crept over to the next robotic arm, Breisa following beside him, as the Cyclopes were talking.

“—eat her last, Ma?” Sump was saying.

“Idiot!” Ma Gasket yelled, and Leo realized Sump and Torque must be her sons. If so, ugly definitely ran in the family. “I should’ve thrown you out on the streets when you were babies, like proper Cyclops children. You might have learned some useful skills. Curse my soft heart that I kept you!”

“Soft heart?” Torque muttered.

“What was that, you ingrate?”

“Nothing, Ma. I said you got a soft heart. We get to work for you, feed you, file your toenails—”

Ugh Breisa gagged mentally

“And you should be grateful!” Ma Gasket bellowed. “Now, stoke the fire, Torque! And Sump, you idiot, my case of salsa is in the other warehouse. Don’t tell me you expect me to eat these demigods without salsa!”

“Yes, Ma,” Sump said. “I mean no, Ma. I mean—”

“Go get it!” Ma Gasket picked up a nearby truck chassis and slammed it over Sump’s head. Sump crumpled to his knees.

Both Leo and Breisa winced at the sound, but Sump apparently got hit by trucks a lot. He managed to push the chassis off his head. Then he staggered to his feet and ran off to fetch the salsa.

‘Now’s the time’, Leo thought. ‘While they’re separated.’

‘On it.’ Breisa sheathed her ax on her belt loops.

‘What are you—?’ He huffed as finished wiring the second machine.

‘Improvising.’ She looked at any opening between robotic cranes or Cyclopes— and she spotted it! ‘I got Piper and Jason.’

Breisa crept behind the robotic arms onto the stacks of crates. She climbed and jumped quietly onto each stack, from a distance it looked like stairs.

Leo realized she was aiming for the catwalk.

He then dashed between robotic arms, the Cyclopes didn’t see him, but Piper did. Her expression turned from terror to disbelief, and she gasped.

Ma Gasket turned to her. “What’s the matter, girl? So fragile I broke you?”

Thankfully, Piper was a quick thinker. She looked away and said, “I think it’s my ribs, ma’am. If I’m busted up inside, I’ll taste terrible.”

Ma Gasket bellowed with laughter. “Good one. The last hero we ate— remember him, Torque? Son of Mercury, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Ma,” Torque said. “Tasty. Little bit stringy.”

“He tried a trick like that. Said he was on medication. But he tasted fine!”

“Tasted like mutton,” Torque recalled. “Purple shirt. Talked in Latin. Yes, a bit stringy, but good.”

Leo’s fingers froze on the panel. Breisa halted on the bars, hanging low from the catwalk.

Apparently, Piper was having the same thought, because she asked, “Purple shirt? Latin?”

“Good eating,” Ma Gasket said fondly. “Point is, girl, we’re not as dumb as people think! We’re not falling for those stupid tricks and riddles, not us northern Cyclopes.”

Leo forced his focus back on the panel, but his mind was racing. A kid who spoke Latin had been caught here—in a purple shirt like Jason’s? That could everything or nothing at all, but he had to leave the interrogation to Piper.

If he was going to have any chance of defeating these monsters, he had to move fast before Sump came back.

He looked up seeing Breisa doing a pull-up onto the walk, laying flat for balance.

She crawled on belly—trying not to be seen— to the cocoon chains.

Leo noticed a few inches away from the catwalk an engine was hanging right above the Cyclopes’ campsite. He wished he could use that—it would make a great weapon.

But the crane holding it was on the opposite side of the conveyor belt.

There was no way Leo could get over there without being seen, and besides, he was running short on time. He hoped Breisa could reach Jason and Piper before him.

From above he heard a creeek then the metal piece fell right beside him with a clang!

Leo was out of the way, luckily— the metal rod would have impaled him from the back.

What the fuck is she doing?!

He glanced again— the catwalk swaying sideways. Breisa gripping onto the railing for dear life, holding herself with shaky strength.

The Cyclopes started to look up to the sound of rattling chains.

“This place is falling apart! Luckily you northern cyclopes are keeping it in good working condition!” Piper kept talking, laying on the praise. “Oh, I’ve heard about the northern Cyclopes!” Which Leo figured was bull, but she sounded convincing. “I never knew you were so big and clever!”

That was enough for Breisa to lean herself from the walk onto rusted crane. She skidded across like she was on monkey bars. Hanging right where the metal cocoons were linked.

“Flattery won’t work either,” Ma Gasket said, though she sounded pleased. “It’s true, you’ll be breakfast for the best Cyclopes around.”

“But aren’t Cyclopes good?” Piper asked. “I thought you made weapons for the gods.”

“Bah! I’m very good. Good at eating people. Good at smashing. And good at building things, yes, but not for the gods. Our cousins, the elder Cyclopes, they do this….”

Leo tuned out mothermae-eye, as he could faintly hear Breisa spewing out a prayer.

‘Please Hecate don't let them see me. For the love of god. Or whatever weirdos in the sky. Or the universe, if anyone is listening to me— let me stay hidden to them.’

As the trickiest part of the plan was nearly done, Leo summoned some wires, a radio adapter, and a smaller screwdriver from his and started to build a universal remote.

For the first time, he said a silent thank-you to his dad—Hephaestus—for the magic tool belt.

Get me out of here, he prayed, and maybe you’re not such a jerk.

“—Titans lost. No good! No more need for Cyclops weapons.”

“Oh, no,” Piper sympathized. “I’m sure you made some amazing weapons.”

Torque grinned. “Squeaky war hammer!” He picked up a large pole with an accordion-looking metal box on the end.

He slammed it against the floor and the cement cracked, but there was also a sound like the world’s largest rubber ducky getting stomped.

“Terrifying,” Piper said.

Torque looked pleased. “Not as good as the exploding ax, but this one can be used more than once.”

“Can I see it?” Piper asked. “If you could just free my hands—”

Torque stepped forward eagerly, but Ma Gasket said, “Stupid! She’s tricking you again. Enough talk! Slay the boy first before he dies on his own. I like my meat fresh.”

No! Leo’s fingers flew, connecting the wires for the remote. Just a few more minutes!

“Hey, wait,” Piper said, trying to get the Cyclopes’ attention. “Hey, can I just ask—”

The wires sparked in Leo’s hand.

Breisa was half-way down the chains, on Jason's side since he was farther away. She halted mid-climb.

The Cyclopes froze and turned in his direction. Then Torque picked up a truck and threw it at him.

Leo rolled as the truck steamrolled over the machinery. If he’d been a half-second slower, he would’ve been smashed.

Breisa breathed a sigh of relief as he got to his feet, she thought he had gotten crushed. Hell he would’ve exploded into chunks, on a count of how small he was.

Ma Gasket spotted him. She yelled, “Torque, you pathetic excuse for a Cyclops, get him!”

Torque barreled toward him. Leo frantically gunned the toggle on his makeshift remote.

Torque was fifty feet away. Twenty feet.

Then the first robotic arm whirred to life. A three-ton yellow metal claw slammed the Cyclops in the back so hard, he landed flat on his face. Before Torque could recover, the robotic hand grabbed him by one leg and hurled him straight up.

“AHHHHH!” Torque rocketed into the gloom. The ceiling was too dark and too high up to see exactly what happened, but judging from the harsh metal clang, Leo guessed the Cyclops had hit one of the support girders.

Torque never came down. Instead, yellow dust rained to the floor. Torque had disintegrated.

Ma Gasket stared at Leo in shock. “My son ... You ... You ...”

As if on cue, Sump lumbered into the firelight with a case of salsa. “Ma, I got the extra-spicy—”

He never finished his sentence.

Breisa came down screeching out swears, using Jason as a tire swing. Not exactly strategic with her attack but managed a couple of sharp slashes with her Ax—throwing a kick into Sump.

The salsa case crashed into his chest and Sump flew backward, right into the base of Leo’s third machine. Sump may have been immune to getting hit with truck chassis, but he wasn’t immune to robotic arms that could deliver ten thousand pounds of force.

Leo spun the remote’s toggle, and the second robotic arm whacked Sump again.

The third crane arm slammed him against the floor so hard, he exploded into dust like a broken flour sack.

Two Cyclopes down.

Leo was beginning to feel like Commander Tool Belt—- when Ma Gasket glanced around, not even noticing Breisa, and locked her eye on him.

She grabbed the nearest crane arm and ripped it off its pedestal with a savage roar. “You busted my boys! Only I get to bust my boys!”

Leo punched a button, and the two remaining arms swung into action.

Ma Gasket caught the first one and tore it in half. The second arm smacked her in the head, but that only seemed to make her mad. She grabbed it by the clamps, ripped it free, and swung it like a baseball bat.

It missed Piper and Jason by a hair— luckily Breisa used all the force she could swing the three of them out of the way.

Then Ma Gasket let it go—spinning it toward Leo. He yelped and rolled to one side as it demolished the machine next to him.

Leo started to realize that an angry Cyclops mother was not something you wanted to fight with a universal remote and a screwdriver.

The future for Commander Tool Belt was not looking so hot.

She stood about twenty feet from him now, next to the cooking fire. Her fists were clenched, her teeth bared. She looked ridiculous in her chainmail muumuu and her greasy pigtails—but given the murderous glare in her huge red eye and the fact that she was twelve feet tall, Leo wasn’t laughing

“Any more tricks, demigod?” Ma Gasket demand with sneering.

Leo glanced up.

The engine block suspended on the chain—if only he’d had time to rig it. If only he could get Ma Gasket to take one step forward.

The chain itself ...that one link...Leo shouldn’t have been able to see it, especially from so far down, but his senses told him barely hanging on.

“Heck, yeah, I got tricks!” Leo raised his remote control. “Take one more step, and I’ll destroy you with fire!”

Ma Gasket laughed. “Would you? Cyclopes are immune to fire, you idiot. But if you wish to play with flames, let me help!”

She scooped red-hot coals into her bare hands and flung them at Leo. They landed all around his feet.

“You missed,” he said incredulously.

Then Ma Gasket grinned and picked up a barrel next to the truck.

Leo just had time to read the stenciled word on the side—kerosene—before Ma Gasket threw it.

The barrel split on the floor in front of him, spilling lighter fluid everywhere.

Coals sparked. Leo closed his eyes.

Piper and Breisa screamed.

“No!”

“Look out!”

A firestorm erupted around him. When Leo opened his eyes he was bathed in flames swirling twenty feet into the air.

Ma Gasket shrieked with delight, but Leo didn’t offer the fire any good fuel. The kerosene burned off, dying down to small fiery patches on the floor.

Piper gasped. Breisa’s jaw dropped. “Leo?”

Ma Gasket looked astonished. “You live?” Then she took that extra step forward, which put her right where Leo wanted. “What are you?”

“The son of Hephaestus,” Leo said. “And I warned you, I’d destroy you with fire.”

He pointed one finger in the air and summoned all his will. He’d never tried to do anything so focused and intense—but he shot a bolt of white-hot flames at the chain suspending the engine block above the Cyclops’s head— aiming for the link that looked weaker than rest.

The flames died. Nothing happened. Ma Gasket laughed. “An impressive try, son of Hephaestus. It’s been many centuries since I saw a fire user. You’ll make a spicy appetizer!”

The chain snapped—that single link heated beyond its tolerance point— and the engine block fell, deadly and silent.

“I don’t think so,” Leo said.

Ma Gasket didn’t even have time to look up.

Smash! No more Cyclops; just a pile of dust under a five-ton engine block.

“Not immune to engines, huh?” Leo said. “Boo-yah!”

Then he fell to his knees, his head buzzing.

—

After a few minutes he felt someone grab his shoulders, pull him up, and shake him furiously.

“Gonna hurl.” He blurbed, his stomach feeling queasy.

“Don’t do something stupid like that again!” Breisa shouted. “You scared me!” She had stopped shaking him. Checking him for burns or mark— just something serious.

Only his clothes had small singed marks. Some irritated callous on his hands. He need to change the bandage from the canyon incident.

“You worried about lil ole me?” Leo grinned with a sideways smile.

“You’re an idiot.” She huffed, and let him go.

“Leo! Are you alright? Can you move?” Piper called from behind her. She was freed from her chains. Breisa’s doing definitely.

He stumbled to his feet. He’d never tried to summon such an intense fire before, and it had left him completely drained.

Then together they lowered Jason, who was still unconscious. Piper managed to trickle a little nectar into his mouth, and he groaned. The welt on his head started to shrink. His color came back a little.

“Yeah, he’s got a nice thick skull,” Leo said. “I think he’s gonna be fine.”

“He can’t lose anymore of his memory.” Breisa pulled back his eyelid, trying to see his pupils. They reacted well to the morning light. “He should be alright.”

“Thank god,” Piper sighed. Then she looked at Leo with something like fear. “How did you—the fire—have you always ... ?”

Leo looked down. Breisa suclkedp in a breath, waiting for an excuse or a denial or some kind of lie.

“Always,” he said instead. “I’m a freaking menace. Sorry, I should’ve told you guys sooner but—”

“Sorry?” Piper punched his arm. When he looked up, she was grinning. “That was amazing, Valdez! You saved our lives. What are you sorry about?”

Leo blinked. Then looked at Breisa in disbelief.

“She’s right, you know. You saved us.” She shrugged with a smile, “It was kind of awesome.”

“You saved us too.” Piper bumped her elbow. “Like mission impossible. Freaking amazing.”

Breisa blushed, above them a light bulb exploded. “Ah! Oh my bad! I didn’t know I could do that.”

Leo started to smile; but his sense of relief was ruined when he noticed something next to Piper’s foot.

Yellow dust—the powdered remains of one of the Cyclopes, maybe Torque—was shifting across the floor like an invisible wind was pushing it back together.

“They’re forming again,” Leo said. “Look.”

Piper stepped away from the dust. “That’s not possible. Annabeth told me monsters dissipate when they’re killed. They go back to Tartarus and can’t return for a long time.”

“Well, nobody told the dust that.” Breisa watched as it collected into a pile, then very slowly spread out, forming a shape with arms and legs.

“Oh, god.” Piper turned pale. “Boreas said something about this—the earth yielding up horrors. ‘When monsters no longer stay in Tartarus, and souls are no longer confined to Hades.’ How long do you think we have?”

Leo thought about the face that had formed in the ground outside—the sleeping woman who was definitely a horror from the earth.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But we need to get out of here.”

(A/N: I said I would finish this April, but school burning me out. Almost a graduate! One more month! In the mean time I will try to post as much chapters as possible. Story is finally picking up as I wanted it :)) Hope you all like this one!)

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talia-rumlow · 1 month

Text

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/Original Female Character) 18+ Chapter One

WORDCOUNT: 6267

TRIGGERS: Age Gap, 911 Call, Police

CHAPTER ONE - SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS!

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The blistering Texas sun beamed down on the pavement, smothering downtown Mansfield in an oppressive heat wave. The cloudless sky stretched on in an expanse of clear blue, offering no respite from the sweltering 93°F temperature. The only escapes from the relentless rays were the shady trees in the parks or the cool relief of air conditioning indoors.

As Calleigh locks the office door, she feels the heat radiating in from outside. Having worked in her dad's delivery business for a little over three months now, she easily navigates the building, double-checking that everything is secured for the weekend. Approaching the exit, the intense heat worsens. Calleigh lifts her shirt, revealing a cute pink butterfly piercing on her belly button - a small act of rebellion she got after her first visit with her dad following her mom's move to New York with a new boyfriend. Pushing aside thoughts of New York and the boyfriend she detests, Calleigh fans her exposed stomach with her shirt in a futile attempt to withstand the heat on her way out, silently thanking the universe for Fridays and weekends.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock backs his day-old black Chevrolet Silverado 1500 as close to the garage door as possible. Searching for the key to turn off the engine, he suddenly remembers this truck has a keyless start/stop system—all he has to do is push a button. Brock chuckles a bit of his lack of knowledge about his new car, before he makes a mental note to get used to the new feature.

Though the car met all his needs, Brock struggled to adjust to its high-tech features. While he wanted to embrace the smart house, smart phone, smart car lifestyle, at heart he was old-fashioned. To Brock, a car should just be a car, and a phone just a phone. These days, cars were becoming more like living spaces, packed with extra gadgets and gizmos; and those new phones were multipurpose devices that served not only as phones, but also as calendars, alarm clocks, cameras, journals, and computers. He almost felt that he was too old to keep up, with his 46 years, Brock started to feel that his youth had passed him by long ago.

Placing his toned muscular forearm on the center console; Brock looks over the dashboard. The car's built-in entertainment system was bigger than his nephew's tablet. The right side of the screen informed him that the temperature was a scorching 94°F and climbing; moving over to the left side, where he could decide on what radio station to listen to, operate the car's cameras, use the built-in GPS system, connect his phone via Bluetooth and a bunch of other stuff he'd probably never use.

A quick glance at the clock told him that he had to get to work. He had promised Jack ages ago that he would fix the Oil leak, change the filter, the camshaft belt and do an overall service on the car. But the parts he needed weren't always easy to come by. So here he was, grabbing his mechanic's creeper off his truck, to finally do the job; four months behind schedule.

Brock swings open the garage door, revealing the stunning 1967 Chevy Impala. The sleek black exterior gleams in the sunlight, resembling a rare diamond. Despite its age and need for repairs, the Impala exudes charm, blending masculinity and nostalgic charm. Like Brock, Jack shares a fondness for vintage cars, true American muscle cars such as this. The old cassette player still hums within, and Jack hasn't altered a single detail on the car. There's a palpable sense of trust between them as Brock cherishes the responsibility and level of trust Jack has placed in his hands.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh frowned at her license photo. At only 20 years old, she had not yet grown comfortable with her appearance. She felt her nasal bone was too thick, making her eyes seem too far apart. Makeup helped camouflage this to some extent, but no amount of makeup could alter her height. At 5'10", she was taller than average, which made finding flattering clothes a challenge. She often wished she had her mother's petite 5'3" frame, having clearly inherited her stature from the Rollins side of the family. While she could live with her blonde hair, she wished it had more volume. Her lips were too pale and thin for her liking, though makeup could fix that as well. Unlike her mother's ocean blue eyes, Calleigh had green eyes, another Rollins family trait. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Calleigh took stock of herself - blonde hair, blonder in summer; green eyes; lightly pinked lips with distinctive dips cupping her nose; a high forehead. She was a harmonious blend of both parents.

Calleigh connects her phone to the car's entertainment system, the little screen in the middle of the dashboard makes it easy to navigate through spotify to find her song, Coldplay and The Chainsmokers with Something Just Like This. It’s a song that seems fitting for her life right now.

Ever since she moved back to Texas, and Mansfield, she felt like her whole life was already planned for her.

She would get a seat at the board of directors alongside her dad and her grandfather in the delivery business on her 21st birthday in December. It would give her a comfortable and financially steady life, but very few choices.

With an exasperated sigh, Calleigh places her purse in the passenger seat. The black leather seat had small stitched details, a lighter shade of burnt orange in color, along the sides, giving it a more luxurious look.

When her dad had offered to buy her a new car, Calleigh had opted for the Mini Cooper, a car she felt was more suitable for her needs. But Jack had his mind made up on a 2020 Chevrolet Impala, black of course, to have it blend in with the other cars in the garage. After a bit of discussing back and forth, Calleigh had just given up. A car was a car, and she needed one. Although she would have given almost anything to have a convertible right now.

She was thankful for the car, it was nice and spacious with its four doors and five seats, it had room enough for both Calleigh and her friends.

The trunk suited all of her needs with enough room for both grocery shopping and a shopping spree at the local mall. The black leather seats with the burnt orange stitching offered comfort with their user friendly adjustment mechanism. The center console, designed with faux wood, held a spacious storage compartment and a double cup holder, one of which now held the almost empty Venti iced caramel latte that Calleigh got from Starbucks this morning.

The comfortable, highly equipped steering wheel made it easy to answer the phone, change songs, adjust the volume, as well as the heat in the winter. The 2020 Chevy Impala did indeed deliver a luxurious and comfortable driving experience.

She grew up in a well off family, both of her parents came from money. Both the Rollins Delivery Service and the Lewis Jewelry line had been around for generations, earning themselves a good reputation and money to live a more than comfortable life. Despite all of this, Calleigh had never seen herself as spoiled. She knew nothing came for free, that she had to work hard in school, and she had to earn her allowance. Her parents, even if they were never together, had made sure of that.

The drive from downtown Mansfield to South Pointe was roughly 10 to 15 minutes long, depending on traffic. But in this heat, Calleigh feels that it took two hours. Her shirt is sticking to her back, and her throat screams for water to the point where she's about to chug the last of the latte that had been sitting in her car all day. All she wanted was to change into a bikini and spend the rest of the weekend relaxing by the pool in the backyard.

Despite having to spend the weekend alone; without her two best friends. Jessica was preparing for her undergraduate degree, and Molly had been assigned to take a HR Masterclass in Seattle. Her dad was away as well, having a tiny legal crisis in Chicago, he had decided to fly over there himself, to oversee the negotiations. Calleigh looked forward to a weekend by the pool.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Calleigh approaches the house, she notices the black Pickup truck that's backed all the way into the now open garage door. Not a truck she recognizes, and they rarely had any other unannounced visitors other than her grandparents or Brock from time to time. But Brock was on a work spree these days. Calleigh hadn’t even seen him since she moved back home; which was strange, because in summertime he practically lived in the garage. Fixing her dad’s various vehicles, as well as his own; whilst sharing some beers with her dad. It was almost so that she thought that they had fallen out. But the legal crisis in Chicago had occupied her dad for quite some time, so that might be it. The two men simply didn't have time for social get-togethers these days. Even Friday Night BBQ was put on hold for the time being.

The Friday Night BBQ was one of Calleigh's most cherished traditions. Her dad and Brock manned the grill while she and her friends frolicked in the pool or yard. As they aged, they took on more duties. Molly routinely brought her signature focaccia and salad— a recipe Calleigh unsuccessfully tried recreating time and time again. Jess handled dessert; her Texas-style peach cobbler was unrivaled, the moist and buttery delight created a sweet symphony on her pallads, and topped with a scoop of peach ice cream, it became unresistable no matter how much anyone had for dinner. Occasionally Molly's mom and Jess's parents joined, packing the expansious backyard with joy, nostalgia, and hearty laughter.

With the memories of time well spent, playing like a movie in her head, Calleigh drives past the house at 2 mph as she examines the truck that's parked in front of the garage. A black Silverado, newer model. Having grown up with a father like Jack, with his fondness for cars, she's picked up a thing or ten. Of course it also helped that she spent numerous afternoons at the Rumlow garage in her early teens, when her dad worked late, or her mom spent time with that new boyfriend.

Calleigh's body goes cold when she remembers the 67 Impala in the garage. Jack's favorite car. He spent years finding the perfect one. If someone is trying to steal it, or parts from it; Jack would go ballistic. And given his military background, it'll not be pretty. For a second Calleigh feels like a six-year old, not knowing what to tell her parents when she broke a glass or spilled water on her bed.

Though South Pointe was a gated community, there were no guards on site. To enter, you needed either a code from a resident or a chip that automatically opened the gate. With the recent expansions and the constant flow of workers going in and out, it was easy for anyone to get in, whether they belonged there or not. And with a truck like the new Silverado, you could easily drive in, fill the spacious bed with whatever you were stealing; and then drive back out, without anyone raising a brow.

Calleigh takes a deep breath, weighing her options. Should she call the police or confront the person in the garage herself? Having spent four years in New York, she knows how to handle situations and always keeps pepper spray in her purse, even in Mansfield, where crime rates are lower. Despite the safer environment, she's aware that appearances can be deceiving, and anyone could pose a threat.

Turning her car at the end of the street, Calleigh retrieves her phone from her purse, its cute pink cover with butterflies and faux diamonds contrasting with the ominous atmosphere she envisions in the garage. Without overthinking, she dials 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm female voice responds after a few rings.

“I'm.…I think someone is breaking into my house,” Calleigh says, suddenly unsure if 9-1-1 was the right choice.

“Are you in the house, ma’am?” The voice persists. Calleigh hesitates, considering whether to hang up and face the intruder alone. “Ma’am, are you inside the house?” the voice repeats.

“N..no. I.. I'm outside.. In my car. I don't know what to do. I… I..” Calleigh is desperate, on the verge of crying. She can't remember the last time she didn't want to be home alone. But this is one of those times.

“What's your name ma'am?” The voice continues, still in that calm tone.

Calleigh takes a breath “Calleigh Lewis Rollins.” She replies, with a shaky breath. Trying to calm down her beating heart.

“Do you know if they're armed?” The woman on the phone continues. Calleigh feels that ice cold feeling in her stomach. Armed? She didn't think about that at all. What if they're armed, what does she do then?

“I don't know. I don't know!” She shakily replies. Her voice on the verge of breaking. Without realizing that she does, she reaches for her pepper spray. The little 3 inch pink container designed as a keychain was easy to carry around, easy to use and it had a neutral design, which made it perfect to carry around for self defense.

“Calleigh, calm down. You're going to be fine. I'll dispatch a unit to your location. What's your address?” The voice continues in a calm soothing manner, which helps to calm Calleigh down.

“2837 Chandler Court” Calleigh replies, happy that she remembered the address. She hasn't lived here too long, and in this particular situation it's things like that that usually slips.

“Do you have any firearms in the house?” Another question about guns. It's not that Calleigh wasn't used to them, it was just that in this situation, guns didn't feel like a safe topic. And this is Texas, everyone has firearms.

“Y..Yeah, we have some. Seven or ten maybe.” Calleigh replies as she does a mental runthrough of the house, trying to remember where Jack keeps all his guns. The gun cabinet in the living room, the hide away cabinet in his bedroom, and the safe in the….. garage. Calleigh takes another shaky breath as she imagines some bad ass crocks breaking into that safe.

“I've dispatched a unit to your location. They'll be there in about ten minutes. And Calleigh, please lock the doors, and stay in the car until the unit arrives.” The voice on the phone informs her, still calm and collected. Calleigh can't believe how they manage to be this calm with people in shock, pain, rage, people who're scared out of their minds. But now, today, she's extremely thankful for it.

Clenching the container with pepper spray in her hand, Calleigh almost whispers into the phone “Yes. Thank you.”

“Calleigh, please stay in the car.” The lady on the phone says again. But Calleigh can hardly hear it. She flips the top of the container in her hand, as she hangs up the phone, and slowly exits the car.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

With half an eye on the wrench around the unwilling screw, and half an eye on the bucket for the oil, Brock tries to get the screw to give. His left foot firmly planted on the concrete garage floor to steady himself, as he struggles to get the screw loose. His biceps flexing, the veins on his arm popping. His teeth clenched in concentration, and the sweat dripped from his forehead.

Brock applies just a bit more muscle power, determined to get the screw to give. The sweat on his hands makes him lose his grip around the wrench. His hand flies up, hitting the car, as the wrench falls to the floor, creating an echo around the oversized garage. “Aaaa, fuck,” he almost screams, as he shakes his hand to try to ease the pain.

The sound of metal hitting concrete, the echo that follows and the screaming make Calleigh jump. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and that ice cold feeling in her stomach comes back. Yes, the 9-1-1 dispatcher told her to lock the doors and stay in the car. But ten minutes? They should know how much damage that can be done within ten minutes. She had to leave the car. But with the screaming and the noise. Maybe she should've stayed put. Anyway, it's too late for that now.

Calleigh places her thumb on the top of the pepper spray container. “Stop what you're doing I have a weapon!” She yells, surprised by how firm her voice is, she lifts the container, ready to attack.

Brock jumps under the car from the voice yelling, something about a weapon. Startled, he tries to sit up, but since he's under the car, sitting up only serves for him to bang his head against the car. “Fuck! Shit! Don't shoot, I'm unarmed!” He yells back in a haste. Quickly moving the creeper, so he can stand up.

Getting up faster than he's ever done before, raising his arms to show whoever it is that he is indeed unarmed. “Don't shoot! I'm un-,” when he sees Calleigh he stops for a second “armed….” He breathes out in surprise at the woman standing before him. Beautiful. That's the only thing he can say about her; Silently in his mind of course.

Calleigh carefully drinks in the man in front of her. His well-worn jeans sit comfortably on his hips, a cloth tucked into the right side. His V-shaped lower abdomen is unlike anything she's seen before, leading up to a six-pack and impressive pecs that could be straight out of a commercial. The oil stains and sweat on his upper body add a sexy touch. Moving upward, she notices strong pecs lightly dusted with chest hair. As she lifts her face, broad-toned shoulders barely register in her mind compared to the veiny upper arms that make her knees feel weak. Before fully revealing the rest, she takes a breath and discovers a strong jawline, dark facial hair, followed by soft, playful, and kissable lips, a broad nose perfectly placed on his flawless face. As her gaze reaches further, she encounters two soft hazel brown eyes adorned with dark lashes and brows. Calleigh's heart skips a beat, and in surprise, she breathes out, "Brock?”

Brock had never seen such beauty and grace. Calleigh had blossomed into a stunning woman, with shoulder-length blonde locks with a few curls framing her face. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted in surprise, complementing her petite nose and accentuating the delicate curves of her upper lip. Her emerald eyes shone like gemstones, undoubtedly a Rollins family trait.

Brock swallows, his heart does a jump in his chest. “Calleigh?” His voice carried a bit of surprise. He remembered Calleigh as a rebellious 16-year old, getting belly-button piercings without permission. He did not expect this God sent beauty. And he's not sure how he should react. This is Jack's daughter. He shouldn't feel his heart jump like this because of her.

Jesus Christ, Calleigh thinks for herself. Did she just think about Brock's lips as kissable? Brock Rumlow? Her dad's best friend. Naha, no way. Take it back, take it back, take it back; she repeats the three words again and again in her head, like a mantra. It's all in vain, when Brock's lips slowly curl up into a half smile. His upper lip on the left side curls up, revealing his teeth. Calleigh feels drawn to it. It's like magnetism, an invisible force that's dragging her towards him. She swallows in a desperate attempt to keep her heart out of her throat. It's Brock, Calleigh! He's over 40 years old, and your dad's best friend; the voice in her head screams to her at this point.

"What errr..." Brock takes the cloth from his jeans and wipes his hands on it before continuing. "What are you doing here?" he questions, his eyes traveling over her. Her short-sleeved white shirt reveals the small dips by her collarbone, and Brock's fingers twitch as his mind imagines gliding his fingertips over them. He knows he shouldn't feel this way. Why does he feel this way? Further down the shirt lays tight over her breasts, Brock swallows from the sight of them. Jesus, get it together, Brock; he silently curses at himself.

“I live here.” Calleigh replies, before he can take in the rest of her. She rubs her hand on her neck. The garage offers shade and a living temperature, but she can still feel the heat from outside. And looking at Brock all sweaty and sexy isn't helping at all. “What are you doing here?” She continues, she knows that's a stupid question. He was on his creeper, under the car when she came in, and the oil stains are also a big giveaway.

“I'm fixing your Dad’s car,” Brock answers her question with a little smile, and a tap on the hood of the Impala. “How's that neighborhood watch thing going for ya?” He adds with a little chuckle.

“Huh?” Calleigh feels like she just fell out of the sky. And she imagines that it must look that way too.

Brock gestures with his head to the container in her right hand, and Calleigh looks down to see her thumb still firmly placed on the top of it. Quickly putting the cap back on, she puts her hand behind her back. “It's nothing. It's just…” she tries, but the damage is already done. The only thing she can hope for now, is that Brock won't tell Jack about it.

“For protection?” Brock asks, as he wipes his abs with the cloth. When Calleigh doesn't answer, he continues. “New York taught you a few things huh?” He delivers the question with an understanding head tilt.

Calleigh takes a breath “Yeah I guess you could say—“ she’s interrupted by sirens approaching.

Brock lets out a little laugh “You called the cops on me.” It's more of a statement than a question. Calleigh feels a rush of embarrassment, as Brock lets out another friendly laugh.

“Not so much on you.. I..” Calleigh starts, moving her legs nervously. “I.. I thought you were someone else,” she tries, but without any kind of words to complete that sentence.

“Well, guess I can only hope that they won't arrest me,” Brock continues to chuckle, as he swings the cloth over his left shoulder, and walks outside to face the police.

Calleigh stays behind for a second or two before she shakes her head and lets out an exasperating breath. This is too embarrassing. Did she really call the cops on Brock? Jesus, she's never going to hear the end of this. This'll be one of those stories that'll be mentioned in a speech at her wedding. She can just hear it in her head ‘And you can feel totally safe, Calleigh will protect her terf whatever the cost. I remember…’ Shaking her head again, she walks outside as well.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Not one, not two, but three units showed up. Thank you so much brain, for mentioning all the firearms in the house. Calleigh thinks to herself. Thankfully the misunderstanding was easy to clear up. Two of the officers knew Brock, which was understandable since Brock owned the only garage around that was certified to work on the police vehicles. And of course it helped that both the Lewis and the Rollins name was well known around these parts.

Just as the officers are leaving, Calleigh spots Mrs. Callahan across the street, coming out of her house with her walker. Mrs. Callahan was this tiny 4’9" little old lady, with long gray frizzy hair, she always wore white compression socks, a skirt with flower patterns on, a white shirt, a home knitted cardigan and brown slippers, she had lived across the street since forever. She was a really nice old lady, but she put her nose into absolutely everything.

“Miss Calleigh.” She yells across the street, with what little voice she has left. “Miss Calleigh, is everything alright?” She continues, as she walks across the street towards them.

“Yeah, Mrs. Callahan, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” Calleigh smiles at the old lady.

“I saw the police. Are you sure everything is alright? How's your father? Jack is such a sweetheart, don't you think?” Mrs. Callahan continues to talk. The thing with Mrs. Callahan was that after her husband passed away a few years ago, she had become very chatty. And if she started, there was almost no way of stopping her.

“Everything is perfectly fine Mrs. Callahan. It was just a misunderstanding” Brock shoots in, sending Calleigh an amused look when he says misunderstanding. “I can assure you that you can sleep safely.” He continues, giving the old lady a protective smile.

“O..Okay” Mrs. Callahan nods to Brock. Then she stops. “Would you be so kind as to walk an old lady back home, Brock?” She continues with her distinct old lady voice.

Brock sends Calleigh a small smile, before he offers his arm to Mrs. Callahan. When they start the short walk over the street, Calleigh can hear her say ‘Such a sweetheart, such a sweetheart’ over and over again. Calleigh can't help but smile. Both from the old lady calling Brock a sweetheart, and from the fact that Brock seriously makes her heart jump, and her stomach swoop. Both of which are feelings she's never had before.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh has just finished maneuvering her car into the garage when Brock returns. Still wearing nothing but his well worn work jeans, with oil stains and rips on them. And then that body. Calleigh swallows hard to not let out any type of sound that can give away how she reacts to this man.

“You want Apple pie?” Brock asks, holding up two Apple pies, one in each hand. “Because I have two of them,” he continues, looking from Calleigh to the pies, and then back to Calleigh again.

Mrs. Callahan might be nosy to the point where Calleigh almost felt uneasy about it. But the old lady did make the most delicious Apple pies. Sweet, zesty and sugary. With the most amazing Granny Smith apples, cooked until perfection, with that sweet taste of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg and sugar. Calleigh remembers them from the block parties when she was a little girl. Finishing up her dinner as fast as possible, to make sure she could grab a slice before they were all gone. Her mouth still goes watery when she thinks about it.

“She gave you two?” Calleigh laughs. Smiling wide. Partly for the thought of eating Mrs. Callahan's Apple pies again and partly from the thought that she might sit down with Brock and eat them. Why is that thought so prominent? It's not like Brock hasn't had dinner or food in general in this house before. She practically grew up with him around.

“Two isn't enough?” Brock questions, placing the two pies on the roof of Calleigh's car, before he starts to turn around. “Because I'm pretty sure I can get like five more,” he continues as he starts to leave the garage. Brock chides himself. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he suddenly acting like a fuckin' teenager? Playing stupid flirting games, so that Calleigh will try to stop him, touch him. Jesus, Brock. He thinks for himself. Calleigh must think he's insane.

“No, no, no,” Calleigh hastily replies, grabbing Brock's wrist. “Two is –,” she involuntarily stops mid sentence from the sensation of Brock's skin against her palm. “Two is fine.. it's –” she continues, meeting his eyes as she lets go of his wrist. One of Brock's fingertips brushes over her palm, sending waves of shivers up her arm “perfect” she breathes out.

“Alrighty then,” Brock smiles, as he once again takes the pies. “Just heat them on 350, for 15 to 20 minutes, and we'll have ourselves a treat,” he continues as he opens the door that leads from the garage into the house.

Calleigh examines his broad and perfectly toned backside. His jeans fit perfectly over his behind. Calleigh swallows again. Stop it, she once again tells herself. “Maybe have a shower first?” She suggests, before she follows Brock. A shower? Really, Calleigh? She thinks to herself, the thought of naked Brock in the shower makes her want to slap herself. Cold shower it is. A really cold shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh locks the door to the downstairs bathroom, before leaning her forehead against the door. Oh,God. Is she stupid? It's frickin Brock for God's sake. What is she thinking? Turning around, she leans her back against the door, as she glances over the bathroom.

The bathroom had undergone a luxurious renovation. The once white walls were now covered in sleek black and gold marble tiles that gave the space a rich feel. The wood-look flooring stretched out, making the room seem spacious. Acoustic panels in complementary black and wood tones lined the ceiling. Gone was the indoor jacuzzi that Calleigh loved as a child, replaced by a double waterfall shower. Concrete shelves anchored the masculine vanity area. Perched atop were two oval basins crafted from natural river stone, marrying masculinity with luxury. A sauna for four to six sat in one corner, unused but admittedly stylish. Though unfamiliar, Calleigh had to concede the new bathroom was rather nice looking.

Stepping away from the door, Calleigh removes her work clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket by the door. Before she steps into the shower, she once again takes a look at herself in the mirror. She looks… What's the word? Young and inexperienced. Small breasts, though still firm and pointing the ‘right’ way, they're still small. Narrow hips. Damnit! Why does she care so much about this all of a sudden? Brock.. Like he would ever want someone like her. “Why do you care, Calleigh?” She says to the mirror, before she enters the shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The guest bathroom upstairs offers every accommodation a guest might need, whether it was a short or a longer stay. The modern design, such as the subway tiles in the shower, the floating shelves for towels and toiletries, the bathtub, with it's spa-like bath pillow, and the shower curtain, resting on a black shower rod, that stretched from one wall to another, mixed with the intricate black and white pattern on the floor tiles it gave the room a contemporary yet nostalgic charm.

Brock leans forward in the shower, leaning his arms against the wall as he lets the water wash over his neck, dripping down over his eyes and nose. He takes a deep breath. He'd almost forgotten that feeling. Aside from the fact that he'd promised himself to never go down that path again, he had to admit that it did feel good. That warm feeling, that was pumped out in his entire body with every heartbeat. That childish need for physical contact. But no. He couldn't do this. Not with her. Not with Calleigh. He's 26 years older than her, old compared to her. Though he was in good physical shape, he was still older than her. A lot older. After he took his therapist's advice to work out more to clear his head, his workout routine had become his safe place. A place where he didn’t have to think about Iraq or Afghanistan or Taylor. Just thinking about her name makes him feel cold. Calleigh, he thinks for himself. Calleigh with the gemstone eyes and perfect lips. Calleigh with the soft skin he felt when his fingers brushed over her palm. Calleigh… Yeah, Calleigh’s better. Calleigh’s definitely better. Fuck, what is he doing?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh looks between the knee-length tights and the white cotton shorts, weighing her options. The tights that cover more of her body or the comfortable shorts that's more suitable for this weather. God, this is just stupid. And why would Brock care anyway? Why does she care? Since when did what she wore around Brock become an issue? Opting for the shorts, she rolls her eyes at herself and her teenage-like thinking. The shorts fit better with the top anyway, and for some reason it feels important to look good right now.

After meticulously applying her make-up, Calleigh takes a good long look in the mirror. Her white shirt, with the blue and white butterfly pattern on the front sits perfectly on her body, hugging what's supposed to be hugged. Well, more like what's there to actually be hugged. Pouting a bit to her reflection and shaking her head at herself, she turns around checking if everything is in its right place. The straps on her bra are visible due to the shirts open back. After a few unsuccessful attempts trying to fix that issue, Calleigh gives up. Visible straps are better than a bikini anyway. No poolside relaxing today, there's no way she'll be strolling around in a tiny bikini with Brock around.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The red light that indicates that the oven has reached its wanted temperature turns off, and Calleigh places the two pies into the oven. Thankful that Brock wasn't done upstairs yet. Those feelings she gets when he's around. They're… Calleigh doesn't even have the words to describe them. Sure she's been in love before, or at least smittened. She even had boyfriends, not too many or to long lasting, but still. But the feeling never lasted. And it was never like this. That feeling of her stomach doing gymnastics inside of her. What is that? Looking at the pies warming in the oven. Calleigh tries to make some sense out of all these emotions.

“Wouldn't it be funnier to… I don't know, watch a movie or something?” The voice suddenly talking over Calleigh's head startles her to the point where she hastily stands up. Banging her head into Brock's chin. “Ouch” Brock breathes out as he lets his hand glide over his chin.

“Oh, God,” Calleigh replies. Her expression is a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” She continues, and without realizing that she does she lifts her arm to touch him where they collided. His rugged facial hair tickles her fingers as she carefully let them glide over his chin.

“I gotta say that your self-defense technique is a little unorthodox,” Brock smiles. “But it works, it definitely works,” he continues. The feeling he gets from Calleigh's touch is unlike anything he's ever felt before. A mix of excitement, guilt and that warm feeling spreading throughout his body.

Calleigh can't help but laugh. Brock always used to be funny, kinda like the cool uncle she never had since both her parents were an only child. She can remember millions of times when she was younger. Brock taking her to amusement parks, Brock dressing up as various animals or superheroes for her birthday parties, Brock letting her ride shotgun with him, even though Jack had told him not to. But for some reason the funny he shows her now, that funny feels different.

Suddenly realizing she's still touching him, Calleigh reatracts her hand, covering it with the other hand as she gives Brock an apologetic smile. What's gotten into her? Why does she feel like this around him all of a sudden?

“Is your head alright?” Brock asks, almost instantly regretting his poor choice of words. “From the… err.. bump,” he adds, when he sees the confusion on Calleigh's face. He lifts his hand, and carefully lets it glide over her head.

“Yeah”, Calleigh breathes out as she once again meets Brock's eyes. “I'm…” she continues, as Brock's hand glides down to her neck before stopping on her shoulder. “Good..” Whispering the last word so low that she's not sure Brock even hears it. It's definitely a connection between them. Or is it? Is she fooling herself? And if that's the case, then why?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The evening goes on. With Apple pies, ice cream, a movie on TV and a phone call from a worried Jack.

Mrs. Callahan had called him, and told him about the police being at the house. No surprise there. After about 14 failed attempts to call Calleigh, Jack had resolved to call Brock. Overprotective as he was, he was worried out of his mind. Before Brock explained how everything really went down, Jack was like two seconds away from jumping on the first flight back home. But after some discussion back and forth Brock had told him that he'd stay with Calleigh for the duration of Jack's stay in Chicago. For Calleigh, Jack's overprotectiveness in this situation was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing since this meant that she could spend some more time with Brock, and a curse for that exact same reason.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After getting ready for bed, and before she turns off the lights, Calleigh sends a message in the group chat she shares with Molly and Jess.

‘Call me ASAP. I need to talk.’

No matter if there's a connection there or not, Calleigh needs to talk to someone about this. It's way too heavy to carry by herself. And what better people to talk to, than her two best friends.

Next Chapter ------->

@nekoannie-chan @rip1009 @late-to-the-party-81 @ladysif8

#brock rumlow #rumlow #rumlowfiction #jack rollins #fanfics #fanfiction #Youtube

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thewidowsghost · 1 year

Text

Seeing the Beauty (Piper McLean x Fem!Jackson!Reader) - Chapter 10

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n)'s eyes fly open, and she rises towards the surface of the lake.

Ripples break the surface of the water, but there is no sound.

Then she catches sight of a figure kneeling over the gleaming bronze body of a massive dragon.

Silently, (Y/n) exits the water, creeping towards the figure. And she recognizes it – Leo.

"Leo!" (Y/n) says, and the son of Hephaestus looks up.

"You're alive!" Leo says.

There is a crash – like two dump trucks slamming together from the direction of a factory. Metal crumples and groans, and the noise echoes across the yard.

"Piper and Jason?" (Y/n) asks, uncapping her pen. Tsunami glows with an unnatural bronze light.

"Let's go," Leo says, frowning. "Gimme the biggest hammer you got." He reaches into his toolbelt and pulls out a three-pound club hammer with a double-faced head the size of a baked potato. Then he jumps off the dragon's back – (Y/n) matching his strides – and runs towards the warehouse.

. . .

The two demigods stop at the door and Leo tries to control his breathing.

Gray morning light filters through the hole in the roof of the warehouse. (Y/n) and Leo can make out the catwalk above, the dim shapes of heavy machinery along the assembly line, but there's no movement.

(Y/n) can see Leo ready to call out, but she shakes her head. Then he realizes what was off – it was the smell, like burning motor oil and sour breath. Something not human is inside the factory.

(Y/n)'s body shifts into high gears, all her nerves tingling.

Somewhere on the factory floor, Piper's voice calls out: "Leo help!"

The two demigods hold their tongues.

(Y/n) gestures to a cargo container, and she and Leo slip inside the warehouse, ducking behind the container. Slowly, gripping their weapons, they work their way towards the center of the room, hiding behind boxes and hollow truck chassis. Finally, they reach the assembly line.

Piper's voice calls out again: "Leo? (Y/n)?" Less certain this time, but very close.

(Y/n) and Leo peek around the machinery. Hanging directly above the assembly line, suspended by a chain from a crane on the opposite side, is a massive truck engine – dangling just thirty feet up, as though it had been left there when the factory was abandoned. Below it on the conveyor belt sits a truck chassis, and clustered around it are three dark shapes the size of forklifts. Nearby, dangling from chains on two other robotic arms, were two smaller shapes — maybe more engines, but one of them is twisting around as if it's alive.

Then one of the forklift shapes rises, and Leo realizes that it is a humanoid of massive size. "Told you it was nothing," the thing rumbles. It's voice too deep and feral to be human.

One of the other forklift-sized lumps shift, and calls out in Piper's voice: "Leo. (Y/n), help me! Help –" Then the voice changes, becoming a masculine snarl. "Bah, there's nobody out there. No demigod could be that quiet, eh?"

The first monster chuckles. "Probably ran away, if they know what's good for 'em. Or the girl was lying. Let's get cooking.

Snap. A bright orange light sizzles to life – an emergency flare – and (Y/n) is temporarily blinded. She and Leo duck behind the crane and (Y/n) blinks until the black spots clear from her eyes. Then she takes another peep and she swears she's living a nightmare.

The two smaller things hanging from the crane arms aren't engines. They are Jason and Piper. Both hang upside down, tied by their ankles and cocooned with chains up to their necks. Piper is flailing around, trying to free herself. Piper's mouth is gagged, but she's alive. Jason didn't look so good – hanging limply, eyes rolled up in his head, and there is a red welt the size of an apple swollen over his left eyebrow.

On the conveyor belt, the bed of the unfinished pickup truck is being used as a fire pit. The emergency flare had ignited a mixture of tires and wood, which, from the smell of it, Leo can tell it had been doused in kerosene. A big metal pole is suspended over the flames – a spit, (Y/n) realizes, which means that it's a cooking fire.

But most terrifying of all, are the cooks.

Monocle Motors: the single red eye logo. Why didn't I realize? Leo thinks.

Three massive humanoids gather around the fire. Two are standing, stoking the flames. The largest one crouched with his back to the demigods. The two facing him are each ten feet tall, with hairy muscular bodies and skin that glow red in the firelight. One of the monsters wore a chainmail loincloth that looks really uncomfortable. The other is wearing a ragged fuzzy toga made of fiberglass insulation, which also would not have made Leo's top ten wardrobe ideas. Other than that, the two monsters could've been twins. Each had a brutish face with a single eye in the center of his forehead. The cooks are Cyclopes.

Leo's legs start shaking. He'd seen some weird things so far – storm spirits, winged gods, his best friend talking horse, and a metal dragon that liked Tabasco sauce. But this is different – actual, fresh-and-blood, ten-foot-tall living monster who wanted to eat his friends for dinner.

Leo is so terrified he can hardly think. If only he had Festus. He could use a fire-breathing sixty-foot-long tank. And then (Y/n) rests a hand on his shoulder and Leo can focus more. He had (Y/n) – whom he heard was a good fighter. Then he looks at the hammer in his hand – the three-pound club hammer looks awfully small compared to those Cyclopes.

This is what the sleeping earth lady had been talking about. She'd wanted Leo to walk away and leaves his friends to die.

That decides it for Leo. No way is he going to let her make him feel powerless – never again. Leo slips his backpack off his shoulder and quietly starts to unzip it.

(Y/n) glances over questioningly at Leo. "Want me to distract them?" she breathes to Leo.

Leo shakes his head, and (Y/n) nods, focusing on the Cyclopes again.

The Cyclops in this chainmail loincloth walks over to Piper, who squirms and tries to head-butt him in the eye. "Can I take her gag off now? I like it when they scream."

(Y/n) almost gags at the comments. The crouching Cyclops grunts, and Loincloth rips the gag off Piper's mouth.

Piper doesn't scream. She takes a shaky breath like she's trying to keep herself calm.

Meanwhile, Leo found what he wanted in the pack: a stack of tiny remote control units he'd picked up in Bunker 9. At least he hopes that's what they are. The robotic crane's maintenance panel is easy to find. He slips a screwdriver from his tool belt and goes back to work, but he has to go slowly. The leader Cyclops was only twenty feet in front of them. The monsters obviously had excellent senses. Pulling off his plan without making noise seems impossible, but he doesn't have much choice.

The Cyclops in the toga pokes at the fire, which is now blazing away and billowing noxious black smoke towards the ceiling. His buddy Loincloth glowers at Piper, waiting for her to do something entertaining. "Scream, girl! I like funny screaming!"

When Piper finally speaks, her tone is calm and reasonable, like she is correcting a naughty puppy. "Oh, Mr. Cyclops, you don't want to kill us. It would be much better if you let us go."

Loincloth scratches his ugly head. He turns to his friend in the fiberglass toga. "She's kind of pretty, Torque. Maybe I should let her go."

Torque, the Cyclops in the toga, growls. "I saw her first, Sump. I'll let her go."

Sup and Torque start to argue, but the third Cyclops rises and shouts, "Fools!"

(Y/n) and Leo almost drop Tsunami and his screwdriver. The third Cyclops is a female. She's several feet taller than Torque or Sump, and even beefier. She is wearing a tent of chainmail cut like a muumuu. Her greasy black hair is matted in pigtails, woven with copper wires and metal washers. Her nose and mouth are thick and mashed together, like she spends her free time ramming face-first into walls; but her single red eye glitters with evil intelligence.

The woman Cyclops stalks over to Sump and pushes him aside, knocking him over the conveyor belt. Torque backs up quickly.

"The girl is Venus spawn," the lady Cyclops snarls. "She's using charmspeak on you."

Piper starts to say, "Please, ma'am —"

"Rarr!" The lady Cyclops grabs Piper around the waist. "Don't try your pretty talk on me, girl! I'm Ma Gasket! I've eaten heroes tougher than you for lunch!"

(Y/n) fears Piper would get crushed, but Ma Gasket just drops her and lets her dangle from her chain. Then she starts yelling at Sump about how stupid he is.

Leo's hands work furiously. He twists wires and turns switches, hardly thinking about what he was doing. He finishes attaching the remote. Then he creeps over to the next robotic arm while the Cyclopes are talking.

"— eat her last, Ma?" Sump is saying.

"Idiot!" Ma Gasket yells, and Leo realizes Sump and Torque must be her sons. If so, ugly definitely runs in the family. "I should've thrown you out on the streets when you were babies, like proper Cyclops children. You might have learned some useful skills. Curse my soft heart that I kept you!"

"Soft heart?" Torque mutters.

"What was that, you ingrate?"

"Nothing, Ma. I said you got a soft heart. We get to work for you, feed you, file your toenails —"

"And you should be grateful!" Ma Gasket bellows. "Now, stoke the fire, Torque! And Sump, you idiot, my case of salsa is in the other warehouse. Don't tell me you expect me to eat these demigods without salsa!"

"Yes, Ma," Sump says. "I mean no, Ma. I mean—"

"Go get it!" Ma Gasket picks up a nearby truck chassis and slams it over Sump's head. Sump crumples to his knees. (Y/n) is sure a hit like that would kill him, but Sump apparently gets hit by trucks a lot. He manages to push the chassis off his head. Then he staggers to his feet and runs off to fetch the salsa.

Now's the time, Leo thought. While they're separated.

He finishes wiring the second machine and moves toward a third. As he dashes between robotic arms, the Cyclopes don't see him, but Piper does. Her expression turns from terror to disbelief, and she gasps.

Ma Gasket turns to her. "What's the matter, girl? So fragile I broke you?"

Thankfully, Piper is a quick thinker. She looks away from Leo and says, "I think it's my ribs, ma'am. If I'm busted up inside, I'll taste terrible."

Ma Gasket bellows with laughter. "Good one. The last hero we ate — remember him, Torque? Son of Mercury, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Ma," Torque says. "Tasty. Little bit stringy."

"He tried a trick like that. Said he was on medication. But he tasted fine!"

"Tasted like mutton," Torque recalls. "Purple shirt. Talked in Latin. Yes, a bit stringy, but good."

Leo's fingers freeze on the maintenance panel. Apparently, Piper was having the same thought he was, because she asked, "Purple shirt? Latin?"

"Good eating," Ma Gasket says fondly. "Point is, girl, we're not as dumb as people think! We're not falling for those stupid tricks and riddles, not us northern Cyclopes."

Leo forces himself back to work, but his mind is racing. A kid who spoke Latin had been caught here — in a purple shirt like Jason's? He doesn't know what that means, but he has to leave the interrogation to Piper. If he is going to have any chance of defeating these monsters, he has to move fast before Sump comes back with the salsa.

He looks up at the engine block suspended right above the Cyclopes' campsite. Wish I could use that — it would make a great weapon. But the crane holding it is on the opposite side of the conveyor belt. There is no way Leo can get over there without being seen, and besides, he is running short on time.

The last part of his plan is the trickiest. From his tool belt he summons some wires, a radio adapter, and a smaller screwdriver and starts to build a universal remote. For the first time, he says a silent thank-you to his dad — Hephaestus — for the magic tool belt. Get me out of here, he prays, and maybe you're not such a jerk.

Piper keeps talking, laying on the praise. "Oh, I've heard about the northern Cyclopes!" Which (Y/n) figures is bull, but she sounds convincing. "I never knew you were so big and clever!"

"Flattery won't work either," Ma Gasket says, though she sounds pleased. "It's true, you'll be breakfast for the best Cyclopes around."

"But aren't Cyclopes good?" Piper asks. "I thought you made weapons for the gods."

"Bah! I'm very good. Good at eating people. Good at smashing. And good at building things, yes, but not for the gods. Our cousins, the elder Cyclopes, they do this, yes. Thinking they're so high and mighty 'cause they're a few thousand years older. Then there's our southern cousins, living on islands and tending sheep. Morons! But we Hyperborean Cyclopes, the northern clan, we're the best! Founded Monocle Motors in this old factory — the best weapons, armor, chariots, fuel-efficient SUVs! And yet — bah! Forced to shut down. Laid off most of our tribe. The war was too quick. Titans lost. No good! No more need for Cyclops weapons."

"Oh, no," Piper sympathizes. "I'm sure you made some amazing weapons."

Torque grins. "Squeaky war hammer!" He picks up a large pole with an accordion-looking metal box on the end.

He slams it against the floor and the cement cracks, but there is also a sound like the world's largest rubber ducky getting stomped.

"Terrifying," Piper says admiringly.

Torque looks pleased. "Not as good as the exploding ax, but this one can be used more than once."

"Can I see it?" Piper asks. "If you could just free my hands —''

Torque steps forward eagerly, but Ma Gasket says, "Stupid! She's tricking you again. Enough talk! Slay the boy first before he dies on his own. I like my meat fresh."

No! Leo's fingers fly, connecting the wires for the remote. Just a few more minutes!

"Hey, wait," Piper says, trying to get the Cyclopes' attention. "Hey, can I just ask —"

The wires spark in Leo's hand. The Cyclopes freeze and turn in his direction. Then Torque picks up a truck and throws it at him.

Leo rolls as the truck steamrolls over the machinery. If he'd been half-a-second slower, he would've been flattened.

He gets to his feet and (Y/n) inches around behind the Cyclopes towards Jason and Piper. Ma Gasket spots Leo, and she yells, "Torque, you pathetic excuse for a Cyclops, get him!"

Torque barrels towards him, and Leo frantically guns the toggle on his makeshift remote.

Torque is fifty feet away.

Twenty feet.

Then the first robotic arm whirls to life. A three ton metal claw slams the Cyclops in the back so hard he lands flat on his face. Before Torque can recover, the robotic hand grabs him by one leg and hurls him straight up.

"AHHH!" Torque rockets into the gloom. The ceiling is too dark and too high up to see exactly what happens, but judging from the harsh metal clang, Leo guesses the Cyclops had hit one of the support girders.

Torque never comes down. Instead, yellow dust rains to the floor. Torque had disintegrated.

Ma Gasket stares at Leo in shock. "My son . . . You . . . You . . ."

As if on cue, Sump lumbers into the firelight with a case of salsa. "Ma, I got the extra-spicy —"

He never finishes his sentence. (Y/n) throws Tsunami like a boomerang with so much force that the sword sinks into Sump's chest, and he explodes into golden powder. The bronze sword drops to the floor with a clang.

Two Cyclopes down. Ma gasket locks her eye on (Y/n). She grabs the nearest crane arm and rips off its pedestal with a savage roar. "You busted my boys! Only I get to bust my boys!"

Leo punches a button, and the two remaining arms swing into action. Ma Gasket catches the first one and tears it in half. The second arm smacks her in the head, but it only seems to make her mad. She grabs it by the clamps, rips it free, and swings it like a baseball bat.

It misses Piper and Jason by an inch. Then Ma Gasket lets it go – spinning it towards (Y/n). She rolls to one side and comes up standing.

Leo starts to realize that an angry Cyclops mother is not something he wants to fight with a universal remote and a screwdriver. The future for Commander Tool Belt isn't looking so hot.

She is standing about twenty feet away from Leo now, next to the cooking fire. Her fists are clenched, her teeth bared. She looks ridiculous in her chainmail muumuu – but given the murderous glare in her huge red eye and the fact that she's twelve feet tall, Leo isn't laughing.

"Any more tricks, demigod?" Ma Gasket demands.

(Y/n) instinctively reaches into her pocket, and feels her pen there. She pulls out the pen and uncaps it. The pen extends into a sword with a shink but Ma Gasket either doesn't hear, or is too focused on Leo to turn and figure out the source of the sound.

Leo glances up. The engine block suspends on the chain — if only he'd had time to rig it. If only he can get Ma Gasket to take one step forward. The chain itself . . . that one link . . . Leo shouldn't have been able to see it, especially from so far down, but his senses tell him there is metal fatigue.

"Heck, yeah, I got tricks!" Leo raises his remote control. "Take one more step, and I'll destroy you with fire!"

Ma Gasket laughs. "Would you? Cyclopes are immune to fire, you idiot. But if you wish to play with flames, let me help!" She scoops red-hot coals into her bare hands and flings them at Leo. They land all around his feet.

"You missed," he says incredulously. Then Ma Gasket grins and picks up a barrel next to the truck. Leo just has time to read the stenciled word on the side — kerosene — before Ma Gasket throws it. The barrel splits on the floor in front of him, spilling lighter fluid everywhere.

Coals spark. Leo closes his eyes, and Piper screams, "No!"

(Y/n) can only see red, she charges at the Cyclops – all thoughts of her brother Tyson leaving her – but apparently, Ma Gasket figured she'd have time to look at the source of the sound this time, and she turns to focus on the demigod charging towards her.

Her eye fixes on the sword in (Y/n)'s right hand, and she swings to knock it away, but faster than Leo or Piper can comprehend, (Y/n)'s sword is suddenly in her left, and she thrusts the sword – hilt deep, into the lady-Cyclops's thigh.

She takes the one step back that Leo needs.

He points a finger in the air and summons all his will. He'd never tried to do anything so focused and intense – but he shoots a bolt of white-hot flames at the chain suspending the engine block above the Cyclop's head – aiming for the link that looks weaker than the rest.

The flames die. Nothing happens.

Then the chain snaps – the single link heats beyond its tolerance point – and the engine block falls, deadly and silent.

(Y/n) grabs Tsunami by the hilt, using the Cyclops's stomach as a springboard, wrenching the sword free and landing on one knee, five feet away from the Cyclops.

The engine block – Smash! – no more Cyclops – just a pile of dust under a five-ton engine block.

"Not immune to engines, huh?" Leo says. "Boo-yah!"

Then he falls to his knees, his head buzzing. After a few minutes, he realizes (Y/n) and Piper are calling his name.

(Y/n) is kneeling beside Leo, shaking his shoulder gently – and Leo is slightly confused how she can be touching him. Isn't my skin scalding hot? He wonders.

Leo gets to his feet with (Y/n)'s help. He'd never tried to summon such intense flames before, and it had left him completely drained.

Leo cuts Piper's chain, and she drops into (Y/n)'s arms.

"Uh, hi," Piper says, and then she looks away, her cheeks darkening.

"Nice of you to drop in," (Y/n) grins at her own joke, setting Piper on her feet and helping untangle herself from the chains.

Then together, they lower Jason, who's still unconscious. (Y/n) manages to trickle some nectar into his mouth, and he groans. The welt on his forehead starts to shrink, and his color comes back a little.

"Yeah, he's got a nice thick skull," Leo says. "I think he's gonna be fine."

"Thank god," Piper sighs. Then she looks at Leo with something like fear. "How did you — the fire — have you always . . . ?"

Leo looks down. "Always," he says. "I'm a freaking menace. Sorry, I should've told you guys sooner but —"

"Sorry?" Piper punched his arm. When he looks up, she is grinning. "That was amazing, Valdez! You saved our lives. What are you sorry about?"

Leo blinks. He starts to smile, but his sense of relief is ruined when he notices something next to Piper's foot.

Yellow dust — the powdered remains of one of the Cyclopes, maybe Torque — is shifting across the floor like an invisible wind is pushing it back together.

"They're forming again," Leo said. "Look."

Piper steps away from the dust. "That's not possible. Annabeth told me monsters dissipate when they're killed. They go back to Tartarus and can't return for a long time."

"Well, nobody told the dust that." Leo watches as it collects into a pile, then very slowly spreads out, forming a shape with arms and legs.

"Oh, god." Piper turns pale. "Boreas said something about this — the earth yielding up horrors. 'When monsters no longer stay in Tartarus, and souls are no longer confined to Hades.' How long do you think we have?"

Leo thinks about the face that had formed in the ground outside — the sleeping woman who was definitely a horror from the earth.

"I don't know," he says. "But we need to get out of here."

. . .

Jason's eyes snap open. "Cyclops!"

"Whoa," Leo says from in front of him, driving. They are flying through the winter sky as though nothing had happened.

"D-Detroit," Jason stammers. "Didn't we crash-land? I thought —''

"It's okay," Leo says. "We got away, but you got a nasty concussion. How you feeling?"

Jason's head throbs. He remembers the factory, then walking down the catwalk, then a creature looming over him — a face with one eye, a massive fist — and everything went black.

"How did you—the Cyclops—"

"Leo and (Y/n) ripped them apart," Piper says. "They were amazing. Leo can summon fire —"

"It was nothing," Leo says quickly.

Piper laughs. "Shut up, Valdez. I'm going to tell him. Get over it."

And she does — how Leo and (Y/n) had single-handedly defeated the Cyclopes family; how they freed Jason, then noticed the Cyclopes starting to re-form; how Leo had replaced the dragon's wiring and gotten them back in the air just as they'd started to hear the Cyclopes roaring for vengeance inside the factory.

Jason is impressed. Taking out three Cyclopes with nothing but a tool kit and a sword? Not bad. It doesn't exactly scare him to hear how close he'd come to death, but it does make him feel horrible. He'd stepped right into an ambush and spent the whole fight knocked out while his friends fended for themselves. What kind of quest leader is he?

As though hearing his thoughts, (Y/n) speaks up. "Jason, it's not your fault." He glances back to meet her comforting sea-green gaze and he relaxes slightly.

When Piper tells him about the other kid the Cyclopes claimed to have eaten, the one in the purple shirt who spoke Latin, Jason fells like his head was going to explode again. A son of Mercury . . . Jason feels like he should know that kid, but the name is missing from his mind.

"I'm not alone, then," he says. "There are others like me."

"Jason," Piper says, "you were never alone. "You've got us."

"I — I know . . . but something Hera said. I was having a dream . . ."

He tells them what he'd seen, and what the goddess had said inside her cage.

"An exchange?" Piper asked. "What does that mean?"

"Percy?" (Y/n) questions, her voice a little wistful.

Jason shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know, but Hera's gamble is me. Just by sending me to Camp Half-Blood, I have a feeling she broke some kind of rule, something that could blow up in a big way —"

"Or save us," Piper says hopefully. "That bit about the sleeping enemy — that sounds like the lady Leo told us about."

Leo clears his throat. "About that... she kind of appeared to me back in Detroit, in a pool of Porta-Potty sludge."

Jason isn't sure he'd heard that right. "Did you say... Porta-Potty?"

Leo tells them about the big face in the factory yard. "I don't know if she's completely unkillable," he says, "but she cannot be defeated by toilet seats. I can vouch for that. She wanted me to betray you guys, and I was like, ' Pfft, right, I'm gonna listen to a face in the potty sludge.'"

"She's trying to divide us." Piper crosses her arms, and (Y/n) can sense her tension without even looking at her.

"What's wrong?" Jason asks.

"I just . . . Why are they toying with us? Who is this lady, and how is she connected to Enceladus?"

"Enceladus?" (Y/n) says thoughtfully. "Wasn't he one of the giants?"

Piper wants to slap herself, She's clearly smarter than I'd given her credit for. I'm going to slip up. I'm going to kill my friends.

"I mean ..." Piper's voice quavered. "It's j-just one of the names I could remember."

(Y/n) gets the feeling there is a lot more bothering her, but she decides not to press her.

Leo runs his fingers through his curly hair. "Well, I dunno about Enchiladas —"

"Enceladus," Piper corrects.

"Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?"

"Porphyrion?" (Y/n) asks. "He was the giant king, I think."

Jason envisions that dark spire in the old reflecting pool — growing larger as Hera gets weaker. "I'm going to take a wild guess," he says. "In the old stories, Porphyrion kidnapped Hera. That was the first shot in the war between the giants and the gods."

"I think so," Piper agrees. "But those myths are really garbled and conflicted. It's almost like nobody wanted that story to survive. I just remember there was a war, and the giants were almost impossible to kill."

"Heroes and gods had to work together," Jason says. "That's what Hera told me."

"Kind of hard to do," Leo grumbles, "if the gods won't even talk to us."

"From what I remember, the gods have never been good about talking to their kids," (Y/n) says, frowning bitterly.

Piper turns to meet (Y/n)'s gaze. "Did you remember something else, (Y/n)?"

And (Y/n) tells the story:

The gods set about repairing the throne room, which goes surprisingly fast with twelve super powerful beings at work. Grover, Percy, and (Y/n) care for the wounded, and once the sky bridge reforms, they greet with their other friends had survived. The Cyclopes had saved Thalia from the fallen statue. She is on crutches, but otherwise she's okay. Connor and Travis Stoll had made it through with only minor injuries. They promised (Y/n) they hadn't even looted the city much. They told (Y/n) and Percy that their parents were fine, though they weren't allowed into Mount Olympus. Mrs. O'Leary had dug Chiron out of the rubble and rushed him off to camp. The Stolls look kind of worried about the old centaur, but at least he was alive. Katie Gardner reports that she'd seen Rachel run out of the Empire State Building at the end of the battle. Rachel had looked unharmed, but nobody knew where she'd gone, which also troubled (Y/n).

Nico di Angelo came into Olympus to a hero's welcome, his father right behind him, despite the fact that Hades was only supposed to visit Olympus on winter solstice. The god of the dead looks stunned when his relatives clap him on the back. (Y/n) doubts he'd ever gotten such an enthusiastic welcome before.

Clarisse marches in, still shivering from her time in the ice block, and Ares bellows, "There's my girl!"

The god of war ruffles her hair and pounds her on the back, calling her the best warrior he'd ever seen. "That drakon-slaying? THAT'S what I'm talking about!"

She looks pretty overwhelmed. All she can do was nod and blink, like she's afraid he'd start hitting her, but eventually she begins to smile.

Hera and Hephaestus pass the Jackson twins, and while Hephaestus was a little grumpy about Percy's jumping on his throne, he thought I'd done "a pretty bang-up job, mostly."

Hera sniffs in disdain. "I suppose I won't destroy you two and that little girl now."

"Annabeth saved Olympus," Percy tells her. "She convinced Luke to stop Kronos."

"Hmm," Hera whirls away in a huff, but (Y/n) figures their lives would be safe, at least for a little while.

Dionysus's head was still wrapped in a bandage. He looked me up and down and said, "Well, Percy Jackson. I see Pollux made it through, so I suppose you aren't completely inept. It's all thanks to my training, I suppose."

"Urn, yes, sir," Percy says.

Mr. D nods. "As thanks for my bravery, Zeus has cut my probation at that miserable camp in half. I now have only fifty years left instead of one hundred."

"Fifty years, huh?" (Y/n) tries to imagine putting up with Dionysus until she's an old lady, assuming she lived that long.

"Don't get so excited, Jacksons," he says, and the Jackson realize he is saying their name correctly. "I still plan on making your lifes miserable."

(Y/n) can't help smiling. "Naturally."

"Just so we understand each other." The wine god turns and begins repairing his grapevine throne, which had been singed by fire.

Grover stays at the Jackson twins' side. From time to time he would break down in tears. "So many nature spirits dead. So many."

(Y/n) puts her arm around his shoulder and gives him a rag to blow his nose. "You did a great job, G-man. We will come back from this. We'll plant new trees. We'll clean up the parks. You're friends will be reincarnated into a better world."

The satyr sniffs dejectedly. "I . . . I suppose. But it was hard enough to rally them before. I'm still an outcast. I could barely get anyone to listen to me about Pan. Now will they ever listen to me again? I led them into a slaughter."

"They will listen," (Y/n) promises. "Because you care about them. You care about the Wild more than anyone."

Grover tries for a smile. "Thanks, (Y/n). I hope . . . I hope you know I'm really proud to be your friend."

Percy pats his arm. "Luke was right about one thing, G-man. You're the bravest satyr I ever met."

He blushes, but before he can say anything, conch horns blew. The army of Poseidon marches into the throne room.

"Percy! (Y/n)!" Tyson yells. He charges toward them with his arms open. Fortunately he'd shrunk back to normal size, so his hug is like getting hit by a tractor, not the entire farm. "You are not dead!" he says.

"Yeah!" Percy agreed. "Amazing, huh?"

Tyson claps his hands and laughs happily. "I am not dead either. Yay! We chained Typhon. It was fun!"

Behind him, fifty other armored Cyclopes laugh and nod and give each other high fives.

"Tyson led us," one rumbles. "He is brave!"

"Bravest of the Cyclopes!" another bellows.

Tyson blushes. "Was nothing."

"I saw you!" (Y/n) smiles. "You were incredible!"

Percy thinks poor Grover would pass out. He's deathly afraid of Cyclopes. But he steels his nerves and says, "Yes. Urn . . . three cheers for Tyson!"

"YAAARRRRR!" the Cyclopes roar.

"Please don't eat me," Grover mutters, but (Y/n) doesn't think anyone had heard him.

The conch horns blast again. The Cyclopes part, and Poesidon strides into the throne room in his battle armor, his trident glowing in his hands.

"Tyson!" he roars. "Well done, my son. (Y/n) and Percy—" His face turns stern. He wags his finger at the Jackson twins, and for a second (Y/n) is afraid he's going to zap them. "I even forgive you for sitting on my throne. You have saved Olympus!"

The god of the sea holds out his arms and gives his two children a hug. (Y/n) realizes, a little embarrassed, that she'd never actually hugged her father before. He is warm, and he smells of a salty beach and fresh sea air.

. . .

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson!" Poseidon announces, the names echoing around the chamber.

All talking dies down. The room goes silent except for the crackle of the hearth fire. Everyone's eyes are on the two children of the sea – all the gods, demigods, Cyclopes, and spirits. They walk into the middle of the throne room. Hestia smiles at them reassuringly. The goddess is in the form of a girl now, and she seems happy and content to be sitting by her fire again. Her smile gives (Y/n) the courage to keep walking.

First, the Jackson twins bow to Zeus, and in sync, they kneel at their father's feet.

"Rise, my children," Poseidon says; they rise uneasily. "Great heroes must be rewarded," Poseidon says "Is there anyone here who would deny that my son and my daughter are not deserving?"

(Y/n) waits for someone to pipe up. The gods never agree on anything, and many of them still didn't like her or her brother, but not a single one protest.

"The Council agrees," Zeus said. "Percy and (Y/n0 Jackson, you will have one gift from the gods."

Percy hesitated. "Any gift?"

Zeus nods grimly. "I know what you will ask. The greatest gift of all. Yes, if you want it, it shall be yours. The gods have not bestowed this gift on a mortal hero in many centuries, but, Perseus Jackson — if you wish it — you and your sister shall be made gods. Immortal. Undying. You shall serve as your father's lieutenants for all time."

"Whoa," Leo interrupts the story. "So you're immortal?"

"No," (Y/n) frowns, continuing her story:

(Y/n) stares at the King of the gods, stunned. "Um . . . a god?"

Zeus rolls his eyes. "Dimwitted gods, apparently. But yes. With the consensus of the entire Council, I can make you both immortal. Then I will have to put up with you forever."

"Hmm,"Ares muses. "That means I can smash him to a pulp as often as I want, and he'll just keep coming back for more. I like this idea."

"I approve as well," Athena says, though she is looking at Annabeth.

Percy glances back. Annabeth is trying not to meet his eyes. Her face is pale. Percy flashes back to two years ago, when he'd thought she was going to take the pledge to Artemis and become a Hunter. He'd been on the edge of a panic attack, thinking that he'd lose her. Now, she looks pretty much the same way.

(Y/n) think about the Three Fates, and the way she'd seen her life flash by. She could avoid all of that. No again, no death, no body in the grave. She could be a teenager forever, in top condition, powerful, and immortal, serving her father. She could have power and eternal life.

Who could refuse that?

Then (Y/n) looks at Annabeth – thinking about her friends from camp: Charles Beckendorph, Micheal Yew, Selena Beauregard, and so many others who are now dead. Then she thinks about Ethan Nakamaura and Luke Castellan.

(Y/n) and Percy exchange a look, and they knew what to do.

"No," Percy says.

The Council is silent. The gods frown at each other like they must've misheard.

"No?" Zeus says. "You are . . . turning down our generous gift?" There is a dangerous edge to his voice, like a thunderstorm about to erupt.

"We're honored and everything," (Y/n) says. "Don't get us wrong. It's just. . . we've got a lot of life left to live. I'd hate to peak in my sophomore year."

The gods were glaring at the twins, but Annabeth had her hands over her mouth, and she meets Percy's gaze. Her eyes are shining. And that kind of makes up for it.

"We do want a gift, though." (Y/n) continues. "Do you promise to grant my wish?"

Zeus pauses, "If it is within our power."

"It is," Percy says. "And it's not even difficult. But I need your promise on the River Styx."

"What?" Dionysus cries. "You don't trust us?"

"Someone once told us," (Y/n) says, looking at Hades, "you should always get a solemn oath."

Hades shrugs. "Guilty."

"Very well!" Zeus growls. "In the name of the Council, we swear by the River Styx to grant your reasonable request as long as it is within our power."

The other gods mutter assent. Thunder booms, shaking the throne room. The deal is made.

"From now on, we want you to properly recognize the children of the gods," (Y/n) says. "All the children . . . of all the gods."

The Olympians shift uncomfortably.

"Percy. (Y/n)," Poseidon says, "what exactly do you mean?"

"Kronos couldn't have risen if it hadn't been for a lot of demigods who felt abandoned by their parents," Percy says. "They felt angry, resentful, and unloved, and they had a good reason."

Zeus's royal nostrils flare. "You dare accuse—"

"No more undetermined children," (Y/n) says. "We want you to promise to claim your children — all your demigod children — by the time they turn thirteen. They won't be left out in the world on their own at the mercy of monsters. I want them claimed and brought to camp so they can be trained right, and survive."

"Now, wait just a moment," Apollo says, but (Y/n) is on a roll.

"And the minor gods," (Y/n) continues. "Nemesis, Hecate, Morpheus, Janus, Hebe — they all deserve a general amnesty and a place at Camp Half-Blood. Their children shouldn't be ignored. Calypso and the other peaceful Titan-kind should be pardoned too. And Hades —"

"Are you calling me a minor god?" Hades bellows.

"No, my lord," (Y/n) says quickly. "But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that. No unclaimed demigods will be crammed into the Hermes cabin anymore, wondering who their parents are. They'll have their own cabins, for all the gods. And no more pact of the Big Three. That didn't work anyway. You've got to stop trying to get rid of powerful demigods. We're going to train them and accept them instead. All children of the gods will be welcome and treated with respect. That is our wish."

(Y/n) finishes her story, and they fly in silence for about ten minutes.

"You gave up immortality to help some kids," Piper turns, meeting (Y/n)'s gaze.

The look in Piper's eyes makes butterflies erupt in (Y/n)'s stomach.

Word Count: 6801 words

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