#forced persephone au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachesofteal · 2 months

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The Lethe

An Ichor Veil masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 7.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Greek mythology au, modern retelling. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Smut, M/M/F, loss of virginity. Praise kink. Breath play. Pain play. Feelings of fear, jealousy, and anxiety. Mention of abuse by reader's mother.

The next morning, you wake alone.

You lay alone too, dread swirling in the cosmos, a thick, uneasy tension swooping over the palace where you linger, the protracted creep of corroded hanging moss, a thick curtain of dying green.

Memory is sharp. It’s fickle. It has a hold on you, your mind, your body, and your legs shift restlessly in bed, thighs pressing together.

Cerberus snores on the rug in front of the fireplace, lean and lissome and stretched long.

They open their eyes as soon as your feet touch the floor, shaking off their stupor and trotting over to rest all three heads on top of your thigh.

Pet me.

How could you say no?

“I really have to use the bathroom.” You whisper after giving each ear a good scratch, stretching tall, bones and muscle all stringent, but not sore. Almost nothing feels tender, you realize, and when you inspect yourself in the bathroom mirror, there’s no evidence of last night.

No raw, punished skin.

No puncture wounds.

You’re relieved, the impending doom-like feeling that plagued you the moment you opened eyes lessens, and-

A small shard of disappointment settles in its place.

Did you desire to wear their mark? To have them on your skin, by choice?

Your back is an ugly crisscross of fine golden lines, all remnants of the Whip.

These, you did not choose. These, you do not wear proudly, or at all. You hide them. You’d rip them from your skin if you could. Pull them out from tip to tail, scratch yourself raw.

You’ve already tried.

Your fingers find the faintest remnant of last night, a small dip in your skin the circumference of a tooth. Everything comes flooding back, the sting of your palm against the John’s cheek, the indulgent dig of the cuffs in your wrists.

They stole you.

Do you care?

You expect to feel more unsettled. More enraged, but it only trickles through like a summer’s spring, barely bubbling up through cracks in the earth. You feel betrayed by their thievery of you, but something else lurks beneath the surface, something soft and beautiful, threatening to drag you in with it.

It’s dangerous here, but not in the way you were expecting.

Maybe it is the separation from the wildest part of your being that has cooled your temperament, somewhat.

Only somewhat.

After all, you did hit John in a fit of rage, did you not?

A loud knock rattles the door. Cerberus whines.

“My lady.” A Naiad stands on the threshold of the room, your room, you suppose, her black clothes, nearly white hair both ethereally sleek, hands clasped in front of her waist.

“Um…”

“Your presence has been requested, if you are…” she pauses, delicately, jaw tilting with a shadow, eyes narrowing into slits. “Awake.” She sweeps over you, performing an inspection for something from head to toe, and you find yourself studying her ears, their needle pointed tips accentuated by such symmetrical bone structure, she nearly looks like a cat.

She regards you like one too. Aloof. Holier than thou.

Bitchy.

“I am.”

“Wonderful.” But it doesn’t feel wonderful, the word overflowing with acid. Who is this female?

“I’m sorry, who…”

“I am Minthe, my lady.” Why is everyone calling you that? All the time? You frown.

“Like the plant?” Cerberus shifts at your side, rising on their haunches just so, and she glares at them.

“Yes, my lady. Like the… plant, as you say.” Her teeth shine into a smile, forced and uncomfortable.

Something is wrong here.

“Will you be joining us, or shall I inform them you deign to continue resting?” Us?

“No, I’m well rested, thank you.” She inclines her head, graceful movement elongating her already supple neck. You study her, cataloging her razor-sharp fingernails, polished heels, chin length bob. She seems like an assistant of sorts, heavy black book tucked under arm.

“Very well. I will wait for you here.”

“My Kings. The lady Persephone.” Gross. Minthe announces you, stepping to the side to allow you entrance from behind, the removal of her in your path revealing a large office, two dark stained wood desks with two very handsome gods seated behind them. Bookshelves blanket the walls, and in the middle of the room, a magic made map of the cosmos glows, gold and blue light dancing across the black marble floor. There’s a giant leather armchair in the corner, wide enough for two, and a soft blanket folded over the back. It’s cozy, homey, a welcome surprise.

Your body aches. Desire simmers in the bottom of the stomach, skin prickling with a shiver.

How is it two beings you hardly know are so capable of making you so crazy?

“Darling.” John croons, rising from his chair. There’s a sharp intake of breath to your side, barely audible, stifled. “How did ye sleep?” He’s close now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him, if you were so bold.

A magnet draws you closer.

A collar. A leash.

Hades holding the end of it.

“Fine, thank you.”

“That will be all, thank you Minthe.” Simon dismisses her, still focused on you. She steps away in silence, and when the door clicks closed- John is on you.

He presses close, arm snug at the small of your back, forehead dipping down to rest gently against yours.

“Sweet Persephone.” He murmurs, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek. “Are ye well?”

“Yes.” You breathe. You welcome his touch, this affection, and it feeds a sapling, roots trying to take hold, trying to survive. To grow. To bloom.

His lips lay above your brow, long kiss freezing into a slow moment, and Simon watches with a satisfied smile, a loving glance exchanged between the two as John pulls away. “Have ye eaten?”

“No, she, Mint, brought me right here.” He holds a laugh at bay. “Who is she, anyway?”

“Minthe was once our consort, now she works as an assistant of sorts.” Simon says the slowly, and the room darkens, shadows building in the corners, flooding the cracks and crevices of the bookshelves.

Well, that explains just about everything, then.

“Your consort.”

“Aye. But ye dinnae have to worry, we’ve not been with her in quite some time. We’ve been waitin’ for-“

“Johnny.” Simon stands, moving into your space. It’s only his name, and still so much more is communicated within those two syllables.

Waiting for what?

“Would you like breakfast?” He’s smooth with the disruption, steering and redirecting the train of thought.

“We hoped ye would want to take breakfast in here, with us.” John explains softly, and you nod. A simple request.

“Sure.” You pause, considering. “Could I…” Would they still have them? Is it rude to ask? You’re not quite sure how it works. Is there a kitchen?

“You can have whatever you like, darling.” Simon encourages.

“Portokalopita?” Johnny chuckles, tugging you a little closer, mouth to your temple.

“Of course.”

The orange cakes arrive with a fragrant pot of coffee and some Greek yogurt, slivered almonds on the side. Your usual breakfast. You blink, suspicious for a half second before remembering-

“Why were you watching me?” Simon tenses. “I mean, it’s obvious, now, that meeting John outside of Hebe’s was not coincidental, was it?”

“It was not.” You tuck your feet up into the chair, shifting on your side with a steaming cup in your lap. “We have been… curious about you.” Your blood runs cold. The marks on your back begin to sting, a phantom pain you know does not exist, but still plagues you. Hurts you.

“Curious.” You croak. “Why?”

“We have heard stories. It is rare that we find ourselves so… fascinated by one who dwells in Olympus. John and I, we felt… a desire, to learn what we could.” John smiles, turning fully to face you, reaching for one of your hands.

You do not give it. You’re uneasy, like there’s a direness lurking in the darkness of the room, waiting to pounce. It’s an overwhelming inclination of trepidation, of misanthropy… much like the rivers spilling from this land.

“So, you spied on me.”

“We did.”

“And… you don’t see an issue with that?”

“I… understand how this may be unsettling to you.” Unsettling? More like a set up?

“I don’t…” You sip your coffee, trying to pick through a smattering of words. You must choose them carefully, you’ve come to realize, to get answers. “I don’t understand, why go to such great lengths? There are dozens of other goddesses, more beautiful, more composed, more worthy of your attention than… me.” You, Demeter’s daughter. Demeter’s failure. You, the goddess who rarely leaves her temple, the one who does not engage in socialite events or associate with the more powerful Golden ones in the city.

You, who talks to plants.

“I mean, look at Hebe, or Artemis, one of the Pleiades, they’re all-“

“No.” Simon cuts to the quick. “We do not care for other goddesses, sweet Persephone. We only care for you.” An undercurrent of power ripples, shuddering between the three of you. “Our affection, our care… is only true for you.”

“Me.” Because they do not know you. If they did, the affection would certainly wane. How long would it be, before Minthe was warming their bed once more?

“You, darling. It’s why we brought you here. To know you, as you are. Not as your mother intended, or how chatter portrays.” You look between them, slow eyes finding solemn faces, dogmatic in their assurance. “We had hope you might… enjoy our company, as we believed we would enjoy yours.” John shifts. It’s a fractured movement, barely perceived, but unsettled, and he cocks his head afterwards, gaze thick and focused on you.

“I told ye, we’d never hurt ye.”

“I know.” You whisper. You believe it now, to an extent. A pool of guilt tugs you into its current, an apology bubbling up over your tongue. “I’m sorry… about… striking you, last night. It was unbecoming of me.”

“I know ye are.” He soothes, and Simon interjects.

“The next time you feel an overwhelming urge like that, you tell us. We’ll take care of you.” His smile drips with a predatory gleam, and you’re suddenly inside a memory, the feeling of ichor sliding over your skin, spilling down around your fluttering rim, his finger pushing inside your body where you’ve never been touched by another. His mouth, covered in it. Golden lifeblood smeared across his lips, John’s cum spilling down your throat, molten earth, burning you anew.

What started it all? The idea that they locked your magic away? That they took you?

That they trapped you.

“I felt…” You tap over your heart, signifying the part of you that’s missing, and he nods in acknowledgement.

“I understand. It’s a difficult thing, we’ve asked of you, and you’ve done so well.” Your hands tremble, fighting the urge to preen like a raven beneath the praise.

It encourages you. Urges you to talk, spill secrets, let go of weights holding you at the bottom of the sea, where you cannot breathe.

“My- my mother. She used to do something similar. When she felt like I was out of control. When I became… too much. It’s a familiar feeling.” They exchange a long glance, and then John kneels, a hand on your knee, the other stroking deft circles into your thigh.

“Persephone. The scars,” Your eyes slam shut. “on yer back. They were made with a magical object. Did Demeter do that?” He demands, and you inch away, trying to create space, trying to escape this- this conversation, this vivisection.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You whisper. “Please.” His eyes are so blue. Like the Aegean, a venetian, crystalline color that deepens when he frowns, his emotions worn so plainly for both you and Simon to see. He’s distressed, like he wants to scoop you up, carry you away. They’re both staring at you with… pity. “Do not pity me.” You snarl, hackles rising.

“It is not pity you see, darling.” Simon shakes his head. “We do not pity you, or your strength. The story of your temple is known far and wide, even to those down here. It is sadness that we feel. With you.” The lump in the back of your throat is thick, too thick, and it threatens to derail your composure.

You push past everything else. The assurance you could come to them, when you felt like you were going to explode, detonate across the world, when everything turns white and you need your pain, your pleasure.

You’re only here for a day longer.

The rest of your breakfast is put aside, and you stand between the two with an open palm.

“Well, then. What’s on the agenda for my last day?”

There are many places in the Underworld that hold you captive, but Hecate’s piece of it, a forest of dew dropped trees with gnarled trunks and lavender flowers, vibrant mosses shuddering beneath your feet, a hollow thrumming with the wildest of magics, leaves you breathless. The goddess is just as striking, tall and elegant, deep black hair that swings at her hips, emerald eyes and pointed nose perfectly set in her face. Her skin glows, a sepia drenched harvest moon, and when she reaches for your hand, you swear you hear the barking of a dog.

“My lady.” She gives you a graceful squeeze before she releases and bows her head. “You are more lovely than the rumors credit.”

“Oh.” Your face heats. “Thank you.”

“The rumors say ye’re as fair as Aphrodite.” John teases, and your eyes go wide.

“Surely not.” You brush it off, but the tingle across your skin remains, flattery nestling in your heart. “Your home… is beautiful.” You try to give it back, deflect it upon her, and she watches you with knowing eyes.

“Thank you. It was born from me, as I’ve heard your temple was from you?”

“Yes.” She motions to a winding path that disappears into the thick of the trees, and you oblige, soaking in the sparkle of the wood. The magic is dense here, heavy, like water, flowing through all things, the roots, the leaves, the crows adorning the branches, following you from perch to perch. You don’t notice, when John and Simon start talking, asking Hecate a question about… something, too transfixed on the multitude of colors flourishing at the tops of the canopy, leaves and petals fanning out like a muted rainbow.

Again, you’re struck with a confusing consideration.

How is it the Underworld is capable of such life?

Hecate’s piece of this realm is alive, lush and untamed, resonant magic oozing from every spiral and cell in the moss, in the bark, in the air. Amethyst leaves ranging in size from head to hand fall from the sky like the changing of seasons, and the entire hollow breathes with it, power pulsing in a light breeze all around you.

Even the crows are thriving, living things. Part magic, part bird.

You frown.

“Persephone?” Simon questions, gentle hand on your back. It’s warm, and firm, pulling you into the touch, butterflies in your belly slowly cracking their eyes opening, greeting the day with a flutter of wings.

“Sorry, it’s just… the crows, they’re… alive?” Hecate laughs.

“Yes, they live. They’re my own murder, traveling as I do, between the Underworld and Olympus.” She holds out a hand and an iridescent, onyx feathered companion lands gracefully in her palm, preening. “There are many corvids here, now. Magpies, jays, treepies. They’re supposed to stay confined to the hollow, but I suspect some of them have made friends in Asphodel Meadows.”

“Now? Were they not here before?”

“No birds lived in the Underworld, before Hecate’s residency.”

“Hades allowed me a home,” she smiles at them, gentle appreciation aglow on her face, and then turns back to you. “a gift in itself, and so, I give them one in return.”

“You are more than generous.” John says. He walks close, hand lax at his side, fingers occasionally grazing yours. The touch is hardly a moment, fleeting, but it burns you through, muscle, soul, and bone shivering in response.

“Hades is benevolent, though they’d never let Olympus know it.” She murmurs, raven black hair catching in the wind.

“I’m starting to see that.”

“This is the Lethe.” Simon gestures to the rushing river before you. It’s not a river of hopelessness, like the Acheron, but something else. Something different.

It’s a river of loss.

“What… what is it?”

“The Lethe is the river of oblivion. She takes memories from souls, freeing them from past torments, or pleasures.” John is gentle, grasping your elbow, keeping you close at his side. You don’t resist, sinking into the warmth of his body, letting his steady comfort guide you away from where you stood at the edge, entranced by the low rumble of the water, the melodic call echoing from the rocks below.

“Or it serves as a punishment.” Simon warns at your back. The chorus rises, song reverberating, and you tip forward, away from John, straining to hear who it calls, the repeated exhalation of your own name.

“Persephone.” He warns, heavy magic blanketing the ground, cypress and white poplar drifting on the breeze, thick with the weight of his magic. “If the Lethe were to take you, there would be no returning to Olympus, or your memories. She is a power even we do not control.” She.

“She? What do you mean?”

“She was, is, a goddess in her own right.” Your eyes widen, the river hissing and crooning to you, desperate vibrato just on the cusp of her song, a sound sharper than a banshee’s wail. “Of all the rivers in the Underworld, she is the one to be feared. We can free a soul from the Acheron, or the Pyriphlegethon, we can forbid a crossing of the Styx, but we cannot return memories taken by the Lethe.” Simon draws you away, arm around your waist. “Come.”

John drags you back to the meadow.

He cradles you in his arms, opposite Simon, who sits silently, eyes half lidded, reclined on his elbows.

“Do ye like it here?”

“It’s beautiful.” You trace the fragile petals, white velvet smooth and soft, canary yellow pistils shimmering in the afternoon sun. “I love narcissus.” Simon’s mouth quirks to the side, turbulent sea settling after a storm when you look his way, and John tucks your back into his chest, heavy arm across your shoulders.

“The Underworld agrees with you. It is not every day the Narcissus sing for a soul.” His mouth is on your cheek. You press, pushing skin between teeth, and he obliges with a nibble, not enough to sting, but with enough pressure you feel the edge of his incisors, vicious points of his canines.

“It’s… not what I expected.” This is easy to concede. Easy to close your eyes and slip away in the web of them, their hold, their touch. Easy to pretend they didn’t steal you outright, they haven’t locked your magic away, they haven’t taken you from your only home.

“Would ye come back? To visit with us?” Your eyes are still closed, and you hold them there, fingers sliding through the lithe growth of grass, stroking across stems and petals, feeling for the pulse of their power, the magical force of nature existing the same in a tiny blade of greenery, as it does in every fiber of your goddess hood.

“Yes, I think I would.”

They lay you down in a crux of a hill, legs spread upon a bed of Narcissus, fragile blooms crushed beneath sacred weight, a cacophony of power joining together.

Your mouths meet, again and again, limbs and tongues and teeth joining together in a rapturous haze, a firestorm brewing inside you, a swell of power so strong you can feel it tearing at your skin, glorious and brazen, clawing at the cage. It is wild in your heart, in your mind, and only burning brighter as Simon tugs you close, a hand over your heart, his mouth on your breast, teeth grazing your nipple atop muslin, an insatiable god devouring at a mystical altar.

When he bites down, your legs fall wide, and John kneels in prayer.

There are many names for it, you know, but in this moment, it’s as if time is old, a god’s back bowed for you, his mouth on your cunt, sacrosanct promises running free like the rivers of this land, like the spring bubbling up from the depths of your temple, pulled from the land like John pulls pleasure from you.

Ichor runs. It paints you in gold, drips from Simon’s mouth and between your legs, mixing with the slick and spit swirled by Johnny’s tongue, the cusp of a cliff’s edge growing closer and closer-

But not close enough.

A gilded hand fits your throat, a collar made of divinity, and he squeezes, enough to make your vision spot, fingers digging into the dirt and roots and stems of flowers long crushed. John does not relent, only pushes you farther and farther against the edge, sanctifying the bond stitching between the three of you each breath you draw, the spool of Fate spinning long woven threads stretching to the end and beginning of time, knitting you into the patchwork of their lives, their eternal existence.

Their goddess.

Your Hades.

“Come, Persephone. Come for us.” Light explodes, forcing your eyes shut, and you tremble between them, crying out their names in near hysteria, celestial light bleeding from your skin like a star in the sky.

John gasps.

Simon tips his chin to the sky, and laughs.

Their room is quiet. Dark in the daylight, an empty burrow dug by a fox, pitch black emptiness as far as one can see.

“I’ve never…”

“We know.”

They hold you like treasure, like glass. Gentle words and touch, John cradles you in the cove of his body, magic zinging across your skin, sparks flying in the room.

Simon kisses the inside of your knee, arranging you carefully between John’s spread legs. He’s hard at your back, heavy cock throbbing hot on your skin, but he only grabs your hand to hold it when you reach for him, tucking you gently back into his cradle with his lips on your neck.

Is this what it feels like? Love?

“What do you want darling?”

“You. Both of you.” Simon, aglow in the flickering fire light, smiles at you and John, pride and glory, divinity still fresh between his teeth.

“Let us care you for tonight.”

You nod, and clothes vanish. John’s cock weeps in the cleft of your ass, his body trembling with effort to hold himself still, and you turn your face to his, letting him work his tongue into your mouth as Simon stretches you a finger, tiny explosions of pleasure imploding with each stroke.

Hands, teeth, tongue- a tangled mess of divinity.

Powerful gods, together mightier than Zeus, worshipping between your legs, glory abound in the sound of your moans. Simon gives you more, languid touch turning fevered, adding another finger to your soaked entrance, and you gasp, spine quivering in pleasure.

The gods kiss. Simon cups John’s cheek, holding him steady, exploring, deep and true. You can only watch, mouth ajar, taking in every lavish touch exchanged, Simon’s bicep flexing as he pumps John’s cock, a crease in his eyebrows when there’s a huff and moan.

“Darling.” Simon murmurs, thumb and forefinger holding your chin. John presses his lips to your neck again, nipping and sucking your skin, fingers ghosting over your belly and breasts. It makes you squirm, insatiable hunger rising in your throat, in your soul, and you yearn for them, for this, for it to culminate and flower.

Bloom.

“Please.”

“Ye dinnae need to ask.” John hums, delicately lifting one of your knees, exposing you like a spring blossom. “Look at ye, already desperate for him.” He strums through the wet mess between your legs, fingertips lifting to his mouth, lashes fluttering as he licks.

You want to correct him. Want to tell him it’s not only for Simon, but for him too. That everything is for both, a balance of scales, pain and pleasure and passion all revolving around the two of them, with you in orbit.

But your words fail, and John looks at you with eyes full of stars, endless night dotted in endless nova, like you’re the one being orbited, being loved, being worshipped on consecrated ground.

“You give us a great gift, little goddess.” Simon’s palm rests on your thigh, thick, swollen cock leaking against your skin. He’s big, bigger than you’re sure will be comfortable, a little bit of fear starting to pique as you shift, and he leans, an elbow near your shoulder, face above yours, level with John’s. Everything slows, Olympus stopped in its tracks, the Underworld holding its breath, and the three of you breathe, magic tugging and tearing at your souls, dragging you closer to the cusp of something unknown.

You can feel it.

“We’ll go slow.” He strokes your cheek. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much, yes?”

“Yes.” There’s a softness in him, intimidating edges all worn gentle, and his eyes are heavy, focused as he pushes into your body, fire and flood making your fingers dig into John’s thigh.

It burns.

It hurts.

It’s good.

The agony is decadence, sharp tinged pain morphing into fiery pleasure, burning in your soul and your veins. You moan, and John presses his thumb to your tongue, holding your jaw firm as Simon begins to move, carefully working you open with gentle strokes, gritted restraint clear in his jaw.

“F-fuck.” You hiss around the digit in your mouth, and they both watch, observing, waiting for a safe word or a warning sign.

Nothing comes.

Only pain.

Only pleasure.

“More.” You croak, and Simon noses your cheek, lips drawing a line up Johnny’s forearm as he strokes, hips swinging to meet yours, body trying to fold in half when he seats himself so deep you swear you can feel him in your belly. “Oh gods.” Your eyes roll back in your head.

You’re on fire. Burning in the pits of Tartarus, crammed between the gods of death, exalted through mounting pleasure and pain, twisted together in veneration.

Simon shoves deeper, up through your cunt to your throat, through your magic and out your mouth, insanity leaking from your lips like you drip around his cock. It’s obscene, the way he batters into his body, the lap of John’s tongue in your mouth, his finger against your clit, how you light up beneath them like a supernova.

“There it is.” Simon’s eyes glow, observing and inspecting, watching the way you take his cock, celestial light spilling from your pores. You cling to them, shiny like a pearl, iridescent and wild, groaning with each thrust.

They split you open, crack your very soul wide, broken cypress beneath an axe.

It’s an unrelenting pace, an lewd show of slick and tears and sweat- ichor that runs down your throat when John pinches your clit, inside of your cheek crunching between your molars like a meal.

“Ahh, please- please.” You’re rambling. Begging.

More. More. More.

“Sweet little thing.” Simon spits, cadence transforming into something slow, the subtle rock of a boat on the sea, nudged up against your cervix. “Perfect little pussy, made for your gods.” Plural. Like they’re both housed in one, experiencing together, breathing and fucking and biting, as one.

John pushes his nose under your jaw, iron grip lashed across your waist, holding you steady, keeping you in place over the reverberation in your chest of screams and moans, noises unlike a goddess and more like an animal, a tiger, a bird-

Simon slams into you. The pain is shocking, and you scramble, reaching for purchase, clinging to him, to John, explosion of stars illuminating your vision.

When he rains a hand down across your flank, your eyes roll back, slipping beneath the swell of pleasure and pain, a war raging between the two.

“Good girl-“ Simon grits, and you pulse around him, greedily, squeezing with another strike against your flesh, fingers dug into your hip. There’s a glimmer of darkness in the room, ebbing cruelty lingering in the corners, watching in wait, bidings its time, knowing it needs the right moment, the perfect crescendo in order to strike.

“Look a’ him.” John marvels. “Makin’ a mess of ye.” You blink up at them both, lashes webbed with tears. They’re beautiful, etched from marble, perfectly cast in the image of ultimate power, dark and decadent, decay and hope, sculpted together.

They will break you.

“Please-“ the plea breaks off in a gasp.

“We know, darling. We know.” John soothes, syrupy and smooth, a hand running over your ass with another whip of his fingers. He probes at your rim, lightly testing before pushing in, stretching, exploring, and you keen, curling around them, muscles burning red like hot coals. It sears. It nearly pushes you over the edge.

You want to fall with them, into them. You want them to take everything, to give you pain and pleasure until you’re not sure who or where you are, remake you in the image of these emotions, this wildness flowing between the three of you.

John pushes a second finger in beside his first, and you see stars. Three become one, bursting into light and bathing the room, touching over the bed and walls and gods, casting opalescence across their faces.

“Fuck!” you gasp, and Simon’s lips curve on your skin, voice low and rough when he speaks.

“Ours.” He vows, chokes, guttural. “Our goddess." He fucks you deep, relentlessly, firm hand gripping you flesh. "You can take it, show us your light.” He’s lost himself in you, and you in them, crying out as they throw you over the precipice. “Come, darling.” It takes no urging. You’re already there, praise and agony and explosions of nerves imploding, throwing you into an orgasm that has your legs locking in place around Simon, your fingers tangling in John’s hair.

You become light. Divine incarnate. Celestial dawn, touching the peaks of existence for the first time. It flows and flows from you, overpowers your senses, drowns you in a sea of exhalation.

Simon shouts something. His mouth finds yours, but you’re lost in the waves of your own pleasure, still holding tight to both, anchoring yourself through the erratic thrusts of Simon’s body, his hips jerking as he fills you with his own gift, a touch of divinity lodged where he ends and you begin, his hand wrapped around John’s cock and stroking until he’s spilling. Simon’s tongue on yours, on John’s, open mouths and wet faces bent together to make one, hallowed, consecrated temple, the planes of your bodies twisted together in the depths of the Underworld.

Your light shines and shines until you think your heart may give out.

Maybe it does. Maybe it bursts into stardust. Maybe it becomes theirs.

“Will ye have dinner with us? A last meal?” John presses a kiss to your shoulder, decadent and sweet. You’d forgotten about your need to leave, forgotten about Olympus, and the reality is somber. Still in their arms, and you already long for them, mourn them, dread the lugubrious return to your own realm, where your life awaits.

“The door.” You murmur, fingertips tracing over Simon’s chest, the hallowed ground where your head lays, where you listen to the steady thump of his heart. “Will you show me?”

“After dinner. Please.” John murmurs it into your skin, and though it’s a shattered promise waiting in the wings, there is nothing in you deciding to protest or say no, not when he tugs you free, rolling you onto your back so Simon can tuck you into his arms. “After dinner, we’ll show you.”

He spreads your legs, stroking a finger through the seam of your cunt, watching lazily with heavy lids as you whimper.

An offering he will give.

An offering you will receive.

“After dinner, then.”

You wake to an empty bed, much like this morning.

“John? Simon?” The sheets are soft against your skin, but there’s bitterness in the air, magic like death lingering in the room.

It feels like rot.

The door is ajar, barely. It allows light to spill in across black marble, the faint, sharpened pitch of an argument echoing down the hall.

You sit up.

What’s happening?

There’s a wine-red robe draped over the edge of the bed, and you don it, quickly, quietly slipping down the onyx halls, straining to listen.

“The Fates decided, and they chose benevolently. We are honored by such a gift.” The Fates decided what? There’s a strangled, indignant laugh. A female’s.

Power snaps, rough and wild.

“You cannot possibly mean to make this… this goddess of spring your Queen.” What? Acid brews in the pit of your stomach, swirling together and forcing you forward, desperation on the balls of your feet. Is that Minthe? Is she talking about you?

“Persephone is to be our wife; ye will speak of her with respect or not at all.” John snaps. You’re what?!

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more, to receive her. Her presence brings an eternal season, to us, to all who would love her, here in the Underworld.”

“But you do not truly care for her.” You tremble. A sea devours you, pulls you beyond the black water, down into the trenches, far deeper than anyone ever knew existed. There, it tosses you side to side, virulent rage and sorrow rising beneath your feet, pushing you back up to where you break the surface.

And break free.

The agony in your heart shatters the strongest magic, draws your own power back into yourself, twists it together to become something more, something wicked, something villainous.

Ungovernable Persephone.

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

“But she’s a freak! A shut in li-“ Minthe’s words do not continue. They flail in her throat, the same way her soul does as you appear around the corner and twist it, making it malleable, ripping and tearing until it grows anew, sprouting with vigor into a new form.

The ground shakes. John shouts something at you, but you’re far past reason, far past explanation, and now there is only Demeter’s vengeful daughter, a wicked soul.

Rotten to the core.

Your magic swells. The palace trembles, and you feel the flow of life, Hecate’s grotto, the souls, Asphodel meadows. Every bloom and blossom cry out with you, and you scream your rage into a terrible power, one with thorns and vitriol. They surge together, and you draw from them like drinking from a river, pulling and pulling until you can no longer see, or hear, lost in the wind, the bliss of your wicked soul, your weaponized magic.

“Persephone.” A gentle voice calls, Hands cradle your face, a thumb smoothing your brow. “She cannot hurt you, Persephone. Stop this. Now.” A demand, sweeter than primrose and lily, drips like nectar against the will of your rage. “It’s alright. There is nothing to fear.” He murmurs, empyreal restraints tightening at your wrists, harnessing your power, redirecting it into the ether, commanding it still and steady.

When your vision clears, it’s horror you face.

Horror of your own doing.

You stumble away, clutching the robe to your chest, mouth agape.

On the floor between you and the Kings of the Underworld, is a small mint plant. It sprouts from a tiny clump of dirt, timid and frail.

It harbors a soul.

It harbors your wrath.

You are a monster.

“No, darling-“ John tries to reach for you, but Simon stops him, an arm out, catching him at the waist. There is sadness on one face, aloof calm on another.

Are these really the gods you gave yourself to? The ones you believed would care for you?

You are a fool.

You turn for the door and run.

You’re sprinting towards a river.

In the dark, you can’t be sure which it is. You’re not sure of anything, in these moments, these shattered clips that fracture your heart, the confusion that ricochets inside your brain, a silver pinball bouncing off walls with lights and noises exploding in the silence. Everything competes with the rush of a river, roaring swell crashing against rock, humming alive in the dead of night.

Their wife.

They brought you here to be their wife.

You laugh out loud to the cool, crisp air.

A fool.

Fate’s tool.

They weren’t interested in you. You aren’t special. You’re only a sanctimonious fortune from the The Moirai. Something promised. Something they feel you deserve.

Something you have no choice in, again.

But would you choose it?

Simon’s words ring in your ears.

“Persephone is to be our wife; you will speak of her with respect or not at all.”

“We have waited, and would wait centuries more,”

“It is more than care. It is devotion, an all-consuming passion. One you would not understand.”

The Fates.

The Fates decided.

The Fates decided to honor them… with a gift.

A gift.

You laugh again. It catches, hysterically, building and building into an explosion, a wild streak of pain taking root in your heart, and beneath your feet, Narcissus blooms. Even at a full sprint, the rage in your voice is palpable, and it breaks, cracking your chest wide with a sob.

They were never going to let you go.

They do not care for you. They only care for what has been bestowed to them. Their gift.

Not you. Not Persephone.

“Persephone!” A shout in the distance echoes over the valley, and only urges you faster, feet flying through a meadow. No flowers grace your shins, only grey grass, silvered in the moonlight.

Another voice calls to you.

The promise of oblivion. Of freedom. Memories laid to waste in her path, scars and agony and heartbreak all put to rest, buried beneath a mountain built of abeyance, weightless in the face of true nirvana.

Freedom.

Freedom from this truth, this betrayal. Freedom from your own stupidity, your foolishness washed away, soul wiped clean. Freedom, from the crack of your mother’s Whip, a magical object sculpted from the breadth of her power, built to hurt only you, for eternity.

You stand at the water’s edge. She’s too strong, and you cannot pull away, feet glued to the riverbank, fixed upon the rage of her waters, the power behind the swell.

Would it be so terrible?

You see Hebe. Melia. Nell. Their light, their laughter. The way their smiles sculpt their faces, how their power tastes when it infects the air. Your friends, forgotten.

But still she calls. She lashes her power to your own, strips of bark laid against your soul, binding you to her, tugging you closer and closer to the water.

You dig in your heels. The cacophony thunders, drowning everything else out, the scream of your name, the haunting in your heart.

You fight.

You fall.

Simon has never felt such terror.

Ichor turns cold in his chest, fear and panic rising into a tidal wave, an epic monster of emotion, filling his lungs with leaded salt water, choking out his last breath.

“Simon!” John shouts. He pushes his power into the river, cutting the current effectively in half, slowing its pace to a trickle. It will be enough, to find you.

It won’t be enough to save you.

Simon stands motionless. He cannot see anything, except the memory of your fall. Slipping into the river, disappearing beneath the water that will take your mind, your memories. The intricate pieces that make you, you.

He does not deny he had considered it. Allowed it to darken his mind, disrupt his intentions. He discussed it at length even. Argued with Johnny about bathing you in the water, bringing it in through a spring, disguising it as something it was not. Something safe.

“If she bathes in the Lethe, we will be all she has ever known, Johnny. She will no longer hold the pain, the torment from her mother’s hand, she will not carry the grief, the guilt of leaving Olympus behind. She will be ours. Wholly.”

“Ye’re talking about erasing who she is. The things that make her ours. Without them… what is she? An empty soul. A husk. Ye know what they’re like after they bathe in the Lethe. Ye cannae possibly want that for our wife.”

Johnny was right, of course. A million little pieces made up the goddess that you were, and Simon was a selfish being. He wanted every single one.

But now…

Johnny finds you in the bend of the river, limp and unmoving.

You’re almost gone. Simon knows it, can see it, can taste it. He can hear the realm, weeping for you. Your meadow, covered in Narcissus, each flower’s face wet with tears for you.

“Open yer eyes, Persephone.” John shakes you roughly, grip tight with panic, and then cradles your head to his chest like a babe, rocking back and forth. “Come on, little goddess. I’m here, we’re right here. We’ve got ye.” You’re silent. Near death, eyes and skin a thin membrane, everything washed away in the Lethe.

You’re gone. They’ve lost you.

Your heart slows. Your breathing stutters.

He’s been here before. He knows this feeling all too well. The frightening emptiness that even he, Hades, cannot combat.

“Simon.” John snaps. His hand hovers over your diaphragm, more magic, more power releasing into your body, filling you with all that he can give, all that you will take.

They’ve lost you. Before they even had a chance.

Too proud. Too arrogant. A monster on a throne.

He caused this.

“She is not gone, Simon. Help me.” John hisses, tenacious and hopeful. Strong. Simon’s compass in the dark. The brightest star in his sky. Forever buoyant.

Unstoppable John MacTavish.

Ungovernable Persephone.

And… him.

Your skin is cold, ice, and you’re so delicate in John’s arms, so broken, that Simon considers falling into the Lethe himself, just for a moment. “We need to get her inside.” John rocks you, cooing above your ear, trying to soothe the radiating distress, the rattle of your chest. “Sh-sh-shhh. Ye’re safe. We’ve got ye.”

Simon tugs all his power around you and Johnny like a jacket, a blanket tucked snug on your shoulders. It warms you, easing the shivering and jerking, and he holds it there, unleashing the untouched depths of his power, of Johnny’s, of this realm, forcing it into your soul the only way he knows how.

An idea blossoms in his heart. One born of midnight flower, bat orchid and hellebore, black dahlia and elderberry. Framed by the flowering vines that cover the outside of your chambers.

It’s an idea blooming from the very essence of your magic, your goddess-hood.

It’s reactionary. It’s wicked.

Rebirth.

Split your soul, and theirs, again. Merge their power, and yours.

Wed you.

“Johnny.” He whispers. He steps closer, hovering, a hand strong on the back of his neck, the other cupping your cheek.

“We shouldnae.” He shakes his head. “I cannae do it.”

“We must.”

“She will ne’er forgive us.” He cradles you tighter, almost defensively. You moan, the sound wretched and pained, and Johnny pales.

“The Lethe has taken her from us. She is fading, I know you can feel it.” Johnny slams his eyes shut, brow quivering. “Look at me.”

“Si.”

“This is our only option.” For every protest, he has an answer. For every reason why not, he provides an alternative. It snakes forward, through John’s rebuttal, through the time it takes for Simon to pull both him and you into his arms, on the banks of the Lethe in one moment, in the din of their bedroom another.

“She might remember, one day.” John lays you on their bed, the rasp of your lungs only increasing with each moment. “Her magic is strong.”

“Then we will beg for forgiveness and hope her vengeful spirit gentles.”

#peaches writes #AIV #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon ghost riley

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charliemwrites · 3 months

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Making this a separate post because the idea has evolved a bit:

(Was talking about this in the discord if it looks familiar)

I’m thinking less of a 1 to 1 Greek god au. I’m thinking it’s more of a theme to their dynamic and in parts of their story.

Johnny is a reincarnation of some ancient, nameless (or many-named) god, associated with dark forces. He’s not evil incarnate. But he is something of a representation of “darker” human nature. Anger, bloodlust, impatience, selfishness.

Persephone!reader, by comparison, is sort of a personification of gentler human nature. Patience, mercy, altruism, gentleness. She is less “awakened” so to speak because her mother has been a major limiting factor in her life. Like, helicopter parent to the extreme.

Persephone!reader goes to her aunt Laswell as a sort of compromise. See the world, the real world, in a controlled sort of way with her aunt watching carefully over her shoulder.

Problem is, no one is expecting the dreams to start as soon as she gets to base. Dreams of a man that scares her as much as tempts her, and encouraging the worst and most selfish of her impulses. She doesn’t tell anyone - why would she? They’re just dreams.

Captain MacTavish scares intimidates her, even though she insists that he doesn’t, looking him in the eye with her chin tilted up defiantly. When he’s on base he finds all sorts of ways to cross her path, sometimes teasing her into an indignant fluster, other times telling her off for “distracting recruits”. Always, always has an eye on her, even if it’s not his own.

Once things come to a head (I haven’t figured out how yet) Persephone!reader insists it isn’t fair. And just because they’ve been something in the past doesn’t mean they have to now.

Johnny, of course, is utterly amused. She’s barely got any idea what’s going on, but sure, she’s going to deny forces beyond life and death.

They strike a deal. When he’s away (for months at a time… a season’s length, even) she can run and hide and do whatever she wants to “escape” him. If he cant find her within a week of coming back, then he’ll leave her be and she’s “free”.

(She scoffs that he’s going to cheat, using her aunt and all of her connections but he just scoffs. As if Laswell would help him over her own niece. And as if he needs the help.)

He always finds her within a day of coming back from a mission. No matter where she is or what her name is. No matter how well she covers her tracks (even with Laswell’s help). He comes to her with gifts.

At first it would be sweet if not for the smirk on his face and the realization that she’s “lost” again. He brings flowers of all kinds, and green plants in little pots. Then it’s a new sweater, a nice coat, a piece of jewelry.

And then… and then they get worse. A bullet is the first sign. It’s just a whole bullet, her name engraved in its side. Then it’s a casing, the bullet clearly having been shot. He tells her it went right between someone’s eyes. The “gifts” become patches from enemy jackets, pretty stones splattered with dried blood, a human tooth.

It’s awful. She hates it. She can’t ever make herself say it (or believe it). And when he’s gone, she physically can’t make herself throw them away. Shes tried and tried, and the last time she put a real effort into it, she ended up on the floor having a panic attack, sobbing and calling Johnny.

(He purrs at her through the phone, gunfire background noise while he soothes her back inside. His voice keeps her company while she makes a tea, readies a bath. Tuts at her to call him again when she’s tucking into bed. She refuses to acknowledge that she does.)

Similarly, she finds herself getting or making things for him. For his inevitable return. Cigars and his favorite whiskey. Making patches for his uniform. A leather bracelet with her initials on a silver charm. A ring with an inlay the color of her eyes. Doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she’s home or the thing is done. She’ll hide them away for months with no plans of giving them to Johnny. He inevitable finds them within his first week home anyway.

(There’s the one time she bakes for him, humming as she measures and mixes ingredients. Lets him steal tastes from the bowl and lick flour off her cheek. Only realizes what she’s done in a domestic haze when he’s eaten the sweet treat and thanked her for it.)

And when he’s home…

The deal is that when he’s home, he gets to treat her like his. Climbs into her bed, grumbling about pillows being a poor substitute for him. Steps into her shower midway through, ducking his head so she can shampoo and condition his hair with her gentle hands. Dresses her in his clothes, in his dog tags. Always has a hand on her, even in her (their) home.

And he delights in yanking her into his lap - especially in public. When his team comes to visit (and they always do) he lounges with her on his thigh. He’s also kind of a dick. Like he’s courteous to servers (mainly female ones because chances are they won’t flirt with his girl) but pretty much any stranger talking to him or his Persephone is met with smarmy asshole behavior.

It’s to the point that she just fusses at him to let her talk to people. And he’s happy to do so, amused by the way she charms people. He only intervenes when someone is rude or a little too friendly with her. She’s had to break up bar fights before because god knows his men won’t try to stop their captain.

She is literally the only being in all of history that can tell him no and stop and he’ll listen regardless of the situation. She has to actively remind herself that it’s not healthy and she should not be a little flattered about it. And she’s not. (She is.)

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #hades and persephone #Persephone #hades John mactavish #captain mactavish x you #captain john mactavish #Persephone reader

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tarjapearce · 4 months

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Iridiscent (Pt. 4)

Pirate AU! Miguel O'Hara x Mermaid! Reader

WARNING: Angst, mentions of violence, graphic depictions of violence, mild gore, political implications, character origins, character backgrounds, introduction of character, Greek mythology mentions.

Summary: The aftermath of a mermaid encounter brings an unexpected ally.

A/N: Pirate Miggy is back ❤️

Mermaids, sea witches, sirens, sea monsters. The latter was the most accurate name for what your mere existence rendered. And now, men eater.

Existing since way before humans understood the concept of civilizations, silent watchers of eons of evolution, yet unfortunate by the simple fact of being.

The permanence of the kin itself was a result of a fateful domino effect the God of the dead had unleashed by being invaded and bewitched by a mortal feeling. Love.

His whim had turned into obsession and this somehow morphed into love. A feeling so strong that made him kidnap the Spring goddess for himself, tired of the miserable companion solitude was in the underworld. And that was the moment everything changed.

The nymphs in charge of their queen's safety were turned into winged beings, as a punishment from none other than Demeter. Her wrath over them, ruthless and merciless as they were forced to look everywhere for their vanishing queen to no avail.

Some of the nymphs had escaped the aftermath to a recluse island, abandoning all purpose of finding Persephone, to follow the whims of their hearts in lieu. Singing and music.

But even so, Demeter's fury had no match, vengeful and blinded by anger she looked for the rebel ones to kill them, but these hid in the sea. Eventually, the feathers hardened, turning into scales. These etched and covered their legs. Securing them in a colorful long tail.

Bird's talons turned into beautiful and deadly hands, that once a prey was caught there was nothing it could do but to accept it's fate. Death.

Damned be Hades and his stupid obsession. Damned be Demeter and her blinding rage, and damned be the men that polluted the earth above with their existing and constant evolving.

Men. The real wretched creatures. The executioners of everything they decided unworthy of living. Stupid beings that played God in a self imposed role in life's hierarchy.

Creatures that had hunted and killed your kin for ages, forcing to separate and face new dangers at every turn in the endless ocean. Humans, a little too praising title considering their acts and actions were everything but, had forced you to hide in the deepest waters and forbidden lands not many were brave enough to venture in.

A couple of centuries were more than enough for you to have a glimpse of their nature. Destructive, dangerous and merciless. They sullied and tarnished everything unfortunate enough to go under their hands.

They killed everything unknown or deemed too frightening for their existence and had no mercy while at it. The bloodier the better. A disgusting yet necessary example of behavior you had to follow in order to survive.

Humans had shaped your temper. Heart rejoicing at every sunken ship the sea swallowed. Even their flesh had lost the sizzle to be enjoyable enough, making your feeding habits more inclined towards other creatures within the sea.

You didn't eat men because you hated them. You ate them because their hatred had poisoned enough the seas, leaving you without resources, pushing you to consume them. And your refusal had made your body weak, it had been years since your body felt properly satisfied.

You collapsed.

How many days had passed, certainly was unknown. Time under the sea was measured by how long it took for a reef to go completely white, how often the ships let their nets in a single spot. Sometimes you remained on land, sea too dangerous to venture alone.

But none of that mattered anymore. Inanition wasn't exclusive of humans, the last thing in your mind was to curse Hades and the men.

But death escaped and picked you and others alike within a net. Pushing some survival instinct back in you as the net wriggled and broke. Injecting the right amount of life to hand you a buffet in a wooden platter. Gathering your bearings after the little commotion in your head, was quickly overlooked when the attention focused on the scene unfolding.

A ship full of men, that stared in wonder and fear. One of them stood out from the rest. It reminded you of Hercules. His physique unique, just as his eyes. A fine specimen and surely a delicious one. Their language was unknown, but it became clear the moment you kissed the fool before your apparent naive form. Absorbing his knowledge and a little more in that simple gesture. Which was little.

But enough to understand what the men said and whispered around you.

Foul and salty smelling, with a faint tinge of wine. He tasted sour and ashy, but edible enough to sate your rampant huger. You wanted to go for the herculean man in shackles, his scent rich in leather, voice like a soft and firm caress in the back of one's head. His cinnamon toned skin made your mouth water.

You were about to move for him, but Elliot, the idiot infront and your hunger kept you in place. You knew your initial prey would fight and would waste the little reserve of strength you had left. He was no fool.

As moronic as the man on your way was, he'd save his purpose. The prey was subdued, flesh and bones devoured; bland and tasteless, but well welcomed within your body. Revitalizing energies and restocking the strength you had been lacking for a time.

Expected as it was, they attacked, all by the command of the shackled man, that had dared to injure you with a bullet. But you were too frenzied and hungry to care. Your meal hung in your maws, as you fought to get it off the ship.

Your Hercules watched in horror from afar, and never in your life had you felt more realized and satisfied to provoke such disturbing reaction in a man.

You could almost taste the fear behind his raged and shaky breathing, his shock in every powerful beat his heart did, the denial in his eyes as they widened the more your teeth sank into the corpse. It fueled you. And also ignited with new strength the already flickering purpose of your existence.

Destroy as many of them as possible.

You went under the ship, away from their archaical defense to eat and consume your food. Humans weren't definitely on the top, for a moment the hunter became the prey and didn't survive to brag about his new kill.

Skin and flesh was torn, consumed with such hunger it had you full and completely sated like never before, within matter of minutes. Elliot Jackdaw no longer existed, but served as a reminder that your kin prevailed and endured.

But also, had unleashed a new domino effect you weren't aware of.

The man in shackles, your forsaken greek god, was thrown at the sea. Your territory. You saw him move, fight against the current; trying to free himself from the heavy cuffs that weighed him down and reach back to the ship. And then nothing.

He became still and it made you frown. Where that bravado had gone? The smirk that was about to emerge in your lips faded as soon as a red cloud oozed and swallowed his head.

His scent was too rich and alluring, stagnant almost. Sickly sweet for your senses and he wasn't moving.

If you recalled, he was called a captain. What was a captain doing out of his ship drowning in the sea? Your lip twitched in scowl.

The lack of loyalty among his kindred was another reason to hate them. He wasn't the first nor the last you had saved in these conditions. Mostly women or little children that were expelled without much reasons other than being a burden.

As much as you cursed your heart for not turning its back to these sort of injustices, and your need to have a tiny taste of him, you hauled him up shore. Light as a feather in water, but heavy as lead on land. The heavy iron around his wrist didn't help, so you destroyed it, inflicting little cuts around his flesh in the process.

Ancient eyes scrutinized his form. Sharp cheekbones that could only match a sword. Strong features that screamed fighter in every direction you looked. A jagged and nasty cut on a side of his head, some strands obscuring his face, you removed them and some bloodied debris from his wound, inspecting it.

Not a too deep cut, the contusion of his head against the moving ship had been rough. A single cut in the upper right cheekbone, clothes clung to him like a second skin. His pockets however were too tempting to be left alone.

Sand and water on them, along a shiny pearl that had you staring and sniffing at the trinket for a close inspection, that didn't pay attention to the locket nesting deeper inside. The pearl was true, so you took it as it quickly etched to your skin, under the ribcage as a decor motif of the raggy top you used to cover your chest.

He'd surely serve as one of Aphrodite's lovers. His forearms laced in tiny and fading scars, that also loitered his solid and somewhat hairy chest. A man through and through. A natural enemy of yours, yet you had saved him.

Probably, he would hunt you too, like the scarce quantity of men you had pulled out of danger. The pearl was a token for saving his life.

You could kill him, filling your tabs with another number, but it wouldn't be honorable. Even if you were a different species, you refused to let some of their habits to rub on you. You opposed greatly to be like them, and so with a look that would suppose to be a final one back at him, you dipped back into the sea.

----

He was on land. Alive, heart beating along every single erratic breath. The sea waves washed over his hips, not cold neither lukewarm. Just the ideal temperature for the humid weather

I'm alive.

His mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. One moment he was in the sea, to then hurl himself back up and puke all the salty water his body had unwillingly ingested.

Miguel was dizzy, but alive. Beaten up, but still breathing. Pissed and ever ready to get his treasure back. But he had to recover some energies first.

Sighing and rising slowly, he turned around to kneel in the moist sand. Tiny grains of it etched to his moist skin, they were rough, altering his sensorial touch for a second. Feet finally got the strength to stand up, careful to not let the nauseas get to his head entirely. Skin burned, but he could bear the discomfort, what Miguel truly needed was a big gulp of water.

He remembered the sun being high on the sky, blazing with all it's glory and witnessing his crew marooning him for good. And now it was night. Somehow thankful that he didn't have to deal with the weather's inclemencies. Step by wobbly step he approached to the thickets and palms rooted in the soil, dressing up modestly the land he walked on.

As another wave of nauseas hit while his head pounded, Miguel stopped to rest in a nearby palm. Calloused hand cupping and covering his mouth to prevent the bile and vomit to spill out once more. Dehydrated as he was, Miguel also understood the dangers of drinking too much salty water.

If dehydration didn't kill him, puking too much without having any other resources on reach would. But none of his survival could be done with the unbridled headache that hammered in his head. A side of it was caked in dry blood, like some strands of his already matted and full of sand hair.

With careful steps he ventured in deeper into the jungle, looking for a spot to spent the night away from land's troubles. The island wasn't familiar for him, he didn't even know if it was big enough to harbor sustainable life, or if ships would pass nearby. With a gasp and a frantic move, he palmed his pockets.

Mierda, no! No

Panic rose upon not feeling the pearl, the sudden motion made his steps stutter as he puked, unable to hold it in anymore. But once he was done and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, he searched into them.

Por favor

The pearl was gone, that was for sure, but relief washed over him upon feeling the fine golden chain of the locket. Hand clasped on it while he brought it to his chest and sighed.

He nearly gave up.

Heart pounding in his ears along his head, and only when he opened the locket, the tears flowed. Calloused fingers full of sandy grains probed the valuable mineral, feeling the dents of the shell shape he knew by heart at this point. Eyes drowning and his voice muffled into a silent and wrathful sob as he inhaled the trinket.

Perdóname, Gabi. (Forgive me)

A faint tickle of fresh home bread, coconut oil that he used to fry the fish, and the eucalyptus ointment that was always next to him brought back the bittersweet memories that flooded his mind about the last years he had with Gabriella. She adored when he cooked, and always smelled his fingers after using the oil.

It reminds me of you, Papa.

She loved freshly baked bread. But hated the smell of the eucalyptus ointment the doctor left her.

The only memento he now had of his beloved and long gone daughter. The only thing that mattered the most for him.

How dared them betraying him when he had been everything but fair and good?

How dared them into taking his ship and some important things he had hid inside? But most importantly, how dared life to show him that mermaids were real when the reason he believed in them in the first place was no longer with him?

Who was he supposed to tell that he saw a mermaid?

A karma for turning into a pirate, maybe. All his mind was able to remember was the way the creature looked at him, a clear assessment of her power. Fear invaded every fiber of his being, making him too stunned to actually think or act until he saw the creature devouring Elliot.

Another reason for him to respect the sea. Now that he had a glimpse of what laid underneath, Miguel wondered what other things crawled in it's depths. But he would think about it all tomorrow.

His eyes drooped in exhaustion. Thinking consumed the last bit of his energy reserves. Despite the thirst clawing at his throat with a vice grip, the headache and weariness were greater. Even though a thicket wasn't the right choice to spend the night, he hadn't the time nor the energies to be picky. He just collapsed once more and hoped whoever above to live another day.

----

The sunlight was slippery enough to leak through the dense foliage and reach patches of the humid and moss textured land, as well parts of his weathered face. With a wince he rolled to his side, avoiding the aurifeous and warm touch from the ever blazing sun. Head clear from it's pain, and thoughts in order, like it should be.

With a sigh he rose and stretched, popping joints back in their place. Discomfort remaining in his head and wrists, that upon further examination he deducted the cuts in them were fresh, and undoubtedly someone had saved him from a certain death. Who, he didn't know but was grateful for the mysterious savior to let his revenge start.

With a rested yet hungry body, and a fresh head to think, he rolled his shoulders back and took a look around. Surveying his environment to decide which way to go. No weapons, no resources but packed with skills that were honed precisely for these sort of situations.

He still remembered the first time Mundaca had left him in an island with a single knife to fend for himself, since Miguel refused to accompany him in a slave hunting trip. At first he thought that Mundaca had left him for good or out of spite, but Fermín had only taught him a valuable surviving lesson. This time however, he didn't have that knife and would rely only on his hands, brain and brawns.

Naturally, Miguel headed for the north, palm trees left behind, instead acai palms, rubber trees and soursops begun gathering in the place. The scent of wet soil and rotting wood was pungent in the air, oddly, he liked it. Macaws and other birds cackled and cawed as he pushed deeper along some distant rustling.

The overgrown roots twisted and tangled here and there, weaving a walkable path free of them to his right, His eyes darted to the tail of a cobra slithering away from him, minding it's business.

The copious squaking of the birds was a good white noise along the crunching of his wet boots. His throat was beyond arid, that even spit couldn't form in it if he wished; stomach rumbled violently, begging him for some food. Breathings paused but deep.

Hours stretched for what seemed forever, he didn't know if he was walking in circles, the island was definitely not small. He had found some fruit trees along the way, but the things were so our of reach, that attempting to climb for them was a risk. He'd knew the wait would worth it.

Ears however perked at the gunshot given in the distance. Eyes widened, both in surprise and excitement at the thought that civilization was within. Cause that meant, food and water. And also weapons. And what a better way to confirm it than a booming gunshot that spooked away the nearby fawn.

With careful steps, he followed the echo, making the least of noise possible. As much as it thrilled to have a bite, he also understood the implications of such things. Armored men, guarded bodegas, overpowered foremen and probably slaves.

Time flew by, but his spirits lifted upon spotting the first red uniforms in a distance. Two of them. He approached closer to take a better look.

The soldiers had a rifle each, a belt full of ammo and firing at what were now dead slaves as shooting dummies. To his right, Miguel saw a few tents and supplies. Food and water tossed in a nearby bench, a fire was alight, serving as a cooking source for the pot placed above. His eyes however fell upon a machete. Probably belonging to one of the dead men tied up in the wooden posts.

After all, working tools had to be in perfect conditions, leaving no room for slacking off.

Miguel forayed slowly, moving within the foliage until he reached for the machete, with paced breathings he awaited for another shot to rumble to pull the weapon within his reach. The metallic drag was drowned. He couldn't eat until the men were disposed off.

Now that he was armored, a distraction was needed. The branches used for the iron's pot makeshift support were weak, the stew inside boiled. Miguel pushed the tip of the machete on the pot's edge, a little clink connected as the pot was pushed forward, but it barely tumbled it. He awaited for another gunshot to echo to push the pot entirely on the ground.

The lard immediately sent sparks on the floor as smoke surrounded the area. The noisy thud of the pot alarmed one of the guards that didn't waste time into blaming his companion for the shitty structure and how they'd have to go fishing again to get food done.

A little too late the guard noticed the fiery red eyes that glowered at him. Before he could even say something the sharp blade of the machete sliced through this throat in a firm thrust, all the guard could do was a gurgle, perturbed, before plummeting on the floor, staining the blade with a warm crimson as Miguel pulled it out of the body. Flesh sizzling at the contact of the hot coals and wood.

He took a rock that filled in his palm and aimed it for the head of the remaining guard, the other soldier yelped as he fell on the ground, the rock hitting his head with a lurid crack. Miguel lurched for him to end his misery by impaling the weapon in his back. Right in the middle. It was quick, deathly and effective.

Miguel panted but waited in case another guard was around, but none approached, just the wing flapping of a macaw somewhere. With the machete in hand he approached to the tent and wasted no time in gobbling down the water in a container, quenching his thirst, not really caring for the droplets that rolled down his neck.

His hands then wiped his face as he scrubbed the caked blood and sand away, then scarfed down the leftovers left in a plate and devoured anything within reach that was cooked or preserved, Adia probably would scold him for eating like an animal, despite being starving.

Once he was satisfied and his strength back, he looked for other weapons he could use. As much as the machete proved a worthy aid, it was long and it made noise. The opposite of what he needed.

The Red Eyed Demon searched into the soldier's pockets, a couple of coins, bullets and gold teeth that seemed freshly pulled out of the bodies in the back. He took the bullets and left the rest, he also found a short ranged pistol, a combat knife and a rope.

Also, to his luck, some fresh clothes. As much as he was set into his vengeance he wouldn't waste the chance into being comfortable while at it. His boots were soiled full of sand and saline water, he changed them, like his pants. The shirt was the only thing he kept since none of the men actually wore his size.

Ridiculous as it was, one of the soldiers had abnormally larger feet. But were perfect for him. Pants still a bit too short but he'd had them any other day instead of walking around feeling uncomfortable and itchy by the salt etched to his skin and clothes.

He ventured deeper only to find a familiar scene before him. A state. Hacienda Valverde read in the overly embellished metal structure that held the sign.

----

So far, Miguel had done a good job in keeping himself hid, the least of attention he attracted, the more successful his escape plan would be. So far he had counted around fifteen soldiers in the property. Five of them scattered through the plantations, making sure the workforce didn't dally in their duties.

He ventured over the trees, avoiding unnecessary trouble, to then land nearly quietly in a mountain of hay. His breathings stopped at every time an unsuspected guard passed by him. Heart pounded in his ears when his steps brought him closer and closer to danger

The rest of the guards were scattered through the property, watching over the stables, the main storage room, inside the hacienda and of course, watching over the supply.

He had snuck in the warehouse, to his surprise the cells were empty, he went through each of them to see if anything worthy had been left behind, but the sound of the lock being picked made him hide behind a couple of haystacks.

"Stop, Stop!" A groan came from a wriggling man, "I told you the truth! Let me go!"

Miguel couldn't see who was the prisoner, peeking out would be too risky, but the lack of accent, gave him a hint. An American.

The man grunted as he kicked, managed to land a punch or two to the guards that only twisted his shackled hands backwards. This made the man whine and curse, blind hot pain shot in his ribcage as another soldier hit him with the base of his rifle.

"Shut your fucking gob!" With a rough shove, the fighting man was thrown into the cell, the enclosure's door stilled with a loud creak as the main door was slammed shut.

The only noises the pirate could hear was the pained grunts that only increased when the prisoner tried to pick himself up from the floor, and the shaky huffing that turned into whiny whimpers when he managed to recover some air.

The day was set to surprise him, cause in his life he had seen a white man being thrown in a slave cell. Until now.

The man was tall, lean muscle in his body, a five o'clock stubble in his narrow cheeks and blue eyes. Hair hapzardly peeking ontop of his head.

"Fuck..." He groaned but recoiled in his cell even further upon seeing the shade of red glinting at him behind the haystacks. Pain screamed in every breathing he did, but that didn't stop him from trying to get himself free.

"H-Hey"

The man's eyes widened as soon as Miguel came into full view. He had to crane his head upwards to meet his eyes and gulped as soon as he realized the color in the behemoth of a man. Breaths shallow but less erratic than before now that he knew he had company.

"Please. Help me out of here, pal"

He was definitely American.

"And why would I do that?"

Miguel’s bushy brow quirked while taking another look through the warehouse, searching for alternative escape routes.

"Cause my wife just gave birth and I wanna meet my little girl."

A red stare seized the blue one. His unwavering, but the man's rivalled against it. Miguel broke contact as his hands fisted briefly. The prisoner's chest heaved whole he rubbed the area he was hit on.

Lucky bastard

"I was supposed to arrive last week but I was taken from the ship."

"Why?"

Miguel looked through the haystacks and other corners he didn't have the chance to search thoroughly.

"That's what I'd like to know!" The man sat against the lateral bars and winced defeated, watching at the moving man.

"I was a merchant, on a trip to improve a little familiar business I have, but Nueva York isn't precisely friendly with the working class." He paused to take some air the hit had taken away, "So I came back. And that's where the english trapped me." His forehead rested ontop of his scrapped and bloodied knuckles. The spark that gave him a beating and his imprisonment.

"The English are press ganging civilians at sea."

Miguel's lip twitched in a scowl upon hearing the news. Of course they would, Americans and English were too deep in political wars that could barely stand eachother. But in the sea, the English were the masters and none was there to stop them. More like he wasn't there to sink as many of them as possible.

Yet.

"How old is your daughter?"

The pirate asked above his shoulder and this made the gaoler to look up.

"Three weeks old. According to my wife's last letter."

Miguel's shoulder slumped, and he turned to look at the man. A little hesitation passed over his eyes, but it vanished as soon as he saw an old acquaintance of him. Hope. Red eyes rolled annoyed, as if regretting the sudden decision he was about to make.

"Do you know how to use a weapon?"

The question surely threw the man off, but still managed to reply

"Y-Yeah. Not fond of them, but yeah."

"Fight?"

"Not a complete useless if that's what you're hinting at."

Miguel chuckled and approached closer to the cell, examining the lock while the detainee put on his pair of boots.

"Gimme a wire and I'll get myself out of here."

Miguel instead took a nearby shovel to destroy the lock in a couple of hits. The metal piece clanking on the floor as it fell.

"O-Or you could do that. Yeah."

The man stood on his feet and stretched before offering his hand to him, Miguel just stared at him for a moment before taking his hand in a firm shake. Peter hid a wince at the sheer display of strength and that he had grabbed his injured hand.

"Peter B. Parker. Merchant and lock master."

"Miguel O'Hara. Pirate."

Peter could only blink stupidly at him.

"Let's go."

But followed him without much thought.

-----

Taglist:

@nerdykat @munixumai @raiirai @sarapaprikas-blog @deputy-videogamer @rizahawkeye1380 @littlenyx @marit332 @iz-iplier @mad-hatter-rici @viriexo @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @lishdfish @not-ur-average-fangirl @freehentai @darksidecorner @winteringfalls @ellasarich @eustashh @nyxismoon @murnsondock @pluviophilis @oooof-ifellforyou @plusultrayokai @teacoffeeflavored @ctizu1 @dickfartcheesy @s0lm1n @vonev @iwumrndbm @azuredragonstrike @Iyykeyyy @arrozyfrijoles23 @frompeach @ghostlyworld @liamdasimp @straw-berry-ghoul

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara #astv miguel #gabi o'hara #peter b parker #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel x reader #x reader #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara fanfiction #pirate au #mermaid au

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netherfeildren · 9 months

Text

The Cassandra Complex : Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x F!Reader

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else.

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored.

Enter: The creation of myth.

-OR-

the dark sider/mandalorian au no one knew they needed

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence; Graphic depictions of violence; Canon divergence; Themes of redemption; And forgiveness; THE RAZOR CREST LIVES BITCH!!!!; Soft!Dom Din Djarin; Protective behavior; Possessive behavior; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Breeding kink; Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Spanking; Overstimulation; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin; Angst with a happy ending; Hurt/comfort; Fluff and smut; Inappropriate Use Of the Force; Discussions of infertility; References to Greek Mythology; Past abuse; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Violence as a metaphor for desire and intimacy; Other additional tags to be added

Read on AO3

PART I :

Chapter I: Apollo

Chapter II: Prometheus

Chapter III: Psyche

Chapter IV: Aite

Chapter V: Morpheus

Chapter VI : Sisyphus

Chapter VII : Hysminai

Chapter VIII : Melpomene

Interlude : Tartarus

PART II :

Chapter IX : Persephone

Chapter X: Geryon

Chapter XI: Lethe

Chapter XII: Venus

Chapter XIII: Eros

Chapter XIV: Dionysus

Chapter XV:

⚡️Din and Sithy art by the wonderfully talented @dirtysouvenir

⚡️Updates Blog : Follow and turn on notifications for new writing!

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celaenaeiln · 5 months

Note

Hi, do you have any recommendations for Dick and Slade fics where their relationship is explored? It doesn't matter if it's a pairing or not. P.S.: I really love your posts

Thank you!!

And boy do I have them! All of these are my favorites. They're fics I specifically saved separately because I loved them. I hope you do too!

FAVORITE!! The thrill I get when I read this. The high. It's almost incomparable. Sladick in cyberspace. I don't even like cyber punk but I loved this fic - Gray Area

FAVORITE!! I talked about this one before but it's the perfect fic for apprentice Sladick. Read it so many times, I can't get enough of it. - Nightwing Protocol

FAVORITE!! This is one of my comfort fics, I love the whole collections so much. Slade and Dick get married and run off to the Maldives - I Guess Time Will Tell What the Come Down is Like

Slade comes for his Talon. That's his Dick Grayson dammit - Reclaiming an Owl

Favorite! I hope you don't mind but I'm sneaking in this Tiger/Dick fic forgive mee. Tiger's infuriatingly attracted to Dick's lips - Soft lips

FAVORITE!! Jedi Dick meets Sith Slade. And their relationship is always the same - Breathe With Confidence

Slade and Dick are soulmates much to the displeasure of Joey and the happiness of Rose - family in any form

Slade is a god of war and Dick is the demigod of shadows. They meet on the battlefield - Echoes of the Battlefield

Dick is a bartender. And Slade doesn't have identification - The Barkeeper

FAVORITE!! Dick is Aphrodite and Slade is Ares but Dick is a terrifying figure when spurned - Contradiction

FAVORITE!! Dick is Persephone and Slade is Hades and the story fits perfectly - When September Ends

FAVORITE!! Dick and Slade are both Alphas but that's not going to stop Slade in the force of his attraction for Dick - Ready or Knot

Favorite! Dick comes back with bruises, Jason thinks he lost a fight, Tim knows better, and the truth accidentally comes out - B is for Bruises

Series of prompts for Omega Dick and Sladick - Omega!Dick Week

Sladick if Dick had become Slade's apprentice from the start. He's coming back home - Home for the Holidays

FAVORITE!! Slade and Dick take care of each other - Follow Me (Don't Be Such a Fool)

Favorite! Slade takes Dick along South to a bar and Dick has some new discoveries - As Sweet As Strawberry Wine

Favorite! The whole collection! I really love the one with Deadshot but here's the first one with Slade! Remember when Dick paid of Deathstroke not to take a hit on Amy? Here's what happened after - Sell Your Soul

Slade's straight. So is Tiger. And so is most of the harem. They just like him - Attack of the Exes

FAVORITE!! The whole freaking collection?! Star Wars AU of Sladick. Taken to the dark side - Want is a Full Contract

Actually victoriousscarf's stuff is just too good - victoriousscarf

Dick basically goes fuck it. I'm tired of being good. and butts off to be slade's apprentice - Subverting Expectation

Favorite! Dick is a witch and the massive bloody wolf at his door is obviously just a wolf, right? - My Beloved Deathstroke

Slade can't just let Dick stay as Ric. He's too good for that - Madness Started the Moment We Met

FAVORITE!! Ric meets a man at the fight club. And that man is a little too interesting to let go - Like a Virus

FAVORITE!! Dick receives some interesting videos from Slade. Slade has always been good at enticing Dick - Puppet Show

FAVORITE!! Supernatural AU where Dick is Sam and Slade is Ruby. Jason's gone but Dick's gonna get his little brother back. No matter what it takes - On the Head of a Pin

FAVORITE!! Same as above! - Point of Fracture

FAVORITE!! I will sink my teeth into this collection and shake it because it's so good. YJ! Dick becomes the spy instead of Kaldur - Foundations

Favorite! Slade visits Dick in the hospital but Dick's not awake. Although Mar'i is - Give Us This Day

FAVORITE!! Midnighter/Dick/Slade. Dick's gone, right? Then who is then man with a swirling face that reminds Slade of him? - The Third Kind

Favorite! Dick is a sailor and Slade is a merman - I am a Sailor, and you are the Sea

Another Star Wars AU - Resolute in Resurrection

FAVORITE!! Slade acted so unaffected before. There's none of that now - every shadow filled up with doubt

Dick swears he's only here to rescue Damian. It's not his fault Slade was also locked up - (practice our prayers) until some hope crystallizes

FAVORITE!! Dick's mother always told him never to deal with the Fae. But some situations call for it - deal with the devil

FAVORITE!! They had a deal. But Slade's deal never was supposed to be about catching feelings - Maroon Haze

FAVORITE!! Dick has magic and Slade is cursed - i have hurt and hungered before (flesh against flesh)

FAVORITE!! I have read this fic over and over again. I love the younger Slade and Older Dick dynamic - running fever

Not a ship

FAVORITE!! When Slade took in Robin as an apprentice, he was a kid. A teenager. Get woke slade. Funny!! - Why did I think this was a good idea?

Dick is Robin and Slade's protective father instincts kick in - Made Peace

FAVORITE!! One of my all time favorites. Dick's name gets pulled out of the hogwarts cup as the Hogwarts Champion. But..he never put his in - heavy is the crown

Favorite! Bruce doesn't get to get away with Spyral. Dick leaves Bruce for Slade - deeds of men depraved

I have way more but this is a good starting point I think. Lemme know if you're interested in more!

#dick grayson #nightwing #slade wilson #deathstroke #sladick #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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starlazergazer · 1 year

Text

Flirting with the Dark Side

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: An Anakin (hades) x Reader (persephone) au!

Warnings: None

Word count: 6.5K

A/N: Not gonna lie I struggled with this one lol. It’s more a story loosely based on the myth so I truly apologize if what you were hoping for was something more faithful to it but I really hope you like it!

You can still remember exactly what time it had happened. Exactly where you were, what you were doing, how it felt when Anakin had gone to the dark side.

It hit you as more than just a disturbance in the force, a breaking of prophecy, instead it was as if the weight of the world you had balanced so carefully on your shoulders finally came crashing down.

You felt your knees buckle beneath you, threatening to drop you to the floor, the air forced from your lungs as you were left with nothing but a soul crushing feeling of emptiness and dread. You knew something was wrong, that something was wrong specifically with Anakin, and if you were being completely honest with yourself you knew exactly what had just happened.

But you refused to allow yourself to believe it.

You doubled over, hands on knees as you tried to catch your breath, tried to calm yourself down, tried to reach out with the force for more info. None came.

In the halls of the temple Jedi rushed past you, all running to the doors, none really paying attention to where they were going as they bumped into each other, a massive hoard desperate to escape.

Instead, you walked upstream.

You hadn’t planned your next stop, not that you had much of a plan to begin with, but on pure gut instinct you looked into the training room, finding it full of bewildered younglings.

Before you could even think of what to do next they were whispering your name, hope flooding the room as they saw your familiar face emerge, believing you knew what to do. Oh how you wished you knew what to do.

“Are you all here?” You tried to put as much authority into your voice as possible, tried to ignore the sounds of Jedi fleeing for their lives just outside the door, tried to ignore the feeling that your whole world was crumbling around you, tried to put on a brave face.

The kids all looked around, mentally taking attendance before turning back to you nodding, more than a dozen pairs of hopeful eyes staring up at you expectantly. You could only think of one thing to do: get them out.

“Ok follow me” You instructed them, ushering them to get behind you as you turned around, stopping dead in your tracks at the appearance of a dark figure in the doorway, a rather familiar dark figure.

“Ani?” You asked hesitantly, almost hopefully, but it felt wrong, the room felt strangely dark and cold, and from the way the kids coward behind you you knew you weren’t the only one to feel it.

The figure said nothing, stayed rooted in the doorway, not moving a muscle. And in response you felt your fingers twitch, felt an itch in the back of your head telling you to grab your lightsaber.

Instead you stayed put, every muscle in your body tensing as you tried to prepare for the worse “Ani is that you?”

What responded was nothing more than the sound of a lightsaber igniting, a column of blue erupting from a familiar hilt in the figures hand, blue light illuminating the side of Anakin’s face finally.

“Move” his voice was deep and harsh, it was a voice he had never used with you before, it sent an uncomfortable chill up your spine.

“No” you answered simply, reaching for your own saber in response, gripping it tightly in your hand but refusing to light it yet, a part of you still insisting that Anakin was not your enemy.

And for the first time Anakin raised his head, the folds of his hood revealing his eyes as they came up to meet yours, golden yellow eyes instead of the soft blue ones you were so used to.

And despite yourself you let a small gasp escape, your stance faltering ever so slightly as you were met with your worst nightmare. “Anakin what have you done?”

Anakin didn’t bother to answer your question, the grip on his saber tightening as instead he responded “I said move Y/N”

You lit your own saber, its glow joining Anakin’s to illuminate the room, a protective hand sweeping out to cover the heard of younglings from him “And I said no”

You could see him faulter ever so slightly, his jaw clenching visibly, his breathing getting ever so slightly deeper “New orders” he responded simply “eliminate all jedi”

“They’re younglings Anakin” You shot back “they’re innocent”

Again you were met with silence, Anakin refusing to back down, staying rooted to the spot, unfamiliar yellow eyes staring down into yours.

“Well what about me?” You tried “I’m jedi why aren’t you trying to eliminate me”

You could see the effect your comment had on him. Anakin, if only for a moment, looking taken aback, as if it had never occurred to him that you fell under the elimination order. And after a second of silence he shut down his saber, tilting his head to the side slightly as he looked at you. “I can feel your anger”

You scrunched your eyebrows at him, your grip on your saber tightening as you tried to prepare for whatever trick this was “of course I’m angry”

“That’s not very jedi of you” his response came quick and casually, pieces of the old Anakin, of your Anakin slipping back in as he spoke. “Don’t you think it’s weird we were taught to suppress an emotion as natural to us as breathing?”

“Where are you going with this?” You asked through clenched teeth, his blasé attitude making you feel more uneasy than ever.

“Join me”

It was your turn to be taken aback, your body physically recoiling as his words hit you, the simplicity with which he said them making the invitation feel natural, expected even. “what?”

“Join me” he repeated, taking slow hesitant steps closer towards you, all but ignoring the saber you held defensively in front of you “you are a powerful jedi, exceptional with the force imagine the kind of power you can have with the dark side”

“I-I-“ You stuttered, your brain struggling to keep up with what he was saying “I can’t join the dark side”

He simply shook his head, still approaching you “okay then don’t” he dismissed the idea quickly “just join me”

“I don’t understand-“

“Join me” he repeated, cutting you off, “choose me, be by my side as I bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy like it has never seen before” and you could see in his eyes that he truly believed that, truly believed that was he was doing was right and just, truly believed he was on the path to change things for the better.

And you could see the old Anakin returning again, the softness in his features, in his voice, as he pleaded with you. And a part of you broke.

You looked back behind you, dozens of scared wide eyes looking up at you, and you knew what you had to do. “If I come with you, you have to leave the younglings alone. I need to know that they are going to be safe”

And at this the corners of Anakin’s mouth lifted, “for you love,” he lifted a hand to you in invitation “anything”

You stayed poised to attack for a moment longer, your eyes bouncing back and forth between his looking for any sign of deception, any sign that this was a trick, and you found none.

Hesitantly you retracted your saber, the lack of its glow plunging the room into a soft darkness.

And with a deep breath you took his hand.

You did your best to ignore him as he led you through the hallways, and Anakin, to his credit, did the same. So long as you didn’t talk you could pretend everything was back to normal, that you weren’t all but kidnapped by a man you had once considered to be a close friend, that he hadn’t joined the dark side, that the jedi order hadn’t fallen, that thousands hadn’t died.

“Right here” Anakin stopped suddenly, nodding to the door.

You took a second to collect yourself, to consider what you had agreed to because you knew once you stepped through that door there was no going back. Hesitantly you reached forward, opening the door with the touch of a button, revealing a massive, beautiful room on the other side.

And despite yourself you had to admit you were awe of the room, the sheer size of it bigger than any you had seen before. A massive bed piled with more pillows than you knew what to do with, a roaring fireplace as gorgeous as it was warm, a massive balcony with a sweeping view over the city, framing a perfect sunset before your eyes.

“This is your room” You could hear the smile in Anakin’s voice as he said it, clearly happy at your reaction.

“And where will you be staying?” His smile dropped. You knew it was a low blow as you said it, watching the smirk fall from Anakin’s face at the implication that he wouldn’t stay with you. But you felt trapped and vengeful, feeling the need to lash out and hurt him so that he may feel as you did at having lost everything at his hands.

“The room next door” he answered simply, doing his best not to let his anger show and you relished in his restraint because though it may have been a small thing it still felt good.

“I think I’ll get some sleep” you nodded towards the door behind him.

Anakin got the hint immediately; having known you would try and get rid of him quickly “Of course” he nodded formally and turned to leave.

And though it was exactly what you wanted, to be left alone with your thoughts for just a moment, to be given some time to digest your knew life, you knew you had to ask. “Could you have done it?” You called at him over his shoulder, Anakin spinning on the spot his face clearly showing his displeasure at having been asked the question, though clearly not shocked by it either. “If I hadn’t been there could you have done it?”

“But you were there” he answered simply, his shoulders hunching slightly as he made a point to look you in the eye

“But if I weren’t” you pressed further, showing him you weren’t letting this go so easily.

He looked you up and down for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking “you don’t want me to answer that”

And you felt your heart break a little more in that moment, though you suppose you did it to yourself. Before then a part of you still believed he couldn’t have, still believed it was some sort of trick or a moment of weakness. Anakin’s non answer however squashed any of that hope.

“Right” you sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself, turning your back on him and making your way to the bed, a silent dismissal of him.

Anakin stayed rooted on the spot for a moment, every fiber in his being screaming at him to reach out to you, to go and wrap his arms around you, comfort you as he had so many nights before.

Instead, he did the smart thing. He left.

You had hoped that sleep would be some sort of reprieve. A brief escape from where you were, from what your life had become.

Instead you had laid in bed for hours, unable to quiet your mind enough to fall asleep.

The sun had risen too quickly and you weren’t ready to face the day, to figure out where you fell in this new life, what you were to do.

It seemed, however, you didn’t have much of an option. A knock on your door was all the warning given before people rushed into your room with serving trays piled with food, servants wordlessly filling the table in your room with the dishes before leaving with no explanation.

Mere minutes later the door sounded again and in strolled Anakin this time, giving you little more than a nod and a smile before walking over to the table and taking a seat.

“What are you doing?” You asked, your voice groggy from the morning as you refused to get out of bed still.

“Breakfast” he answered simply, piling the plate before him with food.

“In my room?” You continued to press, wrapping the blanket protectively around you as you finally sat up staring across the gigantic room at him.

“We always used to eat together” He prompted, shoving a piece of food into his mouth.

“Sure we used to”

At this he set down his silverware, for the first time since walking in making it a point to make eye contact with you “I don’t see why things have to change Y/N”

And to that you could do nothing but stare, your mouth hanging open ever so slightly, because how could things not have changed after what had happened.

“Look” he sighed, picking back up the silverware and turning back to his food “you don’t have to join me, don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to…but I would like it if you did”

And despite yourself you could feel the smell of the food getting to you, your traitorous stomach rumbling loudly, you could see Anakin’s lips quirk up at its sound.

With a dramatic sigh you pushed yourself from the bed and made your way to the table, purposefully picking a seat that wasn’t close to Anakin’s though it didn’t seem to matter to him. With a small smile he had picked up the plate in front of you and began piling it with anything he thought you would like and though you would never admit it he got the selection spot on.

Not making eye contact you picked up the fork in front of you and shoveled some food into your mouth, only the sounds of the scrape of silverware on plates filling the air as you and Anakin ate in silence.

“I would like to go outside” the words came out of your mouth just slightly too loud, the exclamation surprising Anakin enough for him to straighten on impulse.

“Okay?” It came out as a question, a single brow raised in your direction.

“Is that allowed?” You asked sheepishly, “can I go outside?”

And at this he chuckled, his posture slumping slightly again as he relaxed, turning back to his food “you’re not a prisoner”

“Am I not?” You asked with a raised brow, daring him to contradict you “could I leave if I wanted to?”

Anakin to his credit seemed sheepish in his response, his head hanging lower as he dropped eye contact “it’s not safe for you out there”

“I can handle myself” you scoffed “I’m a jedi knight-“

“Were a jedi knight” he corrected you “and be careful who you say that around. They’re hunting the jedi down now”

“and these are the people you chose to align yourself with?” you asked him, dropping your fork and crossing your arms over your chest.

“the jedi order was corrupt” he answered simply “claiming to be a keeper of peace while doing nothing but the senates bidding in order to perpetuate a war the jedi had no business being in”

“How else do you keep peace during wartime” You asked him “rather than seek to end it as soon as possible?”

“then we should’ve been given the proper tools to do that” he shot back “we were brought up to be peacekeepers then thrust into the roles of generals. Leashed by a code that served no purpose other than to stop us from ensuring victory on the battlefield in the name of peace and false morals”

And to your surprise you had nothing to say back to that, having no real response back.

“I just want you to be safe” he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair “so for now at least please just stay here”

You did nothing but nod in response, resigning yourself to go back to eating in silence, maybe some time here to think would be good.

Over the days you started to grow used to your schedule, eating breakfast and dinner with Anakin, spending most nights usually in the same room as him, he not forcing interaction between you and you grateful for the peace.

Other than that you had the day to yourself and you had to admit you were enjoying being able to fully relax for the first time in your life, no training, no battle, no planning. It left you a lot of time to think.

And the more you thought about it the more Anakin’s words were getting to you, the more they started to make sense. You had never agreed completely with the Jedi council, upset they were often more eager to serve their own agenda rather than truly serve the people of the republic.

You could see that Anakin now was seeking to do no more than what he was told he would do from the beginning, bring peace to the galaxy as a whole.

But was this really the right way?

Anakin came back to your rooms that day much later than usual, missing dinner by nearly an hour, but you refused to let anyone take the food before he could get any.

As soon as he entered the door you could feel the temperature drop, not needing the force to feel the anger radiating off of him as he strode towards the table wordlessly. You were no stranger to Anakin’s anger, having witnessed it countless times throughout your childhood with him. He was never one to take orders blindly and you doubted that quality changed even when he was on this side.

Before you could talk yourself out of it you forced your way over to him, taking the seat across from him as he started to fill a plate.

Anakin barely cast you a glance, looking briefly up at you through his lashes before turning back to his task at hand,

And though you knew now was not the time to push it you had to know; it had been the only thing on your mind for days. You needed someone else to talk this through with. “I know the Jedi weren’t what they claimed to be”

Anakin paused, spoon held in mid air as he looked back up at you through his lashes once again, silently asking you to continue.

“They claimed to serve the people of the republic and served only the corrupt senate, resulting in who knows how many deaths” You continued on, finding your gaze drifting around the room as you avoided eye contact at all costs as you said this. “and I understand wanting to leave that behind, even wanting to aid Palpatine in his efforts to bring peace to the galaxy”

You paused here, noting how Anakin had dropped everything before him, his total attention turned to you in this moment only making you squirm on the spot.

“But the dark side?” You exhaled, finally snapping your eyes to his, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact as you said it “we were taught the dark side does nothing but corrupt and destroy. I just don’t understand how you could give in to something like that” with a brief pause you shook your head lightly “the dark side stands in opposition to everything we were brought up to believe”

“And maybe we were brought up incorrectly” he shot back and you could hear the anger still laced in his voice “of course the Jedi order wouldn’t tell us of its benefits should it not want us to use it”

“But-“

And before you could even get the next sentence out Anakin was speaking again. His anger and exasperation boiling over within him, tired of having the same conversation over and over again, tired of beating around the same bush, tired of hiding it from you.

“I did it for you”

You froze, mouth still hanging open as you stared back at him, your body physically recoiling in shock “what?”

“I did it for you” he repeated, his voice growing much softer, much quieter as he said it, anger starting to slip from the words as he grew more serious. “I saw you die in a dream. In several dreams. And if I stepped over to the dark side then I could get enough power to protect you, to stop it from happening”

Your mind was racing, your eyebrows scrunching in thought “but-but you had no way of knowing if your dreams were even right”

“And you think I could risk something like that?” he looked almost sad as he said it, his head hanging ever so slightly as he looked up at you.

And again you were speechless.

Anakin forced himself back to filing his plate, breaking eye contact with you “Look I know you don’t approve of the decision, but it was not one I made lightly”

And at this you looked up at him, giving yourself a deep breath before you responded “I believe you”

He paused at this, looking back up at you for a moment, eyes bouncing back and forth between yours for a brief moment before giving what you could only describe as an appreciative nod before tuning back to the food. Continuing his evening in silence.

You did not look up from your book when he entered the room, did not give him any attention, not yet at least. You could feel your resolve starting to crumble against him, too much of the old Anakin peaking through, his arguments starting to make too much sense, the need to do something productive starting to get too strong.

You needed more time to think, more time to decide if this was what you really wanted to do, to decide if you were truly ready to turn your back on everything you believed in mere weeks ago.

Then you heard his footsteps, not the usual steady and even pattern as he crossed the floor, it was much slower now with a distinct note of dragging something.

Your eyes snapped up from your book to see Anakin walking across the room, his back turned to you, a significant limp as he basically dragged his left foot behind him.

You were on your feet immediately, bounding across the room without a thought, picking up Anakin’s arm and ducking your head beneath it, doing your best to take some of his weight off the foot.

Anakin stopped in surprise, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked down at you.

“Come on to the chair” You grunted, helping him across the room towards the table.

“I’m fine” he tried to brush it off, trying to retract his arm though you held onto the wrist, an arm going around his waist to keep him from pushing you off.

“Fine people don’t limp” You countered, finally getting him to one of the chairs at the table, pulling it out and helping him down into it, noting the wince he tried so desperately to hide as he moved.

“Wasn’t limping” he muttered under his breath though you could see the edges of his mouth lift up as he said it, unable to even take himself seriously.

“mhm sure” you muttered, “stay here I think I saw some bandages in the bathroom”

He tried to protest again though he didn’t push it too hard, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere.

You came back with a first aid kit, cloth, and bowl of water, pulling up a seat in front of Anakin, holding out your hand to him wordlessly.

Anakin stared back at you for a moment, a look of almost amusement on his face before he gave in, placing his hand in yours.

Giving it a small grateful squeeze, you looked down giving yourself a chance for the first time to properly inspect his bloodied knuckles. The skin had clearly broken and though they were red and raw it didn’t look like they were still actively bleeding, just needed cleaning.

Dipping the cloth in the bowl of water you carefully dabbed at the knuckles, feeling yourself mirror Anakin’s grimaces each time you got too close to the tender flesh.

Once the first one was clean you placed it carefully in his lap, reaching for the other and starting the process again, missing the look in Anakin’s eyes as he stared down at you almost in wonder, completely mystified by the moment of tenderness from you he hadn’t felt since order 66, that he wasn’t sure he would feel again since order 66.

“The good news is they just needed to be cleaned” You spoke softly as you worked, Anakin just humming in response, eyes never breaking from your face.

And before he could think to stop himself he reached out with the hand, your work stopping as he reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

You froze when he moved his hand, not moving a muscle as he tucked the hair, your gaze following the hand as he retracted it before going up to his eyes, taking a moment again to fully digest their new color, and for the first time finding yourself admiring it.

Anakin didn’t dare move beneath your gaze, didn’t dare breathe as your eyes bounced back and forth between his, doing nothing that could risk ruining the moment. Until your eyes narrowed slightly at him and he felt himself cringe inwardly at the look, prepping himself for another argument.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening you were out of your seat and leaning towards him, your face closer to his than it had ever been as your hand made its way up to his hair, swiping the curls away from his forehead.

“Maker, Ani your forehead is bleeding” You sighed out and despite everything Anakin felt himself laughing, a genuine smile growing on his face, something he hasn’t done in quite some time.

“It’s been a while since you called me that”

You dipped the cloth again, trying your best to ignore the closeness as you straddled his thigh, his hands naturally gliding to your hips to keep you stable as you pulled the hair back with one hand and dabbed at the wound with the other. “It’s been a while since you’ve deserved it” you teased softly.

“And what did I do to deserve it now?” He asked softly, looking up at you through his lashes with an amused smile.

“Nothing” you hummed, cleaning away the last of the blood on his forehead “I just take pity on the injured”

“I’ll keep that in mind”

You glared down at him “show up like this again and I’ll make sure you live to regret it Skywalker”

At this he chuckled again, and you had to take a moment to enjoy the sound, not realizing how much you had missed it, how much you had missed him.

“Looks like this one will need a bandage” You mused, reaching to the kit on the table to grab one.

“I can’t wear a bandage” he objected mockingly “I’ve got a reputation to uphold”

“Oh yeah nothing says tough like bleeding to death” you teased, placing the bandage over the cut.

And though you tried your best not to you were reluctant to pull away, reluctant to go back to your chair in front of him, reluctant to leave him alone again.

“I can try and get you an icepack for that ankle” you offered though he quickly shook you off.

“It just needs a break” he shook his head “I’m okay”

“Okay” you reluctantly agreed “think you can make it to your room?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly again before repeating again “I’m okay”

“You can say it all you want but I don’t believe you” you objected, watching in mild amusement as he stood up in his chair, carefully keeping as much weight off his left foot as possible.

“You’re impossible” you said under your breath before standing and tucking your head under his arm to help once again “come on you can stay with me”

He was unable to hide the shock on his face, freezing in place as he looked down at you “are you sure”

“Yeah” you dragged him along, helping him down onto the side of your bed “just stay on your side”

You woke to the knocking on your door as usual, a soft groan escaping from your lips as the brightness of the room struck you for the first time.

The muscles in your legs tensed as you stretched them out, calling out a “come in” in the process. It wasn’t until you tried to stretch your arms over your head, however, that the extra weight around your middle registered.

Then you noticed the warmness against your back, the legs tangled in your own, the feeling of a chest rising and falling against your back.

The door squeaked as it slid open and only then did the reality of your situation fully hit you, swearing under your breath you threw the blankets over the two of you, subconsciously pressing yourself further into Anakin’s chest.

“What are we doing?” The sound of his groggy morning voice spoken directly into your ear, combined with the feeling of his breath against it, sent goosebumps up your arms and a shiver down your spine.

“Hiding” you whispered back.

You tried to ignore the heat that rose to your cheeks at the sound of his chuckle, the way you could feel the laugh in his chest against you. “Why?”

“I panicked” you admitted in another whisper, listening closely to the sound of dishes being placed on the table.

And again you could feel the soft laugh rumble up in his chest as you tried to ignore the way his arm squeezed you tighter into him, tried to ignore to feeling of his hot breath against your neck as he laid behind you, tried to ignore that he hadn’t moved a muscle since waking up despite the promise to stay on his side of the bed, tried to ignore how much you enjoyed being in his arms.

Finally, the door sounded again as it slid open, you waited for it to shut again before throwing the blankets off of you, Anakin grunting softly as the light hit his eyes, slowly retracting his arm as you sat up and crawled off the bed.

You needed to think, you needed to make a decision because sitting here in a sort of limbo was becoming all too much. Taking one look out over the balcony you knew exactly what you needed to do.

You were glad for your decision to finally get out of that room. Sure the giant balcony did a good job at providing sunlight and a breeze but it still didn’t compare to just sitting down in the grass beneath a shady tree.

You sat with your legs crossed, hands resting softly on your knees as you cleared your mind, or at least tried too. It was the first time you had tried to meditate since order 66 and so far it had done nothing but made you feel more lost.

Usually your meditation brought you closer to the force, brought you clarity, helped you separate yourself from emotions that had often blocked your connect to the force. Now though the emotions were too strong and after talking to Anakin you were starting to question if this was the way. These were unprecedented times, you were at war, people were dying. Could you still claim some moral high ground if you were willingly cutting yourself off from more power that could allow you to stop all of this suffering?

The sun had set before you without you even noticing, confusion hitting you briefly when you opened your eyes to see the beautiful colors of the sunset over the horizon. And though your meditation had felt like a waste of time you were still glad for it, glad to give yourself time to think things through.

You pushed yourself to your feet and started walking back towards your room, hunger only then starting to hit you reminding you that you were late for dinner.

Not fully paying attention to where you were going your boot got caught on a stray tree branch sending you toppling to the ground face first. And you couldn’t help but laugh, after how this day was going this seemed to fit right in with everything.

Pushing yourself up once again you felt a small itch on your cheek. Wiping at it with your finger you pulled back your hand to find a small amount of blood on your fingers. Because of course you were bleeding now.

Trudging back to your room you took extra care to look at your feet, finally arriving at your door only after the sun had set. You opened the door and were met with Anakin already there, standing looking out over the balcony. His head snapped towards you the second the door opened and for a brief moment all you could see on his face was worry.

You drew your eyebrows together in confusion though his expression changed almost instantly, so quickly you weren’t sure if you had really seen it, visibly relaxing on the spot.

“Where have you been?” He asked striding across the room towards you, speaking again before you could answer “I got back and you weren’t here. I thought-“ then he paused, physically stalling on the spot for a brief moment before hurrying across the room to you, a gentil hand coming under your chin and lifting your face to him, turning it very slightly to get a better view of your cheek.

“What happened?”

You were surprised at how much his voice had hardened, any relief that you were back gone in an instant as he examined the nearly miniscule cut on your cheek.

“It’s nothing” you brushed him off, pulling his hand off of your chin so you could make proper eye contact with him again.

“Who did this to you?” He asked, his gaze dark and hard, his voice several octaves lower than you feel you had ever heard it.

“No one Ani” You tried to calm him, both hands coming up to cup his cheeks, “I was outside meditating and I tripped, that is all”

And though he seemed to soften slightly at your words there still seemed to be an edge to him as if he were still unconvinced.

And at that you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the table “I promise. I’m okay. Now come on I’m hungry”

Reluctantly he let himself be pulled, taking the seat next to you as you piled your plate with food gone slightly cold by this point.

Anakin was silent for a moment while you ate, doing nothing but watch you before asking “You still meditate?”

“I haven’t” you admitted “until today”

“How’d it go” he asked softly.

“Not well” you chuckled, dropping your fork, and turning to give him your full attention “Usually it is a way to make me feel better connected to the force and the galaxy as a whole. Today it did nothing but make me feel more disconnected”

“That’s what it feels like for me too” he admitted in a soft voice “least how it feels now”

You mentally stole yourself, prepping for the question you were about to ask, not sure how he was going to respond given your track record thus far “why did you chose to go over to the dark side?”

You could see him physically go on the defensive at your question, his expression hardening slightly as he prepared for the same conversation again prompting you to speak up “I don’t mean to fight. I just want to understand”

He paused, still slightly defensive as he looked down at you, judging if you were telling the truth or not. And you must have passed the test because he quickly relaxed again, an elbow going onto the table as he leaned against it “I told you, to protect you”

“But that can’t be it” you shook your head “to turn your back on everything and everyone like that there had to be more”

And an amused smile grew on his face, shaking his head softly at you before answering “Okay sure there were other things, everything I had said before about why I didn’t trust the jedi council, why they didn’t trust me, but you were the tipping point.” He paused briefly, never breaking eye contact with you before he took a breath and continued “Even if it had turned out to be the wrong decision, for you I would make it a million times over”

You looked down at your hands in your lap for a moment, your next words slipping past your lips before you could think to stop them “I miss you Ani”

His eyebrows drew together, a hand going out to grab one of yours, drawing your eyes back to him “I’m right here, I will always be right here”

And you smiled back sadly at him, giving his hand a small squeeze “Yes but it’s different now”

“Bad different?” he asked, an almost hopeful look sparking in his eyes.

And you let the gaze linger, debating on the spot the question you had been asking yourself since this whole ordeal began “honestly, I’m not so sure anymore”

And though it wasn’t quite the definitive answer he had hoped for it was enough, at least for now. A smile grew on his lips as he squeezed your hand again before letting it go.

Your next question seemed to come from nowhere, “Do you trust Palpatine?”

Anakin looked almost taken aback by the question, his brows drawing in confusion. “Do I trust emperor Palpatine?”

“Yeah” you tried to clarify, your eyes starting to drift away from him as you avoided eye contact “I know you’ve said your goal is to bring peace to the galaxy, do you trust that Palpatine’s goals are the same?”

“I do” he answered immediately and earnestly, the sheer force of his answer pulling your gaze back to his.

“Alright” you nodded, turning back to your food as if that settled it “If you trust him then I do too”

Anakin fell quiet once again, not quite sure what that meant, though not ready to trample over the moment with pedantic questions.

“I want to help” You spoke up, trying to distract yourself with food, not quite sure how Anakin would respond to it.

After a brief pause, he placed a soft hand on your back “are you sure?”

You looked over at him, your fork hovering empty in the air “I was brought up being told the goal was to bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy and was made a Jedi in order to do that. I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said and think that maybe you’re right and it was a lie. Perhaps not from the beginning but certainly by the end. If this is the way to accomplish that goal then so be it, it’s still what I want to do”

A proud smile quickly grew on Anakin’s face though he tried to push it down, tried to take the moment to be serious, to show you he was fine with whatever you decided, “And the dark side of the force?”

An almost smug smile grew on your face in response, finally dropping your fork and turning to face him, eyes dancing happily between his “I was hoping you could teach me?”

“Gladly”

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #anakin fic #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x y/n #skywalker imagine #skywalker fic #skywalker x reader #skywalker x you #skywalker x y/n #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars x you #star wars x reader #star wars x y/n

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anjelicawrites · 3 months

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Aemond Targaryen

18+ only, minors DNI please! I do not consent to have my fics translated.

Jelous reader drabble (SFW) Poor reader trying to woo Aemond (SFW) Flying on Vhagar with angry Aemond (SFW) Aemond on being tied up (NSFW) Aemond dancing with his daughter (SFW) Hades!reader x Persephone!Aemond (SFW) Modern!Aemond x bff!reader headcanon (SFW) King Aemond first of his name, in love (NSFWish) King Aemond first of his name continuation (NSFW) Aemond and his lady wife experiment in bed (SFW) Aemond and the Northerner general (SFW) An unnecessary Ladyhawke AU for Aemond (SFW) Subspace headcanons for sub!Aemond (suggestive themes) Thoughts on dad!Aemond (SFW) Aemond and his praise kink (suggestive themes) Sub!Aemond headcanons (NSFW) Modern!Physician!Aemond x nurse!reader (suggestive themes) Pet Cemetary inspired AU for Aemond (SFW) Untiteled smuttish Aemond piece (NSFWish) Random sugar daddy! and ex!Aemond (SFW) Modern!dad!Aemond headcanon (SFW)

The Unexpected paramour (modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader. SFW)

You love Aemond Targaryen and he loves you. You suspect your cat loves him more.

Dragon riding not for the beginners (sub!Aemond Targaryen x dom!reader NSFW)

Inspired by the prompt “Why don’t you ride this dragon my love.” from this prompt list. Or, Aemond fucks around and finds out.

Keep reading (Aemond Targaryen x reader NSFW)

Aemond is being a little shit, his lady wife is done with him. Fill for the prompt “Ugh,baby, I cant- please…” from this prompt list.

You can never leave (Dark!Aemond Targaryen x older!reader. NSFW. DDDNE)

You are in a secret, albeit happy, relationship with Aemond, until you are not anymore.

Birthday boy (Modern!subbish!Aemond Targaryen x dommish!reader NSFW)

For his birthday, Aemond gets the pegging of his life

One step from you (Modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader SFW)

A surprise dinner invitation, forces closed off prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to start rethink his life.

Moonlight thoughts (Modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader NSFW)

Written as part of the House of the Dragon Big Bang '23. Aemond's wife, who is older than him, wakes up in the middle of the night, plagued by the dark thoughts of what would happen when their age difference will show. Aemond consoles her.

The history of a marriage (coming soon)

A northerner education (coming soon)

Du riechst so gut (coming soon)

Quiet strength (coming soon)

Young god (coming soon)

The winner takes it all (NSFW) (Aemond Targaryen x reader) TLK!AU 10/10

True love’s kiss (NSFW) (Maleficent!Aemond Targaryen x woodland fairy! reader) Sleeping beauty!AU 3/?

A lovely anon requested “ Hii! Can I request a modern aemond x fem reader with reader trying to surprise aemond after a hard week at work. Aemond comes home to find reader cooking with wearing only an apron.” (modern!Aemond Targaryen x reader NSFW)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen

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cdragons · 7 months

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Blood & Pain - Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader (Kaetlyn) Oneshot

Pairings: Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader, ft. Sephia x Ikaris, and Kaetlyn x Druig Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: A lil' oneshot to show how Druig and his wife got together, and what way to show that than with hot and heavy SMUT! Warning(s): SMUT (if you are under 18 DNI), some angst if you squint, mention of bullying (sort of), slight mention of blood, knife conjuring, Druig is obsessed and we love that, I just really wanted to write something to get me into the Halloween Spirit Notes: This a surprise oneshot to my wonderful beta reader, @valeskafics! She is in the middle of midterms, so I wanted to gift her a lil' oneshot to thank her for all of her help and encouragement! She is an incredibly kind and patient human and one of the best and most incredible fanfic writers for HOTD, GOT, and the Ewanverse on Tumblr! If you love any of Ewan Mitchell's works or are a fan of GOT/HOTD, I highly recommend checking her blog out! You will not regret it! Also, the BIGGEST thank you and shout of love to @ethereal-athalia my good man in the storm, I have never clicked so well with someone on this platform when it came to crazy ideas, and thanks to her, I can write out my ideas and share them on this site!If you want to read more from this AU, please click on this masterlist!

No matter how the rest of the team believed, what ideas his own children liked to conjure, how the tale was spun by generations -- Druig did not fall in love with his wife at first sight. He knew who you were, Kaetlyn, a fighter who could manipulate the shadows of every living being. You would later the mother of surgery and modern medicine- and even beyond that, a scholar and pioneer for feats of magic that remain untouched even by the greatest of the Supremes in the Mystic Arts.

He couldn’t remember the time he first realized that he loved you- he only knew that when he recognized it, he had fallen so deeply that he could no longer remember what it felt like not to be in love you. You were everywhere. There was simply no place left on this planet where Druig would wander that you wouldn’t be there beckoning him to you.

It was almost shameful how long it took for him to fall in love with you in comparison to how quickly you adored him. It had taken him over 100 years for you to fully gain his attention, and another 200 years for you to wait for him to confess his reciprocation. 200 years of clever banter and harmless flirting that shifted to longing gazes and lingering touches, until you finally had enough of his lame patience and reluctance. You dragged Druig to a secluded area- away from the Domo and humans alike, and took his face in your hands and forced his lips to yours. One kiss become two, two became five, and soon you and he had joined together in an explosion of passion that would bind you to him for the rest of eternity.

The sun had long set, and stars and moon glittered in the night. The two of you were as naked as the days you were born. Your need to have each other was beyond a matter of lust, it was primal need. Druig had torn your clothes without any thought- he starved for you. Any barrier that separated your body from him was flung away. Your skin glowed in the moonlight, every curve and line of your frame gloriously highlighted for his eyes alone. His lily-bloomed skin laid under you, ready for anything and everything you would give him. He still remembered the words you whispered to warn him all that would come as a result of your love.

“Druig, I must warn you,” you whispered. Druig kissed you across your collarbone, and you tugged on his hair to gaze into his eyes. “I can be very selfish- I will have all of you, or none of you.”

He could feel your wet center throb with each wince that escaped his lips. “You already do, my love,” he whispered back, silently pleading you to let him continue. “I swear you do.”

He craved you. He desperately wanted to map his tongue and lips across your body; he wanted to memorize the feel of your skin, the smell of your sweat, the taste of your cum. Whatever you gave him, he wanted it all.

Pushing him to lay on his back, you crawled forward to hover your soaked cunt over his cock. “I’m selfish- relentlessly so, any other woman that catches your eye will feel no end of my wrath.” You lowered yourself only enough so that his tip could paint its precum on your clit, the corner of your lips curled into a cruel smirk in response to the strangled moan he let out. Your body trembled from the sheer delight you felt at witnessing the surly telepath whine so pathetically from your touch.

“Please,” he begged, “please angel. Let me feel you- I need it- I need you.” Druig could feel his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming pleasure that would fill him. “I want to touch you, please-”

Druig’s whimpers were brutally cut off as you placed a finger over his lips.

“Shhhh- not yet,” you breathily whispered, “you need to earn your pleasure, my love.” Your pupils dilated seeing him take your finger in his mouth, and used his tongue to suck on it. “I need to know if you understand what it means to love me, and have it in return.”

Before Druig could respond, you lowered yourself further- until he filled you to the brim with only a single thrust. You were so taken back by the sheer size of him that you felt your climax wash over as every part of you trembled from the intense euphoria.

“By Arishem,” you thought, “how is he so big?”

You wanted to make him beg, to drown him in so much pleasure that it would hurt. Whatever pain you inflicted on him now, it was nothing compared to the torture you experienced in having to wait for him to admit his feelings. You lost count on the number of times you pleasured yourself at the thought of the man beneath you. So many times, you wanted to sneak into his bed, and wake him to witness the maddening effect he had on you. But having him inside you was better than anything you could imagine.

Gripping his shoulders, you lifted yourself until only his tip remained-before slamming your hips down to his- repeating this motion until falling into a rhythm that was accompanied by a song of wild moans and gasps. Everything about this man- the aquamarine shine in his eyes, the glowing pallor of his body, the tone and strength in his muscles- screamed the image of perfection to you.

“Druig, Druig,” you could only cry out his name- as if it was the only word you knew, “I love you, I love you, I love- FUCK!” You screamed out at the feel of his hips moving to meet yours, and before you could blink, he shifted your positions so that you would be laying on your back as he caged your body with his frame.

Druig couldn’t take it anymore, it tormented him to not take you without abandon. For so long, he dreamed of having you like this- warm, teasing, and his. You called yourself selfish, so what? Druig knew what it meant to be selfish, to want to possess and devour every part of you until there was nothing left for anyone else to take or see.

You must have blind to not see his desperation for you. How could someone so bright and brilliant not understand that he would gladly let you tear him limb by limb if it meant to be loved by you.

To have you under him like this- writhing in ecstasy, crying from exquisite pain, your soft curves molded against his hard frame- it was as if this was his true purpose. It was not to assist in humanity’s evolution, but to belong to you as you would belong to him. It was to have you like this at every waking moment- filling you with love, and overwhelming you with desire.

As he continued to slam his hips against yours with reckless abandon, he trailed his lips down your throat, sharply nipping your collarbones, until all that he could reach were your heaving breasts that moved in tandem with his thrusts. He was so enraptured by your presence that when you peaked once more on his cock, his rutting only grew more relentless and rougher than what you thought was possible.

Stars, he loved the way you screamed his name. He wanted everyone to know it was him who made you mad with elation. He wanted the whole world to know that you, Kaetlyn- gloriously headstrong, brilliantly beautiful Kaetlyn- the wielder of shadows, and master of the darkness and night, was begging for his cock like a common whore.

“Look at you,” he snarled- jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to break from the pressure, “what were you saying m’darling? I could have sworn that you were trying to get me to beg- but look at you now.” Your head thrown back as your hair sprayed around you like a beckoning halo as you babbled nonsensically, legs wrapped around his torso to minimize any potential loss of distance, your wickedly sharp nails cutting into his skin to leave vibrant trails on his back as blood leaked from the wounds. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Your only response was whimpers and cries, so Druig decided to be a bit cruel, and slowed down before pulling himself out and stopping completely. The loss of your warmth was complete agony, but the consequence was well-worth the pain at the sight of your immediate reaction.

“DRUIG!” You cried out in pain. You tried to move yourself to feel more of him, but the smug bastard had pinned your torso down- and your body was still recovering from the overstimulation of your previous orgasm. Still maintaining his grip, Druig towered above you in order to gain a better vantage point. Staring down at the aftermath of his onslaught, he almost came right then and there. You were the very likeness of desired perfection- tears had leaked from your eyes and were trailing down your face, your flush travelled down to the tips of your breasts, and there was not a corner of your body that wasn’t covered in marks left by his teeth.

“Please, Druig, please-” you begged him, “don’t stop! I need you!” You felt you were dying from his loss, you felt so empty. It was like you finally felt complete, and when he pulled away it was as if all the air in your lungs were completely snuffed out. You couldn’t bear the pain- it was tearing you apart. You tried to pull him down to get him to kiss- you needed his love; nothing would ever be enough- not when it came from him.

Your soul craved his.

Crystalline blue eyes softened momentarily before steeling once more to grip your hips even tighter, Druig barely lowered himself- just enough to mix his throbbing tip’s precum with your slick. No matter how much he adored you -- however much he wanted to give in to you-- he needed you to admit that you were his first.

“Open your eyes,” his rasp sent chills to run throughout your entire body, “and see what you do to me.” When you looked into his eyes, you were taken back by how dark they had become- that beautiful pale hue had minimized into a thin ring from how dilated his pupils had become. It wasn’t just lust that swam in his gaze, but also mania and lunacy. His piercing gaze, along with his heaving breaths created such a stark contrast to the calm and collected mask he showcased to everyone- humans and Eternals alike. Druig looked less like the usual apathetic god everyone thought him to be, and more like a raging terrifying beast that fed on savagery and only cared to fulfill his most primal urges.

You have never seen such a magnificent and enthralling sight before, and you prayed to the stars above that this time would not be the last.

Druig could hear your thoughts, and he didn’t care how insane he looked. He wanted you to see all that you did to him- how you engrained yourself into his very soul and being. You called yourself infatuated, but he was obsessed. And as aware he was of his own delusion; he didn’t ever plan to stop.

Fuck Arishem- fuck anyone and everyone who would dare keep you from him. He didn’t care the lengths he would have to go to keep you by his side. Let them paint him the villain- it was all worth it if it meant having your love.

“Tell me.” He pleaded you, “please, my angel- tell me your mine. Let me in, I want all of you and only you.” His eyes held so much love and trust that it took your breath away, and it made your heart swell with so much adoration for the man that caged you between his arms. There was only one thing to say, the only thing that mattered that would seal a vow between you both for the rest of eternity.

Summoning all your courage, leaving behind all your bravado, letting all your insecurities to be put on display, you whispered, “Yes.”

Immediately after you condemned your soul to his, Druig speared himself into you to the hilt with a single thrust, and pressed his lips to yours to drink in every one of your throes of passion. Setting off at a relentless pace, it was not long until another brutal climax sheared through your body. With each push, Druig’s cock hit that spot inside you – resulting in stars to bloom around you as your mind was clouded in lust. With each thrust of his length, tremendous stimulation tearing through your walls. The sound of skin-on-skin surrounded the area around you, creating a forcefield of bliss that could not be intruded by anyone but the two immortal beings engaged in their act of fervor. The only other sounds that could be heard were the gentle whispers of the night breeze, along the soft chirpings of the crickets.

Feeling his cock throbbing, Druig knew that he was reaching his limit. However, he refused to finish without you going over the edge with him. Setting an even more ruthless pace, he could feel the trembles that ran throughout your body as he fights to hold control over himself, and not releasing himself deep inside you. Only being able to get a few more thrusts in, Druig viciously cursed as he let out a snarled cry – the loudest you have ever heard from him. With one final push, he came deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with his cum as you felt his warmth flooding inside you. The sensation of the thick ropes of cum engulfing your cunt triggered your final climax, and you felt the evidence of your indescribable pleasure that washed over you mixed with his thick cum that overflowed within you to the point where it leaked out of your core.

Refusing to part, the both of you let yourselves bask in the bliss-filled bubble that was the aftermath of your lovemaking. But as happy as you were, dread filled your mind as you realized what you had done. You knew how the others saw you. How Kingo and Sprite liked to poke fun at your darkness, how Ikaris would voice his doubts of your ability to protect with ill-hidden snarks to Ajak, even the humans would whisper in fear at the sight of you soaked in deviants’ blood in the aftermath of your many onslaughts. It was bad enough that they looked down on Sephia for how she so faithfully remained at your side, you couldn’t let the man you loved be dragged down as well – it would have been too much.

No matter how Druig liked to present himself as cool and indifferent to human conflict – you knew that it was far from true. You’ve watched him for centuries, and there was no one else on the world whose soul was as gentle and carried more love for humanity than even Ajak and Sersi. You couldn’t let your own selfish desires bring his ruin, you refused to let that happen.

“This was a mistake,” you forced yourself to say as you faced away from him to locate your attire, you couldn’t bear it if he saw how much it killed you to say it, but it needs to be done, “I never should have let it go this far.” You crawled on your knees to reach your tunic, “Let’s just forget this ever hap-”

A vicious growl cut you off as Druig’s hands grabbed your wrist to the point where you were sure bruises would show tomorrow. “Don’t,” he snarled, “even try to insult me by suggesting to pretend that this never happened- that we never happened.” Pulling you back to cage you in his arms, Druig buried his face into the crook of your neck- as if imprinting the scent of your skin to his memory in fear that you would disappear before his very eyes.

Leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “How could you ever think for a second that I could possibly go on with my life after finally having you? Tell me angel, how do you expect a man to simply live on weeds after finally partaking a drop of ambrosia?”

Your heart melted at his words, but you could not let yourself be swayed. “Druig,” you started, “you don’t understand the cost of being with me. You deserve someone who is kind and warm and-”

Druig forced you to look into his eyes. “Stop. Don’t you dare let the words of those idiots make you see yourself as less than the perfection you are. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His eyes softened for what he was about to ask next. “Let me show you, my love.”

As his pale blue irises glowed into a golden hue, making him transform into a sight akin to godliness, you opened your mind to his, and what you saw shook you to your core. You saw scenes of yourself travelling through your shadows, taking down dozens of deviants with only a few arrows from your quiver, as well as the aftermath of you standing alone in a field of mangled corpses dyed with black tarlike blood. You saw yourself as the humans did, embodied darkness that killed with cold precision and controlled beings with their own shadows.

But soon you saw moments that you had forgotten, moments that you believed were private. You saw yourself sneaking away at night in the cover of darkness to watch ghosts roaming aimlessly, along with the pity in your eyes from hearing their sorrows. You saw yourself in your room at the Domo, surrounded by scrolls from topics ranging from rare spells to hand-drawn diagrams of the human body. You witnessed the smile spread across your face when you helped a spirit finally reach their peace to the other world. You saw the time Ajak approached you to ask for your assistance in delivering the children from expectant mothers in the village. You saw yourself come outside the tent to hand over the child of your first delivery to the father, who thanked you with tears in his eyes after being informed that both the child and mother safe and healthy. You watched yourself stare in shock of his praise before seeing the child reach for your finger, and let yourself feel the disbelief that flooded you at the sight of pure innocence staring back at you.

“You call yourself selfish and unkind,” Druig’s voice brought you back to reality- his eyes returned to that familiar blue, “but that couldn’t be more untrue.” He softly pressed his forehead to yours as he continued. “Would a selfish person spend night after night gathering impossible texts to study for an unnamed spirit to finally reach peace? Would someone unkind research every possibility in order to ensure that a mother could hold her child? How could you let someone as pathetic as Ikaris and Sprite taint your own views of yourself so much? Kaetlyn, I was a coward for waiting for so long to tell you my feelings, I was selfish in thinking of my own pride and dignity was more important than your strife. But still you loved me, and I could not be more grateful for your existence for that.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you felt all your walls crashing down, how could someone so frustratingly wonderful exist? If this was all a dream, you never wanted to wake up. But just to be sure, you took a stone that just fit into the palm of your hand and transmuted it into a silver dagger. Holding it just above his heart, you warned him one final time.

“Druig, no matter what sweet words you whisper, I am selfish. I could kill you now without hesitation. I could cut you and cause you so much pain that you would beg for death. Do you still wish to remain by my side?”

Staring back at you with only ardent love and unfiltered adoration, Druig grasped your hand and dragged the blade’s tip across his chest. Thin trails of dark red life leaked from the wounds, but there was no indication of pain. “If loving you is pain,” he whispered as he wiped the blood from his wound with his finger, only to smear it across your lips, “then let me bleed.” He repeated those same words a year later, when he married you in a private ceremony after the two of you sneaked away from the village’s harvest banquet.

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#marvel eternals #marvel x reader #eternals x reader #druig imagine #druig x reader #divider #druig x y/n #druig x eternal!reader #druig x oc #druig x female reader #druig smut #dni if under 18

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cherrycola27 · 11 days

Text

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

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Chapter 20: Right Where You Left Me

welcome home

Your brother's words rang in your ears, catching you off guard.

Home

Olympus

You were restored

But you weren't home. Olympus hadn't been your home in a long time—if ever.

Home was Earth. Home was a house in Coronado with your husband.

Home was Bradley.

You stood there, staring at Poseidon for a long while before taking a deep breath. "Si, this isn't my home." You tell him softly. "What do you mean? You're a Goddess. Olympus is your home." He questions you.

"This place may have been my home once, but not anymore. Not after everything—" You trail off, but your brother nods, knowing what you mean. He was the only one who took your side when everything happened with Persephone.

"My home is Earth now, with my husband." You tell him. "Husband?" Poseidon asks you.

"Yes, a mortal, his name is Bradley. He's the reason I'm here. There was an accident. I sacrificed myself to save him." You say, not wanting to tell much more.

"Does he make you happy, sister?" Poseidon speaks softly. "Happier than I have ever been." You smile. "Wonderful. I am happy for you." He smiles at you.

There is a beat of silence. "Well then, I would love for you to stay around, but I'm sure you want to go back to him. Promise to visit some, or I can come see you." Poseidon smiles.

"That would be wonderful, Si." You smile at him before hugging him. He hugs you back tightly before allowing you to take a step back.

You roll your shoulders back and touch your wedding rings. "Take me to Bradley." You whisper, waiting to be whisked back to him. Instead, electricity floods your body, jolting you with pain. You cry out and collapse. Poseidon runs to your side. "Sister? Sister, are you alright?" His voice heavy with concern as he helps you to your feet.

"Something is wrong. I can't, I can't travel. I can't feel Bradley." You stammer out.

"Your husband, are you tethered?" Poseidon asks you. "Yes, I checked, see?" You say waving your hand over your wedding rings, but instead of finding the golden string that once lived there, you find it dull and lifeless. It's been cut.

"Zeus." Your brother breathes out before you can. "He had Hera and Aphroditie cut your tether. He must have forced them because they would never do it willingly." He says. "I've always known our brother was wicked, but this—this is just cruel." Poseidon breathes out.

Your lip quivers as you look at the limp string tied around your finger as tears silently fall. But soon, the sadness morphs to something else.

Rage burns inside of you. Anger fills your senses as the centuries of animosity that you've choked back explode from you in a burst of white-hot flames as you scream.

Poseidon jumps back as the flames of hatred wrap around you, turning your white dress black with smoke and ash.

"Where is he?" You growl lowly. "Court, Zeus, is hold court today in the palace." Your brother stutters out, simultaneously terrified and in awestruck by you.

You nodded before vanishing in a flash. Moments later, you were in the middle of a white marble hall. Columns stood tall on either side of you. Flaming torches of gold lined the walls, lighting the way. Ornate carvings dripping in gold, silver, and precious stones adorned the high ceilings.

Beautiful busts, paintings, tapestries, and statues decorated the hallway. You didn't take time to stop and marvel at them as you marched by, though.

You were on a mission. Each step you took had a purpose. You quickly found your way to the Great Hall. The solid gold doors were manned by two sentries who drew back the moment they saw you.

"Open." You commanded. They nodded before each grasping a handle and pulling the doors wide. You could hear your idiotic brother speaking as the doors opened, but the moment you appeared in the doorway, silence fell over the hall.

"Zeus!" You yelled out as you charged at him, feet pounding on the cool stone.

"You! You bastard!" You shrieked as you launched yourself at him. You saw terror briefly flash across his face before two strong pairs of arms subdued you. You struggled as you turned to see Ares and Apollo holding you firmly.

"Hades! Sister! Welcome home! I am so thankful you have been restored!" Zeus taunted you.

"Do not vex me with your passive-aggressive words, Brother. You and I both know you don't want me here." You seethe.

"Sister, why do you say that? I mean, after you were restored, I had Hermes lift the charm that prevented you from traveling to Olympus." Zeus smirked as you still struggled.

"Yes, and then you made sure to have him create a new one so I couldn't go back to Earth, and you forced Hera and Aphroditie to cut my tether to my husband, you bastard." You gritted out.

"Hades, darling baby sister, you must understand why I did it. You've spent so much time on Earth. I thought it would be best if you spent some time here, at home. And as for your tether, you and I both know you can't be with a mortal. It compromises your loyalty to your family." Zeus says as he pats your cheek.

You cry out as you heat your body so hot that Ares and Apollo release you as they wince in pain from you burning them.

Zeus stumbles backward and calls for someone else to restrain you, but you produce the Soul Sword and everyone backs away.

You turn and see that Zeus has he bolt in his hand, ready to throw it at you. You stalk towards him.

"Loyalty? That's what this is about? Loyalty and family? Zeus, you wouldn't know the meaning of those words if someone slapped you in the face with them." You say.

"Where was family when Persephone falsely accused me? Where was loyalty when you imprisoned me in the Underworld? You act like you are doing me a favor by letting me come to Olympus when you are the reason I was banished in the first place! You flaunt there on your high horse acting like you have changed by giving me 'freedom,' but I am still trapped! I am still right where you left me all those years ago, trapped in my own personal hell that you created by taking away the one thing that I love!" You scream at Zeus. Through angry tears.

"Hades, please, calm down. I'm just trying to be a good brother and look out for for well being." Zeus says.

"You are not my brother. You're just some bastard keeping me from my husband. And mark my words, you will rue this day, because I will have my revenge. It will not be today, and it may not be tomorrow. But one day soon, I am going to burn you and Olympus to the ground and then dance upon its ashes." You threaten him before disappearing in a could of smoke.

Zeus lets out the breath he has been holding and lowered his bolt. The eyes of the other Gods and Goddess are all on him, none of them daring to speak until Hera breaks the silence.

"You stupid, stupid man. I told you that forcing Aphroditie and I to cut her tether would end badly, and Hermes warned you that taking her traveling away would have repercussions; but you didn't listen. Now all of us are going to have to suffer. I hope you're satisfied with yourself." Hera says before turning on her heels and walking away, the others following her.

................

The sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen downstairs alerted Bradley that it was time to get out of bed. He'd been up for hours, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying your last moments over and over in his mind again. It had been two weeks since the accident.

Two weeks since he had seen your smile, felt your touch, kissed your lips. Two weeks since he cut those ropes and watched you fall into the waves below without a trace.

Maverick had been staying with him in one of the guest rooms, trying to keep Bradley from drinking himself to death while wallowing in his grief.

Today was a day Bradley had been dreading. This morning, he and Maverick were going to meet with Cyclone to officially declare what Bradley already knew, that you'd been killed in action.

Begrudgingly, he swung his legs over his side of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He needed to shave. The stubbly beard he now had was well out of regs, but helped hide the way his face had thinned out some as a result of him being too sick with grief to eat.

After a shower and a shave, Bradley pulled on his uniform. The khaki material that had once hugged his frame nicely now hung loose and limp due to his diet and lack of exercise.

After trudging down the stairs, Bradley was immediately greeted by Cerberus and Hydra. He pet both of them before walking to the coffee maker and poured a cup of the scalding liquid before taking a long sip.

"I made breakfast." Maverick said, breaking the silence. "M'not hungry." Bradley mumbled over his coffee mug. "You need to eat something. You can't sustain yourself on black coffee and whiskey. Remember what Hades made you promise her." Maverick said.

Bradley turned to face his uncle and snatched the plate of eggs and toast from his hand before sitting down at the breakfast nook. Sometimes Bradley hated that Maverick knew everything about you now. He didn't mean to tell him, but the first night back stateside, Bradley had come home and drank almost a full bottle of whiskey. Maverick had come over to check on him, and Bradley let everything spill out.

Every detail about your relationship and your true identity and how you sacrificed yourself for him and the promise you had Bradley make you. Maverick was taken aback at first, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

After breakfast, Maverick insisted on driving to base. He and Bradley climb into the beat-up red jeep Mav had purchased on a whim a few years ago and made the twenty or so minute drive to base. It was silent the whole way there.

Bradley was stoic as he sat in the chair across from Cyclone and some other officers as they gave him the official declination of your death along with their deepest condolences.

After the meeting, he was flooded with questions about the arrangements he wanted to make for your funeral.

People were asking him what kind of service he wanted, when, and where. There were questions about flowers and speakers, but the one that broke him was when someone asked him what type of casket he wanted to pick out for you.

"Excuse me?" He spit out. "Did you just ask me about a casket?" Heat flooded his cheeks. The man sitting across from him stammered a reply.

"Why the fuck would I need a casket? My wife was killed in action, and they never recovered her body. Why would I need a fucking casket if I'm never going to get to lay her to rest and give her a proper goodbye? What kind of fucking question is that?" Bradley growled as tears streamed down his face.

"I don't give two fucks about any of this. The casket, the flowers, a head stone! None of it matters!" He roared before slamming his palms down on the table.

Maverick quickly helped him out of the room before Bradley collapsed against a wall and sobbed.

"Mav, what am I supposed to do? Bury an empty box? Am I supposed to get a headstone with her name on it and put it beside mom and dad with an empty casket under it?" Bradley cried.

"If that's what you want to do." Maverick said softly. "Do you want to put a headstone in Virginia?"

"We talked about it once. When we went other there. She asked me where I wanted to be buried, and I told her with my parents. But if I do that, I can't stay here in California Mav. I'd have to go back to Oceana." Bradley explained.

"If that's what you feel like you need to do, we can start the paperwork. I'll help you get everything taken care of with it. What about your house, though? Maverick asked home.

"I'll sell it. It doesn't feel like home without her it feels more like a prison because it's so empty. We were supposed to raise our kids there and grow old together. But instead, I'm right where I was before I met her, alone." Bradley sighs.

Maverick pats his shoulder and helps him to his feet. "I can't help you put together a nice tribute for Hades. One that she'd be proud of." Maverick gives him a half smile before walking Bradley down to his office.

A week later, Bradley is standing in a hotel room, preparing his dress blues for your funeral. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and flexes his bicep. The Roman numerals that are inked there now have a pair of angel wings beside them. He'd first noticed them a few days after he lost you. He knows that you had to have put them there as a way to make good on your promise to always be with him. He smiled as he traced them.

Bradley doesn't remember what people said about you at your service. It all passed in a blur. He'd written a speech but doesn't remember giving it. He was, and still is on auto pilot.

The realization of everything doesn't hit him until he is walking up to the empty golden oak casket that Maverick helped him pick out and pounding his his wings into it that this is happening.

As the gun salute rings out and jets fly overhead, he feels his heart shattering like a red wine glass over a white table cloth.

After the service, people disburse, but Bradley takes a seat on the freshly broken Earth and stares at the granite stone that reads your name. He stays there for hours, unmoving even as the sun begins to fade, and the first few leaves off autumn drop from the trees and collect on him like dust.

It's only when Maverick and the rest of the Daggers come back at sundown that they are able to coax him away from your grave.

Bradley gets dressed and leaves his hotel room early the next morning, getting to the cemetery just as the sun is coming up. He just wants to be alone. He hopes that maybe in the peace and quiet, he'll be able to feel your presence.

.............

Despite being away from the Underworld so long, you were able to fall back into your routine as queen quickly. It helped keep your mind busy and thoughts occupied. If you were left to your own devices for too long, your mind wandered back to Bradley, and you'd cry so hard that you'd make yourself sick. Honestly, you felt sick most of the time since you'd been back. You chalked up to a broken heart.

Minthe and Hecate encourage you to go visit Bradley's parents in their piece of Paradise, but you were afraid. What if they didn't know who you were or didn't like you?

Right now, it didn't matter. You had to put those thoughts on the back burner because you had a meeting with the Council of Fates. You'd donned a simple but regal black dress and were sitting at the head of a long mahogany table. When Théama, the leader of the Council, walked in with the rest of the Fates in tow.

"Greetings, Majesty." Théama curtsied to you before shaking your hand. "I believe you know the rest of the Council members, but I would like to introduce you to my younger sister, Mantisa. She has just come into her gift of sight.

A younger girl who looked just like Théama curtsied to you before extending her hand to shake yours. The moment her hand touched yours, her head snapped back, and her body froze. Everyone stood still until Mantisa came around.

"Sister, what did you see?" Théama asked her.

"Pardon my ignorance Majesty, all of ours really. We were not aware congratulations were in order." Mantisa spoke.

"What do you mean?" You asked the young Fate with a puzzled look.

"Oh, forgive me. Are you unaware, my lady?" Mantisa asks you. "Unaware of what?" You say, a tad harsh.

"That you are with child." Mantisa says with a smile. You feel your eye twitch before you reach forward and grab her roughly by the arm.

"What did you say?" You grit out. You nails dig into her flesh. "You are with child, my lady. I saw it in my vision." Mantisa trembles out.

"How dare you say that. I have not laid with my husband in weeks. I died before being restored, plugged into the ocean from a tall cliff, and drowned. No babe, could have survived that. The words you have spoken are treason, and I could have your tongue, or better yet, your head for it." Your voice is laced with venom.

"Majesty, please. Mantisa has just received her gift. She does not know how to interpret her visions yet. She is just a girl. Please. Mantisa, take it back!" Théama begs.

"No, I'm not wrong. I saw it. I saw you with a babe. Please, Majesty. Take my hand. Please let me show you." Mantisa pleads. You battle with yourself before deciding to humor her.

"Fine. Prove yourself." You say as you let her go.

Mantisa takes your hand and places it on your stomach and puts her over your own. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and feel." Mantisa encourages you.

So you do.

You close your eyes and relax. You think of Bradley and the happy times you spent together. The warmth and the love that he made you feel. And suddenly, you feel it. It's no more than a flutter, but it's there. The beat of a heart that isn't your own.

You gasp as a golden light surrounds you before wrapping around your hand and lighting up your tether, restoring it.

"My gods." You whisper as tears streak your face. "But how?"

"Demigod children are resilient, that have had to be." Minthe tells you as she hugs you.

"You daughter is perfect. She will grow to be a strong and healthy princess and a wise queen." Mantisa tells you.

"Daughter?" You say. "Yes. A daughter. Strong like her mother and father." She smiles at you.

"Thank you." You tell her. "Thank you for this gift. Forgive me for my behavior. I—" you trail off. "You are forgiven. I could not imagine what you have been through." Mantisa says as she hugs you. You and the Fates decide to meet again at a later date. You have something more important to do.

...............

You rocked nervously on your heels as you stood on the porch of the small farmhouse that looked exactly like the one from the photos Bradley had shown you.

After visiting with the royal healers, you found that you were around ten weeks pregnant. Once you realized it, it explained much of your sickness and feelings. You only wish you had a way to tell Bradley. But now that you tether was restored, maybe you could find one.

For now, though, you wanted to tell his parents. So, you changed into a simple black sundress and picked a bouquet of poppies and sunflowers.

You took a deep breath before knocking on their door. You could hear footsteps as you stood there waiting, going over the speech you prepared in your head again.

But the moment the door opened, and you saw Carole Bradshaw standing there, just as beautiful as she was in all the pictures you'd seen of her, you froze.

"Well, hello there." She said to you warmly.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Carole stood there, waiting patiently with a bright smile on her face.

"I—" you choked out. "I'm sorry—I should go." You say quickly, taking a step back. But before you can leave, Carole places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Nonsense. Please, come in. Goose and I have been so eager to meet you, Sweet Girl." Carole smiles as she guides you through the door.

"You—you know who I am?" You ask her. "Of course I do. Goose and I check on Bradley every day. And did you think I wouldn't recognize my own ring?" She asks you. "Oh." You say shyly.

Carole leads you into the living room that is filled with pictures that you know well. She offers you a seat and you offer her the flowers.

She takes them and calls into the kitchen. "Goose!"

"That's me, Honey!" A male voice calls back. "Get me a vase with some water and start some coffee. Our daughter-in-law is here for a visit!" Carole calls back to him as she walks in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Carole comes back with coffee, and Goose follows behind her with a tray of sweets. You're stunned at just how much Bradley favors his father. It's uncanny.

"Bradley looks so much like you." You blurt out before you can even think. Goose laughs. "What a shame. I was hoping he would get his mama's beauty." Goose laughs. "Goose, you and I both know how handsome he is." Carole playfully pushes him.

You stand up to shake their hands. "Now, Hades," Goose begins, "we are family, and families hug, Sweet Girl." He says to you before wrapping his arms around you. Carole joins him, and for a minute, everything feels normal.

It feels like home.

You spend all evening with Goose and Carole. They tell you stories about Bradley's childhood, and you tell them about how he is now. Carole makes dinner, and you eat with them, and it makes you feel so warm inside. You only wish Bradley were here. If you could travel to Earth, you could bring him here. Yet another thing Zeus had taken from you.

It's late in the evening when you tell them you have to leave. They offer you their extra room to sleep over, but you decline.

"Before I leave, there is one thing I wanted to tell you. It's the reason I came in the first place, actually." You say.

"What is it, Sweet Girl?" Carole asks you.

"You're going to be grandparents." You tell them. Cries of joy leave their mouths as they hug you tighly.

"Does—does Bradley know?" Goose asks you. You hang your head. "No, I found out today, and with everything I've told you, you know I can't go to Earth and tell him or bring him here. But I'm not going to give up. Bradley is going to meet his daughter." You say.

"Daughter?" Carole smiles. "Yes, daughter." You confirm. "How wonderful. Hades, you are smart. I know you'll figure something out. And we are here if you need us for anything." Carole reassures you. You hug her and Goose once more before traveling back to your palace.

It's late once you get back. You fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits your pillows. You find sleep easy for the first time since you'd returned. You were content to drift off and dream about you and Bradley and your daughter. But hours later, Minthe and Hecate burst into your room.

"My lady! My lady!" They shout, rousing you from your slumber. "What? What is it?" You ask, still groggy.

"My lady, the guards have reported a disturbance at the palace gate. You must come quickly." Minthe tells you.

You jolt up out of bed and wrap yourself in a long, flowing black robe. You run down the hall and down the stairs and through the castle until you burst out the doors. You make your way through the courtyard and through the crowd that has gathered at the palace gate.

You don't believe your eyes when you see what—well who is there. You blink a few times and a pinch yourself to make sure you are awake. Sure enough, you are. Your heart rate quickens, and your palms sweat. You place a protective hand on your stomach before opening your mouth and speaking.

"Bradley?"

...........................................

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catindabag · 11 months

Text

TBOSAS on Crack! ✨essential information✨

⭐️❄️⭐️

FIRST off, in honor of the book and its movie release, TBOSAS on Crack is solely (just) created as a JOKE!Alternative Universe that focuses more on the 24 OG Mentors of the 10th Hunger Games. This includes the funny/romantic misunderstandings of Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth that gave everyone the impression that they were actually “secretly” dating, and are indeed boyfriends (until they honestly were).

In addition, this Crack!AU will tell you the compelling story of how a bunch of delinquents “accidentally” stopped the Hunger Games from continuing, just because of a certain Mentor’s ✨nepotism✨.

MORE or less, most of the characters in the book are the same when it comes to their personalities and backstories. Well, except for our Mentors. They’re a bunch of crackhead Capitol kids with too much fun and stress on their hands. They even almost made Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul quit their respective jobs.

ALSO, these young walking disasters are not “all there” in the head. Heck! Half of them went crazy years ago because of the infamous 2 year Capitol Siege by the rebels that almost starved them all to death. Just ask Coryo Snow and Persephone. But as for the other half, let’s just say that all they want to do is eat, drink, party, and ✨graduate✨.

Here is a quick character info: [Read Me]

Here are their visuals: [Read Me]

Here’s the Hunger Games Origin: [Read Me]

Here’s their playlist: [Read Me]

Here are their ✨Code Names✨: [Read Me]

And here’s Dean Highbottom’s take: [Read Me]

Here’s that Epic The Musical Post: [Read Me]

Here’s the fate of District 13: [Read Me]

PS: For sanity’s sake, no Mentor or Tribute will be dying in this Crack!AU. No one gets killed! Bombs will still explode inside the Capitol Arena, but our crazy kids will wear the thickest plot armor EVER, just because I’m their only sponsor!🤣

Read the Cracks here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78,

The cracks are not in chronological order, but someday they will. . .

MOREOVER, this Crack!AU includes the following:

The accidental birth of ✨Snowjanus✨!😘

Also known as Corjanus, SnowPlinth, CabbageBread, The Grandma’am golden ticket to a rich life, and Strabo’s not so secret plan to rule all of Panem through his only son’s marriage to Crassus Snow’s boy.

Coryo Snow malfunctioning for the hundredth time because of how forward and shamelessly romantic Sejanus Plinth is.

“Fine! I’ll marry into money! I’m sick of eating cabbages anyway!”

“Stop throwing bread to the dead, Sejanus Plinth! Throw it to the living!”

The Mentors (intentionally) delaying the Hunger Games from officially starting because of their nonstop shenanigans with their Tributes (much to Dr. Gaul and her Gamemaker’s frustration).🤣

The Tributes slowly accepting (and sometimes rejecting) the fact that their Mentors are just a bunch of “dramatic nepotistic crazy clowns” who refuse to learn basic social cues.

The 10th Hunger Games being officially postponed (over and over again) because of Felix Ravinstill’s ✨nepotism✨ working overtime.😌💅

In truth, the Gamemakers were “forced” to stop the countdown (over and over again) because half of the Mentors illegally barged into the control room without Dr. Gaul’s permission. Afterwards, Felix just used the excuse of “My granduncle is the President of Panem, I can do whatever I want” card to postpone the games.

Lucy Gray ignoring the personal space of her fellow annoyed Tributes (and everyone she meets), just because she’s “Covey” and quirky.

The poor underpaid Capitol Peacekeepers wanting a salary increase, vacation, and promotion because they have been dealing with the Mentors’ extra curricular criminal activities for far too long.

All the Mentors (excluding Livia and Arachne) being genuine ✨Besties✨ to each other since their grade school days.

Livia Cardew only calls her classmates either witches or idiots.

Festus Creed being the real ✨Dumpster Diving Capitol Rat King✨ and the best free cheesecake coupon hoarder of the century.

“Dumpster Diving for free food coupons is a common school activity, officer!”

The Academy? More like ✨The Academy of Arts✨💅.

Everyone wanting to secretly major in ✨Theatre & Drama✨.

Crazy but rich AF Sejanus Plinth and his unhealthy obsession of being Coryo Snow’s beloved boyfriend, fiancé, sugar daddy, baby daddy, and future husband.

Ma Plinth slowly becoming the food benefactor of the Mentors. #feedmeMa

Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray being the best of friends who love to sh*t talk about their boyfriends every time they meet.

Seriously, Coryo and Lucy Gray are just friends here. Everyone knows that crazy Sejanus Plinth will strangle anyone who tries to flirt with his gorgeous Snow Bae sugar baby fiancé.

Lucy Gray genuinely liking the Mentors for their chaotic ✨dramatic✨ personalities.

Sejanus Plinth shamelessly calling his darling Coryo “Babe, My love, Snow Angel, Snow Bae, Snowy, Snow Baby, Sweetheart” in front of everyone and their dogs.

The Mentors randomly coming up to Lucy Gray and asking her to sing banned songs from the early 2000s.

Strabo Plinth’s unhealthy obsession with the Snow family. Apparently, he and the ever gorgeous Crassus Snow were very close “friends” and the best “roommates” back in their military days. They were busy “stargazing” and playing with their rifles all night if you know what I mean.😏

The Grandma’am and Strabo Plinth being the true evil geniuses of the Capitol.😈

Strabo Plinth insisting Coryo to marry into his family and change their surnames to ✨The Great Plinth-Snow Dynasty✨, just because it sounds more powerful.

Coryo Snow accidentally convincing his beloved sugar daddy boyfriend (Crazy Sejanus Plinth) to become the future ✨President of Panem✨ (after Felix).

Tigris and The Grandma’am selling Coryo’s hand in marriage to the Plinth family. They genuinely believe that old man Strabo Plinth will lower the food prices if Sejanus marries Coryo for the sake of Panem.

Tigris Snow finally quitting her job (she got fired for being a weird cheese addict) and happy dancing for a whole week when she heard that her sweet little Coryo will marry into the Plinth family fortune.

Tigris, the Grandma’am, and Ma Plinth planning the ultimate ✨Snowjanus Royal Wedding of The Century✨.

The Grandma’am and evil Strabo Plinth scheming together to rule Panem and its people through ✨The Great SnowPlinth Union✨.

Ma Plinth wanting at least 5 beautiful grandchildren out of The Great SnowPlinth Union, while Strabo and the Grandma’am demanded 2 dozen (and more). #24&More

Lysistrata Vickers being the founder and President of the Capitol’s SnowPlinth/Snowjanus Official Fan Club.

Lucy Gray supporting and promising Coryo Snow that she and her Covey will sing the best banned love songs at his wedding.

Reaper Ash being labeled as the “weird one” by his fellow crazy Tributes.

Treech and Vipsania Sickle being the best gym bros for some unknown reason.

Marcus trying (and failing) to ignore the annoying existence of Sejanus Plinth.

Lysistrata Vickers having dibs as Coryo’s official ✨Maid of Honor✨. Apparently, poor cheese addict Tigris Snow was tragically outvoted by the very influential and powerful SnowPlinth/Snowjanus Fan Club members out of jealousy.🥲

Festus Creed and Tigris Snow fighting for the position of ✨Best Man✨ through an epic ✨Dance-off Battle✨💃🕺.

Apollo Ring being forced to be Coryo’s ring bearer because of his surname. Honestly, Gaius Breen and Androcles Anderson just peer pressured him for fun.

Livia Cardew planning to crash Coryo’s wedding for the expensive wine.

The Mentors and Tributes avoiding the “Arena Bomb Explosion Incident” because of Palmyra Monty’s dangerous existence.

Androcles Anderson being a proud professional kleptomaniac.

Lucky Flickerman wanting to quit his job. Apparently, the self proclaimed magic man was extremely unprepared to face and deal with the Mentors’ collective stupidity.😭

The Gamemakers forgetting to edit out Sejanus Plinth’s little arena stunt.

“Marcus was just sleeping, Sejanus! He’s still alive, you idiot Plinth! We freaking postponed the games!”

“For the last time! Don’t kiss Coriolanus Xanthos Snow on LIVE TV! There are freaking kids and dogs watching!”

Coryo and Sejanus shamelessly kissing, hugging, and being dramatic AF inside the Capitol Arena, while poor Marcus and the others are left sitting on the stands annoyed and confused AF.

Dean Casca Highbottom intentionally calling poor Coryo “Crassus Xanthos Snow” out of spite and out of regret (and because he’s still madly and deeply in love with the ever gorgeous Crassus Snow).

Drunk Highbottom living and swimming in denial since the infamous ✨#Crasca4Ever! University Breakup✨.😔

Coryo Snow successfully convincing a drunk Highbottom not to expel him by pretending to be Crassus Snow. He later regrets doing it.

Drunk!Casca not being able to correctly pronounce half all of his students’ names.

Festus Creed and Androcles Anderson receiving a lot of demerits and expulsion letters from the Dean. However, they still go to school and join their class discussions like nothing happened.

Casca Highbottom banning the Mentors from attending ✨The Academy’s Annual Students Teachers Meeting✨ (forever) because of the infamous Heavensbee Hall Flooding Incident.

Coryo Snow secretly trading his cabbages for banned music albums at the Capitol Black Market.

The banned song “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” accidentally playing on repeat inside the Capitol Arena because Felix Ravinstill forgot to detach his phone from Dr. Gaul’s master speaker.

“Snow On The Beach” stealing the top spot on the Capitol Billboard Hot 100 because of Coryo Snow and Lucy Gray’s final performance inside the Capitol Arena.

The Mentors trolling Lucky Flickerman and Lepidus Malmsey for the hundredth time.

Hilarius Heavensbee secretly collects movie records from the early 2000s. His favorite banned film is ✨Legally Blonde✨.

Io Jasper and Urban Canville being a bunch of shameless nerds who can’t properly communicate with each other.

Professor Sickle trying to convince Drunk!Casca Highbottom to give her a raise and promotion for tolerating the Mentors’ shenanigans and stupidity.

Crazy Palmyra Monty forever mentally and emotionally scarring her classmates (especially Florus Friend) with her homemade poisonous snacks.

Florus Friend fearing and avoiding Palmyra Monty’s accursed deadly bread rolls and expired sandwiches.

Felix Ravinstill being a genuine good friend and great Class President to everyone.

Dennis Fling asking poor sensitive Felix to beg for some illegal ✨Miracle Pills✨ from Lysistrata to cure Hy and Dill’s respiratory related illnesses.

Everyone knows that Persephone Price willingly ate that infamous “Maid Stew” that her father made for them to survive.

Festus Creed’s ✨PerseFest✨ agenda.

Dairy Heiress Domitia Whimsiwick fawning over Tanner’s skills and biceps.

Coral perfecting her somersault to impress the Capitol crowd and her idiot Mentor.

The Mentors pretending to be stupid whenever they attend Dr. Gaul’s class.

Dr. Gaul giving up on grooming poor Coryo Snow to become her successor because she realized that his brain doesn’t work properly whenever he’s with Sejanus.

Poor homeless Hilarius Heavensbee getting disowned and kicked out of the ✨Queen Bee Mansion✨ by his evil weirdo parents for being a loser nuisance towards his smarter and perfect younger brother.

Livia and Arachne convincing themselves that Casca Highbottom is actually Coryo Snow’s true sugar daddy.

Meanwhile, Florus Friend thinks Strabo Plinth is the real sugar daddy of poor Coryo Snow and homeless Hilarius Heavensbee.

Dr. Gaul openly wanting to strangle the Mentors for acting being stupid.

Urban Canville’s secret mission to strangle Lucky Flickerman and his annoying bird.

Felix Ravinstill being the favorite darling grandnephew son of President Gran Gran.

Festus winning the position of ✨Class Representative✨. Apparently, Creed only won because Sejanus “accidentally” locked Urban Canville inside a bathroom stall.

Persephone Price and Mizzen being the best pizza partners in crime. Somebody, these two idiots will rule all of Panem with their ruthless ✨Pizza Palace Empire✨.

Drunk!Coryo genuinely believes that Felix Ravinstill is the current President of Panem.

Drunk!Sejanus, Drunk!Coryo, Drunk!Festus, and Drunk!Lysistrata acting like shameless fools in front of their Tributes. The poor and underpaid Peacekeepers were not amused.

Festus Creed and Sejanus Plinth stripping on broad daylight because of the summer heat.

Reaper Ash praying for some normalcy and mental peace every day.

Jessup and Sheaf talking and singing with the Capitol’s “sacred” rabid raccoons and wild squirrels in order to stay sane.

Mizzen being a terrible little gremlin.

The Mentors trying to recreate The Hunger Games until ✨Panemvision✨ was born.

Livia’s own version of The Hungers Games is basically ✨Love Island✨ on crack and steroids.

Because of the awful “Love Island” idea, the rest of the Mentors had to write a serious 20 page essay on why the Hunger Games should be recreated/revamped into a true reality TV show with a “no killing, no gore, no cannibalism” policy.

The Mentors trying to convince the School Board Members, the Government Officials, and crazy President Ravinstill to change the 10th Hunger Games into a non-deadly talent show to increase viewership and sponsors.

Moreover, Coryo strongly defended the proposal by having Lucy Gray successfully sing in front of a live audience (again) on TV. Billy Taupe was the only one who got offended (again).

Meanwhile, the rest of the Mentors also convinced their Tributes to show off their talents that same day. That was Reaper’s 2nd worst day of the week.😂

Dean Highbottom only supported the proposal because it reminded him of his wild karaoke clubbing days with his drop dead gorgeous lover. You know who it was.😏 #Crasca4Ever #crassusmylove #SnowBottom

Clemensia Dovecote also backs their weird essays by simply stating that killing children will only make the Districts hate the Capitol more. However, if they provide “real entertainment” without the violence, then the Districts might warm up to them.

In addition, Sejanus proposed that the winner of the contest will be made a ✨STAR of PANEM✨! 🤩

And as the ✨Star of Panem✨, he/she will be given monetary support and a lifetime supply of cabbages and lima beans by the Capitol.

Meanwhile, the losers will only get 10 boxes of pizza, 2 gallons of orange soda, one body bag of sandwiches (made by Ma Plinth) as a reward for “willingly” participating.

Juno Phipps then added a “rule” stating that no Tribute shall be punished (or killed) because the losers must live and remember their humiliation on television for the rest of their lives.😈

Coryo and Clemmie also proposed that each Tribute must have a Prep Team and Stylist to make them presentable for Lucky Flickerman’s Late Night Show with Jubilee.

Finally, Felix Ravinstill and Dennis Fling closed their arguments by stating: “That being forced to sing and perform ON STAGE and on LIVE TV, which could be replayed over and over again, even after death, especially for Tributes who couldn’t save their own pride and dignity for all of Panem to remember, is the worst punishment one could freely give to one’s enemy. They won’t even be allowed to forget how they had wronged you.”

After hearing the Mentors’ closing argument, Dr. Gaul was ready to end it all and commit bloody murder in front of everyone.😡🔪

But after some deliberation, President Ravinstill (and his puppies) approved the Mentors’ proposal and changed the Hungers Games into the ✨HGASC✨ (Hunger Games: Annual Singing Contest).

However, the Grandma’am and Strabo Plinth insisted that they should just officially call it ✨PANEMVISION✨.

Meanwhile, Dr. Gaul tried to persuade President Ravinstill (again) to reconsider the Mentors’ stupid proposals.

However, she was outvoted by both the School Board Committee and the Capitol’s highest ranking government officials, just because everyone (but her) wanted to see what “true entertainment” really looks like on screen.

Livia Cardew even defended everyone’s ideas nonstop because, according to her, there was a lack of spicy entertainment in the Capitol. Damn the rules! This is the Capitol! We want ✨Love Island✨ type of dramas! Where are the ✨Real Housewives of Corso✨?! F*ck the Hunger Games! Give us the 90 Day Fiancé from the Districts!

And that’s how the Mentors “accidentally” ended the Hunger Games and gave birth to the most popular and craziest reality TV show in the weird history of Panem.

As for every Quarter Quell, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a true ✨SHOW STOPPER✨!

The first ✨HGASC/PANEMVISION✨ Quarter Quell will have the Mentors reap kids from both Capitol and District. Afterwards, one District Tribute will be paired with one Capitol Tribute to perform a special duet act (whether they like it or not).

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