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ma1dita · 1 month

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love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.5k

summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: sorry for the hiatus! been on the study grind and didn’t even notice, but i’ve been working on this for a bit! macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time.

(posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care. With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this. Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home…He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods. It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”

You wouldn’t have come.

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.

Lose myself.

Lose you.

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…”

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.

But then why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fanfic #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians

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nomazee · 7 months

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"Ranpo. I'm falling asleep, man."

Your complaints are met with Ranpo's own disgruntled mumbles pressed into the damp skin of your neck. "Don't call me man. I'm trying to kiss you and that's what I get?"

"Trying to kiss me while I'm trying to sleep. Can you wait for the morning?"

Apparently, he can't, because he stays in his position on top of you. Every line of his body is pressed into yours as his arms stay wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you in and keeping you locked. You don't hate this, truthfully, but you are falling asleep. The only thing keeping you awake is your annoying partner who you love but also want to kick out of the bed for the night.

Ranpo trails innocent open-mouthed kisses along the soft part beneath your jawline before moving up to the corner of your mouth. He sighs a content little hum into your skin and you have to fight back a shiver. He's awfully good at this. You know he's not trying to do any more than kissing—he never does when you're both bone tired and swaddled in bed—but his incessant gestures are inching you more and more to full consciousness and you really need to get a full seven hours of sleep tonight.

"I need it," he tells you, earnest in the way he always is when the exhaustion starts to make his clever brain fuzzy. He's always a little more mushy with you past eleven PM, words and thoughts and actions slurring into one barely cohesive jumble. "Just a little. Won’t you do it for me? 'Cause you love me 'nd all."

He needs it. Good god. He’s gonna kill you with that one day.

Whatever smart response bubbling on your tongue immediately fizzes out when he covers your lips with his own. Hot and slow breaths puff between the both of you as he moves his mouth against yours in slow, pliant motions. You're far too weak for him and far too awake now, so you let him take you apart just for a moment, just to take the edge off his spontaneous neediness.

"Yeah, sure. Love you and whatever," you manage to squeeze out between his perpetual line of kisses, now spanning across your lips and to your cheek and the spot right beneath your eye, close enough to let you feel the way his soft breaths flutter against your eyelashes.

"One more," he tells you—but it's more like he's telling himself. Like a goal, a promise, a self-fulfilled prophecy. "Just one. M'kay? Then you can fall asleep all early like you're a senior citizen."

"This senior citizen is letting you kiss them, baby. Don't complain."

And, oh, isn't it such a delight, hearing the way his breaths turn shaky for just a second after the nickname leaves your mouth. Every time you call him baby he goes shaky and bashful, too embarrassed to say anything smart. It’s his weak point and you’re too addicted to be good about it.

“If you wake me up early,” you tell him, finally able to pry his face away from yours with the help of a firm hand cupping his cheek, “I’ll make you breakfast. And you can kiss me again. I’ll even walk to the store and get that good jam that you like.”

“You’re a good bargainer.”

“Comes with the job. Will you let me go to bed now?”

He makes a contemplative noise, a hum that buzzes through your fingertips from where you hold his face. “I said one more, right?”

Indeed he did. With a sigh, you let him press a big stupid kiss on your lips, complete with an obnoxiously loud mwah! sound effect from him that you roll your eyes at. What a man-child.

(You still walk to the store for him in the morning. You’re weak at heart, really.)

#ranpo x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #bsd drabble #ranpo drabble #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x you #ranpo x you #quick drabble i wrote while actually in a haze last night #i barely proofread… i cant promise that this is legible…#i should be finishing up the chuuya request in like 2 days #and then the other requests will follow #i’m so excited omfg #send more in if u want guys i’m ready and willing and able

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david-talks-sw · 7 months

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How the narrative framed Mace Windu, back in 2002

So there's this 2002 book written by Marcus Hearn, edited by J.W. Rinzler, titled Attack of the Clones - The Illustrated Companion. It was released a month before Episode II was released.

AKA, before EU material and anti-Jedi fanon could publicly reframe the meanings of the film... and before more recent narratives could reinterpret the character of Mace as a robotic, protocol-worshipping stickler who never bends the rules (when evidence shows he's anything but).

So how does Marcus Hearn - "untainted" by all the above factors, armed only with the Prequel films and their screenplays - frame the character of Mace Windu?

MACE & ANAKIN

Fandom: "Mace hated Anakin from Day #1 and never trusted him. Mace was probably jealous as he always thought he was the Chosen One, not Anakin!"

Attack of the Clones' - The Illustrated Companion:

"Jedi Masters Yoda and Mace Windu lead the High Council in rejecting Qui-Gon's application to train Anakin, 'He is too old,' concludes Mace Windu. 'There is already too much anger in him.'

Hearn explains that the problem with Anakin wasn't that he was just too old, it's that because of that age he had become too filled with fear and anger to a point where taking on the Jedi training would be twice as hard for him as it already was for everyone else.

Hearn doesn't chastise Mace for this initial decision. On the contrary, he adds more context to it by using a line from the screenplay to explain where Mace is coming from.

He also goes further into Mace's view of Anakin throughout the book:

"[Mace] over-estimates Anakin Skywalker, paying little credence to Obi-Wan's protestations that the boy is too confused and disturbed to be dispatched on a solo mission."

"The Jedi Council is aware of Anakin's exceptional skills, and Mace Windu believes Anakin may fulfill the prophecy that says a being will one day bring balance to the Force. But Anakin still has a lot to learn…"

He's basically stating that Mace believes in Anakin, but that doing so is a mistake. Which, to be fair, considering how things turn out for Mace and the Jedi... is kinda true!

Mace's problem with Anakin is almost the opposite of what most of the fandom projects onto him.

It's not that he dislikes Anakin, on the contrary, he holds Anakin in too high of an esteem and is overlooking Anakin's glaring flaws because "hey, Anakin's the Chosen One. He's got this!"

That's not the only flaw Mace has, according to Hearn.

MACE'S (and the Jedi's) ONLY REAL FLAW

Fandom: "Mace and the Jedi had become too emotionally detached, they had lost touch with the common folk by spending too much time in their ivory tower. They focused so much on being selfless that they forgot how to care, they've become a bunch of elitist, righteous sticklers for protocol who care more about upholding laws than actually helping the people those laws are meant to protect!"

Attack of the Clones' - The Illustrated Companion:

"Although he is a senior member of the Jedi Council, little in Mace Windu's experience has prepared him for the looming threats of the dark side of the Force and Count Dooku's Separatists."

"Mace Windu's faith in the Jedi to protect the Republic is admirable, but it also blinds him to the true scale of the growing menace. He is aware that the dark side is growing, but still allows himself to be too easily reassured about the Separatists' ambitions. [...] Mace fatally misjudges Count Dooku, refusing to believe he could be behind any attempt on Senator Amidala's life. 'Dooku was once a ledi, he tells Padmé. 'He couldn't assassinate anyone. It's not in his character.'"

"Mace Windu's strengths are, in many ways, qualities shared by the Jedi Order as a whole - he is an accomplished diplomat and a fine swordsman. Such skills have served the Jedi well in their role as the galaxy's peacekeepers for a thousand generations. But such skills are not enough to save the Jedi from their own complacency, and the tumultuous changes that threaten to wipe them out forever."

Hearn perfectly grasps what the Jedi's only real flaw is, in George Lucas' intended narrative: they were unprepared, complacent, they were blind... and now they're stuck playing catch-up.

But when he's saying that, he's not blaming them for it. Because this flaw doesn't derive from some sense of elitism or superiority... it is an inevitable consequence of their qualities.

They've managed to stay out of politics as neutral diplomats... ... but that makes them vulnerable to the Sith's plot, which primarily takes place within the political arena, where they have no control or experience.

They are painfully aware of the corruption in the Senate... ... but as a result, they're too quick to trust the Separatist's talking points as well-meaning and genuine, instead of seeing the movement for what it really is: greedy big business trying to become the government.

They trust and agree with Dooku, believe in what he publicly stands for (after all this man used to be one of the wisest and kindest members of the Jedi Order, Mace's friend, Yoda's Padawan, etc)... ... but as such, they are blind to his true nature, that of a treacherous Sith who'd stoop to orchestrating assassinations.

The Jedi have their guard up, knowing that there's another Sith Lord still out there, orchestrating in the shadows... ... but they can't really find him, because the Dark Side has clouded everything, so only darksiders are able to sense the possibilities of the future! Them serving the good side is screwing them over, in this situation.

Flaws such as being too trusting or being unprepared, letting your guard down because you've established a 1000-year-peace, are flaws that kind, noble characters such as the Jedi are bound to have.

They may be flaws, but they aren't faults. And considering the way he describes Mace and the Jedi, it's clear Hearn grasps the nuance.

MACE'S RELUCTANCE TO JOIN THE WAR

Fandom: The Jedi joined the war out of arrogance, they thought they could swashbuckle their way through the problem and win, instead they didn't realize that they lost the very moment they joined.

Attack of the Clones' - The Illustrated Companion:

"Mace Windu believes in the Jedi as keepers of the peace - not as soldiers - but there comes a point when he reluctantly realizes that it is time to take affairs out of the realm of diplomacy."

Mace and the Jedi didn't want to start a war. If you read the script for Attack of the Clones, Mace and Bail keep grasping at straws to not engage with the Separatists up til the very end.

But when you consider that...

the Geonosians are about to execute Obi-Wan without a trial,

and the Separatists leaders have been unmasked as a coalition of unscrupulous corporate assholes who are willing to plunge the galaxy in chaos just to make more money.

... at some point, the Jedi have to come to terms with the fact that Separatist leadership (and Sidious) won't accept diplomacy because they want a conflict. A conflict will make them all richer. And the Republic, well, they're just dying to go to war too.

So the Jedi go save Obi-Wan and capture Dooku, hoping that in doing so, the conflict ends before it begins. They succeed in the former goal... but fail the latter one.

The Clone War has begun.

From there on, the Jedi are drafted to lead the war. Which is why - as Hearn points out - Mace was so reluctant to take action in the first place. The Jedi are ambassadors, they are not built for war... and now they've been forced into one.

Mace is by no means a perfect character... but he's someone doing his best. Just like Obi-Wan, just like Yoda, and all the other Jedi.

Overtime, Windu's character has been dumbed down to either "that one angry black man" or "the dogmatic emotionless dick who hated Anakin"... and I really think that that's not what we were meant to see him as.

The way Marcus Hearn (who also wrote The Cinema of George Lucas) refers to him is a much more charitable interpretation of how others (ahem Filoni ahem) do, nowadays.

#Mace Windu #mace windu appreciation #long post #jedi order #anakin skywalker #meta #in defense of the jedi #star wars #master windu #samuel l jackson #attack of the clones #aotc #star wars prequels #flashing gif #very long post

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apollosgiftofprophecy · 4 months

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UPDATED 1/29/24

this was inspired by @lubble-underscore's post and I decided to expand on the iceberg and see how much I could throw on it

thanks to the Discord server for filling in on things that didn't cross my mind! :D

feel free to save and highlight what you know :3 Links to many of these things are below - some are not tho!

Tier 1 - do we even need to SAY anything?

pathetic little meow meow

bisexual

unreliable narrator

Tier 2 - surface level/easy to see

superiority/inferiority complex

bitchsexual (i mean... points to commodus)

raised chiron (see CHB Confidential)

Tier 3 - complete read-through/reread; taking first steps into fandom

breaks cycle of abuse

polldona

great with kids, actually (see Harley, Georgie, ect.)

ordered pizza to chb (see The Hidden Oracle)

domains contradict

best godly parent

still heavily affected by past lovers (see The Whole Series)

Tier 4 - digging a little deeper

love life isn't actually terrible

definitely tried to bang frey at least once (see that One throwaway line in The Hidden Oracle)

malewife malewhore manslaughter

broke up the beatles because paul jilted him (Discord)

sees the faces of primordial gods (see The Hidden Oracle)

copollo could have worked

catboy but cats are competition (See The Tyrant's Tomb; submitted by @trials-of-apollo-my-beloved)

freakishly high pain tolerance (See THE ENTIRE SERIES)

Tier 5 - holy shit we're on to something

that apollo & jesus fic (Discord)

knew hades had kids in TTC

pressured to be the perfect son

fatal flaw is love

not as close to hermes as he used to be

seahorsed kayla

patron of CHB

roman apollo au (Discord: Creator chronictheorizing)

Tier 6 - wait what. OH!

was forced to punish halcyon green

deathsong (Discord: Creator @txny-dragon) (addition)

kids are greek & roman

michael yew is most like him

brings change by being his true self and not the fake one (Submitted by @/txny-dragon)

laomedon is why he hates slavery (Discord: Creator @ukelele-boy)

intentionally made the orientation video to communicate info on the gods

Tier 7 - what the fuck did we get ourselves into

directed travis & conner to tartarus tongs

Apollo x Orion is peek hateship (Discord: Origin in Tsari's server during Eclipse)

unlocked heavenly prophecy powers during trials

dated oscar wilde and inspired the picture of dorian gray (Discord)

half-titan theory

tartarus regenerated him

imperial kids were meant to usurp the olympians

Tier 8 - we're in too deep but will never come out

knows estelle is omen of end of the world

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hnychn · 7 months

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I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME

SUMMARY — If there is anything that is universally acknowledged to be wholly true and incontestable, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything in the world. But does she know that?

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i got into a huge argument with my father a while back and it’s been weighing on my conscience. this series is largely based on our relationship and it’s been so therapeutic to write everything out and indirectly give myself an ending i want. the series isn’t complete, if anything, it’s no where near done. i want to make sure everything is perfect before i even think about posting the first chapter. its been so long since i’ve felt this strong need to write and i forgot how much of a beautiful feeling it is. everywhere i look and everything i see gives me so much inspiration for this series. but for now, here’s a little sneak peak of my new child.

(i am him as he is me spotify playlist)

SERIES WARNINGS — heavy religious themes, female reader, sugugeto, heavy angst, child abuse, childhood neglect, reader is a brat in the beginning, reader is assumed to be a person of color…

TOTAL WORD COUNT — tbd…

BEFORE YOU READ — the reader is mentioned to be a third year at jujutsu tech, and i completely understand the ages and time line don’t add up, but for the sake of creativity, let’s all just pretend it makes sense and ignore the age inconsistencies. <33 thank you!! <33

PREVIEW —

The rhythmic buzz of the cicadas and the sweltering humidity of the summer air marked the beginning of summer and the end of… everything. Satoru could feel the material of his pants begin to stick to his legs the longer he sat on the rotting wooden bench. The train tracks before him were rusted and old; they had weathered the storm of time and had the marks to prove it. These tracks were the end. The led you to the beginning. All Satoru had to do was wait.

—

“Maybe it was because I knew she would always come back to me. Maybe I was testing her love for me. Maybe I wanted to push her away before she pushed me away.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“There’s a lot of regret.”

Satoru could still feel the weight of that nostalgic love and regret in his stomach. It has buried itself so deep within him, he’s hardly sure anything would make it go away. The woman next to him looks different now; youthful, free. Satoru wants that. But does he deserve it?

I AM HIM, AS HE IS ME [MASTERLIST]

— CHAPTER ONE: “He Doesn’t Know I Learned it From Him.”

Gojo Satoru, in all aspects, is a God reborn. He holds the world and its universes in the palm of his flaming hand; unknowingly burning everything he holds dear.

— CHAPTER TWO: “I Was a Girl Gulping a Woman’s Grief.”

With an emotionally distant mother and a father plagued with a god complex, there weren’t many people you could look up to. maybe, you have to look down.

— CHAPTER THREE: “Do You Believe Me When I Tell You I’m Trying to be Better?”

With tensions at an all-time high, it’s hard to ignore what has gone neglected for so long. Dams are broken and feelings are hurt, but if there’s one thing everyone knows, it’s that Gojo Satoru loves his daughter more than anything. But does she know that?

— CHAPTER FOUR: “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

There is nothing more heroic than the sacrifices made by a mother. But what is born of those sacrifices made? Virtue? Honour? Strength? You knew the answer to that question all too well: Guilt.

— CHAPTER FIVE: “Desperation Sits Heavy on my Tongue.”

You and your father are more alike than either of you are led to believe. He doesn’t reach. You don’t beg. Where does the tension snap?

— CHAPTER SIX: “Through Heaven and Earth, I Alone am the Honoured One.”

Hymns were sung at his birth and prophecies were written for his future, in all aspects, Gojo Satoru was a god reborn. But who is a God to a little girl searching for her father?

#jjk x reader #jujitsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #fem reader #daughter reader #megumi x reader #tsumiki x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #shoko x reader #itadori x reader #nobara x reader #maki x reader #yuta x reader #dad gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader

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vivacissimx · 4 months

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The puzzle piece about Rhaegar that is really interesting but unfortunately often overlooked is that he was relieved when he realized he was not TPTWP. Yes, relieved. Conflicted too which I will get into. And I believe it is obvious that when Rhaegar first read about Aegon's prophecy, he was not enthused— It seems I must be a warrior is trotted out to talk about Rhaegar's gender expression, his disconnect with capital m Masculinity that is purposely contrasted to Robert Baratheon reveling in it (indeed only making sense within the context of violence, battle, war) but there is more to the compulsion involved in the words It seems and I must than just It seems I must become an archetype. Socially becoming a fighter was already expected of him but he was not, presumably, in compliance with this expectation. The prophecy motivated him in a different way than you will be socially rewarded for acting as a man does.

Which brings me to another point i.e. how Rhaegar perceived himself prior to reading what he read; his connection to the tragedy of his birth and the grief, the resentment, the awkward dynamics between members of his family. "Oh he was a child" yes but we're told that Rhaegar did not act like, think like, or even particularly get along with others his age. So it's safe to say he was aware of Summerhall and felt it's shadow surrounding him from a young age. And Aegon's prophecy, combined with the Ghost of High Heart's prophecy, the events of Summerhall, put this weight on his shoulders completely into context. It was not that Rhaegar desired to be TPTWP because he took to it with determination but no particular joy. Every indicator just seemed to demand he give himself over to fulfilling this role. TPTWP was coming from Aerys and Rhaella's line? Well, he was their only child. Consult Maester Aemon on the matter? Yeah kid it's you. Ancient scrolls? Dusty, but they agree. Dead ancestors? Oh wait, they died so YOU could live. Woah.

This understanding basically necessitates us looking to ASOS Daenerys who also has some knowledge of TPTWP prophecy, and thanks to the Rhaegar-Daenerys pipeline, we can imagine that Rhaegar had similar thoughts to Daenerys, such as when she asks herself: The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters. Who are Rhaegar's fellow two heads? Daenerys wonders at this, telling Jorah that her brothers are dead. Well Rhaegar's brothers die too, right in front of him. Rhaella suffers miscarriage after stillbirth after crib death. She is punished for this by Aerys via isolation and presumably Rhaegar is also kept separate from her— textually we know that Rhaegar was expected to take a sister to bride, i.e. further targcest was going to be enforced by Aerys, and to Rhaegar the loss would have also been of the other two people who would have fulfilled the requirements of the prophecy. Yes that's true. However, it was also the loss of his mother.

Rhaella was 13 when she had Rhaegar so it would be ridiculous to even think that she, a child, a Queen from when Rhaegar was 3, was this grand maternal figure to him. Of course she wasn't. There was too much on her shoulders. Too much on Aerys's shoulders as well, to be any sort of father except the kind who trotted Rhaegar out as an impressive little heir from time to time. Rhaegar was Aerys's success (it's the duty of the patriarch to sire sons who will continue the line) but as Rhaegar's siblings failed to survive, that success became a dicey thing. So when Viserys was born & survived, there is a thought that Rhaegar would latch onto such a sibling. This isn't the case— in fact, Viserys is Rhaella's. She coddles him. Keeps him close. Safe from Aerys (who already has Rhaegar). Viserys tells Dany stories about Rhaegar but this is done in the sense that he does not truly know Rhaegar. Why wouldn't Rhaegar have spent more time with Viserys, if he was motivated by fulfillment of the prophecy?

Because Viserys was Rhaella's, perhaps. Rhaegar never truly got to be his mother's son. To leech Viserys away from her... there's something in that. When Rhaella warmly welcomed Rhaegar's daughter, too. Rhaella's was Aerys's wife and property, which Rhaegar knew because he was also Aerys's property. Rhaella was mother to his brother. Rhaella was a grandmother to his daughter. She was everything but the woman who raised him.

"Rhaegar was a lonely man anyway due to his depression" yes that's true. There is an asceticism to Rhaegar Targaryen. The places he enjoys are bare and stripped, places he can keep his own company: Summerhall, the place of his birth, haunted, full of magic. Dragonstone where he retreats after his marriage, a place where the last embers of Valyria's magic died. Later the Tower of Joy is in a barren desert. But he finds a beauty in these places. He writes music that pushes him back into the shared world, songs he shares with people, about people, about lovers and those who sacrificed and who he is deeply moved by— almost like he's motivating himself. People are drawn to him.

Despite his lack of connection to Rhaella and Viserys he does bond with people. Arthur Dayne, who for all we can try and complicate, apply horseshoe theory to, is meant as the juxtaposition to characters such as the Smiling Knight. Brave as brass Myles Mooton whose memory his people still call upon. Richard Lonmouth and Jon Connington, both technically vassals to Robert Baratheon, funny little irony there. Princess Elia his wife who he is fond of along with the Dornishmen she comes to court with, "particularly" Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard, who is in Rhaegar's confidence (per AWOIAF). These bonds seem strong because not a whiff of possible disloyalty on Rhaegar's part ever reaches Aerys despite it definitely existing and Aerys actively looking for it (again per AWOIAF). Do these confidantes know about Aegon's prophecy? IDK. At least in JonCon's case the answer seems to be no. However we also know JonCon wasn't actually the closest to Rhaegar. Nonetheless, I think we can assume that outside of Arthur Myles and Richard most of these were political relationships which Rhaegar pursued and all were concerned about Aerys's instability— there is also Tywin who Rhaegar performs certain overtures towards (such as knighting Gregor, Tywin's man, at a time when the Aerys-Tywin relationship had just grown particularly sour) indicating he'd like him as an ally. This is all straying away from TPTWP but I think it's important, it shows that even imbued with purpose, Rhaegar was in a position that did not lend itself towards him being able to take much action...

Then winter breaks. Spring comes. Nobody knows it's false yet. Rhaegar's whole deal is this coming Long Night. Everyone takes, quite literally, a breath of fresh air, and the tourney of Harrenhal commences, with Rhaegar as a shadow sponsor, thinking to call an informal Great Council which will begin to deal with Aerys (step 1)(step 1 failed).

This is where matters of prophecy come back into focus. I've covered Rhaegar's various relationships, the shallowness of them, the stagnancy in Developments due to Aerys's paranoia, etc. Harrenhal is not a solitary place but it is flush with magic in a way similar to Summerhall and Dragonstone— all places where dragons have died Harrenhal is thematically the cannibal dragon let's not get into that. And this is important to Rhaegar's characterization because of how things unfold with Lyanna Stark in several ways: 1) Lyanna cries to his song. Before they formally meet Lyanna is touched by the magic and purpose and sacrifice and yes, love, of which Rhaegar sings. It speaks to her. Of course, many others likely cried too. Common occurrence, see: A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course. Rhaegar gender moment but I digress. 2) Rhaegar's discovery of her as the KOTLT despite Robert & Richard Lonmouth both vowing to do so, those raucous manly men, both of whom failed; Rhaegar's subsequent hiding of her identity to unknown consequence for himself if any. All he produces is her shield which is painted with a tree on it, a purposeful callback to Duncan the Tall's shield, both Lyanna and Dunk being 'false knights' yet, in their actions, true ones. Sorry I love Lyanna so much I can't resist plugging her greatest hits 3) Rhaegar winning the tourney, the only tourney he's ever won... and immediately tainting his victory by awarding it to Lyanna instead.

I bring this all up and frame it because here we see that Rhaegar is not really invested in his own victory or legacy or even really his honor. His wife Princess Elia is there and she is pregnant with his son, something he could commemorate in the same vein that Aerys "honored" Rhaegar by showcasing him at various tourneys, an ode to a future warrior king, but Rhaegar doesn't do that. It's not his victory as a Man. It's never been about his victory as a Man. It doesn't even need to be his victory.

Neither does Aegon's prophecy. Rhaegar rapidly realizes that on two fronts: second, the false spring ends. It wasn't real! Rhaegar's spring isn't the lasting one. First, though, is that Rhaegar and Elia's son Aegon is born, a difficult birth in which Elia is rendered infertile. Who does this remind you of? Oh right, Aerys with Rhaella— only Rhaegar does not go about trying to impregnate Elia again. Rhaegar becomes convinced Aegon is TPTWP— something he was already thinking, prior. Rhaegar was never so invested in himself being TPTWP that he could not be convinced otherwise. Maester Aemon: Rhaegar, I thought... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. Rhaegar agreeing "when he was young" and being "certain the bleeding star had to be a comet" all indicate that he had been looking into the possibility that TPTWP was Not Him for a while. The visits to Summerhall— maybe they were a search for proof by encasing himself in the lingering magic of the place? He still messed up the prince/princess translation presumably because baby Rhaenys never seemed to be in the conversation. (The bleeding star was in fact a comet, funnily enough, a little consolation prize for the pretty boy.) Here's what we know: in Daenerys's vision, Elia asks if Rhaegar will write Aegon a son, we can assume because he wrote their firstborn Rhaenys a song, but Rhaegar says no, he already has one. The song of ice and fire. Aegon doesn't get a song. Why? Rhaegar believes he must be a warrior.

Yet, he sings for him anyway.

Rhaegar's "it seems" and "I must" and distance from Viserys and inner conflict about Aerys and doubt about his own place in the grand scheme of things all come to fruition with Aegon's birth. Rhaegar isn't TPTWP— and it spurs him into action. A weight is off his shoulders so now he can act. As in the case of crowning Lyanna, when the purpose of a task is not to honor or elevate him, we see Rhaegar able to perform in ways he could not before.

Namely there are two veins: acting against Aerys and seeking out information of the prophecy, but Rhaegar's general direction (through the Riverlands past Harrenhal) seems to indicate that he was headed towards the Ghost of High Heart. Not Summerhall, a place of mysticism meant to soothe Rhaegar. Rather a place of pain. The Ghost of High Heart who gorged on grief at Summerhall, who only ever demands Jenny's song (which Rhaegar seems to have wrote), who sees in Arya who looks like Lyanna, who looks like Jon, death. But instead of ever making it there... Rhaegar meets Lyanna.

And then they disappear. There are the Rhaegarwars to consider so I'm just going to say that, at the least, Lyanna did not want to marry Robert though society dictated that she must, and in removing her, she was removed from this. From there she came to be in Dorne in a place that was desolate desert, but similar to Summerhall, which was also abandoned, held something of magic in that it was near where Those Who Sing The Song of the Earth had split the Arm of Dorne. We can say a lot more about this but that's not the point of the post. I have explained Rhaegar as a person disconnected from his mother, later a person who in several manners refuses to act as Aerys did towards Rhaella, indicating that disconnect troubled him — Rhaegar's limited amount of close relationships with people he admired and the deep loyalty shown to him, presumably for a reason — Rhaegar's willingness to interrogate himself & his assumptions about the world.

So when I say Rhaegar was relieved what I mean is that upon suspecting and, to his mind, confirming that he was not the fulfillment of Aegon's prophecy, Rhaegar became proactive in ways he had yearned for but not been able to before. The Rhaegar that died with Lyanna's name as his last word was not a Rhaegar who died thinking the world was doomed without him. I think the Rhaegar that died on the Trident was a Rhaegar who had escaped the shadow of fate only to meet it, face to face.

#rhaegar targaryen #asoiaf #valyrian scrolls #text #lyanna stark #gender in asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #rhaella targaryen #aerys targaryen #once again the tags are for my ownnn organization #rhaegarposting

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tripleyeeet · 8 months

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IN UNFAIR HANDS WE'RE DEALT (9)

SUMMARY: With the battle of Moonrise quickly approaching, you and Astarion take a moment to yourselves.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,949

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2 (henceforth there will be spoilers in all chapters here on out), angst, lots of hurt/a little comfort as a treat, descriptions of dissociation, mentions of death, untimely flirting probably.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter killed me so... be kind. :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

There’s an impending doom that hits your chest mid-conversation.

As you sit alongside your peers, discussing with Jaheira the plan of attack on Moonrise, you can feel the depths of your mind begin to drift. Slowly but surely, moving through the air to focus on Astarion’s face engrossed in the details of your infiltration. It makes you narrow your eyes in frustration. Seeing the interest in his own as she explains the designated route, marking down the paths she deems safer than others while he slowly nods his head.

You’re not sure why but seeing him like this —so invested in something you know will probably end in suffering, makes you sick to your stomach. As if, your body’s reacting to some sort of inevitable, internal prophecy that no one else can feel. All at once it takes over, erasing the previous hours of the day you once found enjoyment in. Coating such memories in a shadow of doubt that makes you wonder if this is the last time you’ll feel this. The pleasantries of being alive without consequence. The overwhelming sensation of warmth that blooms throughout your chest each time you look towards the pale-skinned elf.

As you sit there, half-listening to the exchange that goes around the table, there’s a feeling of selfishness that follows behind such thoughts. A sliver of fear that quickly takes over, forcing you to wonder what would happen if you were to pull Astarion aside and ask him not to go.

“So, we leave tonight.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Wyll who furthers your anxieties. Bringing up the inevitable in such a casual way that, as he speaks, you find yourself turning to face him, watching unimpressed as he stares at the map splayed out in front of you, pressing a finger to your destination. On the parchment, it’s circled in red. Symbolically marked in a blood that’ll inevitably be split.

Swallowing hard, you turn back to Astarion not long after, catching his eye; causing his expression to shift from focused to curious, immediately offering you a direct line to his thoughts if you need it.

Without protest you take it, forcing back question after question until you settle on a single one, raising your brow in the process.

Are we sure this is a good idea?

Your tadpole wriggles in response. Ebbing and flowing behind the sclera of your eye as you listen to Astarion’s sigh rattle through your brain. No, but it’s the only idea we’ve got.

So far.

His lip twitches. You blink. Both of you refuse to break eye contact even when Lae’zel brings up the fact that you’re all incredibly low on supplies.

I’m sure our valiant Blade of Frontiers will come up with something.

You have to resist the urge to snort as you look away, allowing yourself to accept Astarion’s reassurance in the form of a badly timed joke and an ever-so-subtle tap to your thigh with his pinky. Both of which make your heart swell through the negativities that take up far too much space.

“Don’t worry about supplies.” Jaheira clicks her tongue, pulling back your attention with the wave of her hand. “Give us a list and we’ll gather everything up while you rest for your journey.”

It feels uncharacteristically kind of her to allow you more time to breathe. But it’s also something you don’t take for granted as you all disperse into your own spaces, attempting to ease your minds against the oncoming battle you’re less than certain you’ll return from.

Letting out a heavy breath after your exchange, you find yourself wandering through the camp, feeling Astarion’s presence trailing behind as you move up the stairs of the Inn, finding refuge in your previously shared room. Once there, you kick off your boots and fall carelessly onto the bed, hands quickly moving to your temples as you stare at the ceiling, feeling the space beside you shift.

“I’m not really in the mood for…”

Trailing off, you’re not sure what you’re meant to say. Or how you’re supposed to divert Astarion away from your racing thoughts after relying so heavily on him. Because at this rate, it’s been months of constant reassurance. Weeks of support, both reluctant and not. Days and hours and minutes of a growing tenderness that you’re undeniably thankful for, even now as you deny him your thoughts.

Since the beginning of your journey, he’s been there in some capacity, distracting you from the growing wound inside your head. Forcing back all the terrible aspects of your shared reality so that he can take over the front.

Somehow in such a short time frame, he’s managed to consume your every waking thought. Whenever you wake he’s the first thing you think of and before you sleep it’s not uncommon to find yourself dreaming of a life after all of this is over. A life where you’re together and happy and free of all the bullshit.

And it scares you if you’re honest. Terrifies you to the point of obsession, filling you with an endless sense of unease even as you crane your neck to share his gaze, realizing he’s still there, despite it all.

“For what?”

You motion between the two of you, frowning. Unsure how to explain the feeling in your gut that roughly creeps through your organs, laying waste. “Being cheered up.”

Despite your somewhat cryptic response, somehow his face is still as stone. An unwavering set of features that hold no obvious purpose as you stare at one another, unable to express anything other than exhaustion as he huffs at your defiance.

“You’re being rather obtrusive.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

As if by design, your hand slots perfectly against the plush of his cheek. Gently, you stroke your thumb against the coolness of his skin, forcing yourself to smile despite feeling like you’re falling apart, knowing this may be the last time you find yourself together.

“I don’t want to go. Not with you.”

Almost immediately he opens his mouth, ready to provide you with some sort of offended quip before he remembers that isn’t what you want. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice, my love.”

“I wish we did.”

You can tell then that he understands what you’re saying. Based on the sombre expression that follows your words and the way he tugs at your waist, maneuvering you further into the bed. Quickly, it becomes apparent that your feelings are shared. That when he looks back at you, taking in your words, he’s not only aware of the implications but feels them himself.

“Another unfair hand dealt, I suppose.”

All you can do is snort in response, allowing your eyes to roll around, remembering the hold he has on you. How regardless of everything you’ve been through he’s managed to attach himself to you like a ship’s anchor; always keeping you steady. Grounding you at every rough turn through the waters of your journey.

“You know if you die I’m coming with you, right?”

It’s a rather terrible joke. One that has him immediately laughing before he realizes there’s a hint of truth hidden inside. Then he looks at you as if you’ve just ripped the already cold, dead heart right out of his chest. “You can’t be serious.”

“What if I am?”

He pauses for a moment, leaning back to get a good look at your face, picking apart each and every feature with narrowed eyes. “Well, firstly I’d question your sanity.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already.”

“Then I’d tell you it’s not worth it.”

“Says you.”

He doesn’t laugh or smile. Instead, he just continues to stare, stroking the fabric that covers your side in slow, unsteady motions. “Darling, I’m aware that dying alongside a lover after they’ve fallen is typically viewed as a romantic gesture but for the love of Gods if you even think of doing such a thing—”

You go to protest but he cuts you off, squeezing your side.

“—I’ll haunt you till the end of your days. And not in a sexy way.”

You raise your brow. “There’s a sexy way to haunt someone?”

In response he releases a humoured, heavy breath, shaking his head. “You know for someone who claims they don’t want to be cheered up you suddenly seem rather perky at the thought of me following you beyond the grave.”

It’s because it’s you, you want to say but instead, you just grin and kiss his cheek, allowing yourself to further indulge in his company. To feel his touch wrapped tightly around your frame as the seconds turn to minutes and the minutes quickly shift into hours that pass by like whitecaps crashing against the shoreline each time you take a breath.

By the end of it, you’re gasping for air. As time inches closer to your departure, there’s this breathlessness that coats your lungs, forcing you to suck the air Astarion breathes through shared kisses filled with desperation, knowing this is it. The calm before the storm. That final step before you’re at the edge of the cliff, staring down.

It distracts you enough to make the moments shared feel less real —foreign in a way that has you feeling completely separate from your body, wandering past the Inn, across the expanse of the cursed lands with cautious feet.

Beneath Astarion’s hands, you may be still as a board but somehow you’re also drifting through the darkness, following Jaheira’s path with tightened fingers that wrap around your blade, prompting Astarion to stop.

All at once his movements freeze, parting gently to showcase knitted brows that glance between you and your roughly placed hand.

Your hold is tighter than expected, your nails digging between the fabric of his shirt, pushing through to just barely hit his skin. Without hesitation it forces him to carefully reach over and grab them, coaxing them out of his arm to the space between, hushing you through the silence, knowing that your mind is loud.

“It’s going to be fine,” he tells you. Then his thumb runs along the course of your index finger, applying pressure to each joint as he moves up; becoming that anchor once again as you blink away the surrounding forest.

“You don’t know that, though.”

Fully encapsulating your hand, he digs his thumb into your palm, pressing away the stiffness that collects as you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “True but that’s never stopped our blinding optimism before, has it?”

You snort. “You and I both know I’ve never been an optimist. That’s Karlach’s job.”

“Fair. But you’ve also never expressed any doubt before,” he points out.

That’s because the circumstances have changed, you think, feeling the creature behind your eye wriggle in response, igniting within you a sensation of dread. Of a weight carried throughout your stomach that has you swallowing hard and abruptly sitting up, realizing why.

It’s because you’ve grown used to what you have. To you and Astarion and the rest of your friends who patiently sit, waiting for the hour to strike. After years of abuse and solitude, you’ve managed to find the one thing you’ve never thought possible: a family of sorts to call your own. A party of confidants ready to roll into the gaping mouth of battle.

Standing up from the bed you feel your chest begin to tighten at such a discovery —both at the thought of gaining and losing such loved ones. Ultimately, it’s a bittersweet moment. One that has you fighting for air like before as you palm the sockets of your eyes and laugh.

“What the hells is wrong with you?”

It’s a question said without malicious intent. The kind that sounds snarky but that’s truly filled with a curiosity that forces Astarion to sit up from the bed, watching as you rub your face.

“I think I’m freaking out, a bit,” you admit, stifling back chuckles that half-catch in your throat as you turn back to face him. “I don’t want to lose anyone.”

You know then that he wants to lie to you and say that you won’t. That, as previously mentioned, everything’s going to be fine and that you’ll win the war without a scratch. Even though both of you know, that’s not the case. Not this time. Not with the growing size of the Absolute and the thickening plot.

Because at this point you know very little about the world revolving around you and yet, you’re still rushing into it. Taking the cards you’ve been dealt and slamming them on the table, hoping they’ll work out in your favour. It’s all you’ve ever done this entire journey. Every fight fought, every person met —all of it’s come at the cost of blind luck. Of a dice roll and prayer filled with a hope that you’ll survive the day to come.

Deep down, you know that none of you should’ve survived up to this point. One by one you should’ve died and moved on but somehow the Gods have smiled upon you enough to allow you a moment of peace to persist. To travel across the land, surviving every encounter. To experience a life you never thought possible.

To be with the man you think you might be in love with.

“If I don’t make it—“

The words catch in your throat just as Astarion’s jaw begins to shift. Carefully clenching his teeth as he grips the sheet beneath him, making you frown and wander back over.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

You move your hand into the space between you, raising your pinky into the air with narrowed eyes, watching him look at you with annoyance.

“A pinky swear?” Shaking his head, he looks up at you in disbelief, taking in the way you grin through the sadness and wiggle your finger, forcing him to look back down. “Darling, you can’t be serious.”

“Yes, I can.”

“You’re telling me you want me to swear on this delicate little thing that I won’t perish in the heat of battle?”

“Yes, was that not clear?”

“No, it was, I’m just—“

“Just swear on the damned pinky!”

He takes it instantly, the shock of your outburst causing his eyes to widen as you let out a breath of relief.

“Now swear that if either of us die, we don’t do something stupid.”

For a moment there’s a brief pause but then it’s quickly followed by Astarion clearing his throat. “Okay, but what exactly classifies as stupid? Because with such vague terminology the options seem a bit endless.”

Thinking about it for a moment, you ponder the options, allowing yourself time to really explore the results of your oncoming fight.

Because at this rate, anything could happen. You could all perish under the Absolute’s reign. Be taken into custody and forced into servitude like so many have. Hell, you could even survive this whole thing by the skin of your teeth. Lose a couple of limbs or something —truly anything is possible.

“Promise me that if I die you won’t.”

It’s a statement that hangs in the air for ages, collecting dust as both of you nervously stare, shifting and swallowing —forcing yourself to feel just how heavy this moment is.

Quicker than anticipated, it consumes your every thought, causing the tadpole to slither to your eye’s edge, prodding at the skin behind, knowing it’s Astarion calling to you. Asking for permission to see what’s on your mind as you blink away, focusing on the position of your hands as you allow him access to your thoughts.

It takes no time to offer them over. To show him all your wishes and doubts and ideal outcomes. Letting him explore, you allow yourself to take a breath and close your eyes, strengthening the hold you have on his finger as he wanders through your membrane.

I promise I won’t off myself in your honour.

Silently, you thank him, smiling to yourself as the thought is pushed towards him. Good, because I plan on haunting you. Sexily.

You hear him hum in amusement. “You’d make a very alluring phantom.”

“I would, wouldn’t I.”

“You’ve got the moan for it.”

Reaching to punch his chest, you open your eyes, scrunching up your face. “Shut up, you harlot.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to give me a proper burial if I die. One with lots of gifts. And flowers.”

“Flowers?” You raise your brow almost humorously before the image of a grave marked in his name appears.

It’s the last thing you want to think about. And immediately Astarion feels you start to shift, prompting him to pull you to his lap. “We’re going to be okay, love. You and I we’re, uh, we’re good —we make a good team.”

Team.

It’s a word that rattles through your head violently, wishing deep down it was something more. Something caring and intimate and perhaps tailored to better represent the feelings that he stirs within you.

Having experienced as much as you have together it’s obvious that you’re something else entirely. A friend or a partner —something more personal.

Sure, together you do make a fairly decent team. In battle, you flow alongside each other beautifully, anticipating every need or want without so much as a thought. And everywhere else, you’re just as fitting. So it’s no wonder he views you as such.

But still, there’s something missing in his words. A sentiment or belief that has you forcing out a smile, hoping that deep down he loves you all the same as your tadpole wriggles for him one last time, and the knock upon the door calls for you to leave.

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#in unfair hands we're dealt #a lover's folly #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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myonos · 10 months

Text

BLOODBAG

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

IN WHICH you are a princess betrothed to the vampire prince of the most feared kingdom in the world.

lee heeseung x f!reader

genre: fluff, small amount of angst, one sided enemies to lovers

warnings! cursing, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood

wc: 6k (6088)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This is your destiny.

You cannot change your destiny.

It chose you for a reason.

These are things you’ve been hearing since the ripe age of 5.

What is your destiny? To become a bloodsucker's personal blood bag.

From the day you were born, you’ve been betrothed to Lee Heeseung.

The Lee family is a long line of powerful vampires. They strike fear into every kingdom, every man, every woman, every child.

No one dares to disobey the wishes of the Lees.

So how did you, a mere mortal, become betrothed to him?

Since the birth of the Lee clan, there has been a prophecy. It foresees the entire history of the Lee clan.

According to them, it has never been wrong.

One fateful day 21 years ago, the Lee prophecy told Mira and Seungheon Lee that their first and only child would be betrothed to the first child of the current reigning king and queen of the Desira clan.

That child would be you.

And oh, you’ve dreaded the day.

You remember being seven and asking your parents why you had to marry a stinky boy.

“Because it’s your destiny.” They would tell you.

You got sick of hearing that.

By now, you've accepted it, although the bitterness in your heart still beats.

Today is the day you are moving to Lee Castle.

You should mention you've never even met the Lees.

So moving into their home? The whole arrangement isn't exciting for you.

You’re sad to leave your parents and your people. They've reassured you that you'll be fine, but you still fear the Lees will isolate you and never let you leave.

You don’t know what Lee Heeseung is like, but you don’t care. You'll marry him for the safety of your kingdom, but you will not show him any kindness.

As you arrive in Lee’s kingdom, you're amazed.

You expected gloom and doom, weary, sad, fearful people, but it's the opposite.

Children are laughing and playing about.

Markets galore of anything you can think of, clothing, fabrics, food, trinkets.

Men are coming out of the woods, carrying stalks of wood on their backs.

As you stare out the window, a child catches your attention. She’s playing in the grass beside a booth; you assume her mother runs.

She looks up, and your eyes meet.

Waving, her smile gleams in the sun.

You wave back, your smile matching hers.

“Can we stop for a moment?” You ask the coachman.

As you step out, whispers surround you.

You walk to the woman's booth. “Hello.”

As she looks up, she gasps.

She scrambles for a moment, and you can't help but giggle.

“Your Majesty, I knew you were coming, but I didn't expect to see you. Can I be of assistance?”

You look at the array of jewelry decorating her booth.

Your eyes stop on a beautiful necklace.

An emerald sits in the middle of a circular frame—the emerald glistens in the sunlight.

You pick it up cautiously. “How much for this?”

The woman's eyes widened, “For you, Your Majesty, it costs nothing.”

You shake your head softly, “Nonsense. Is this enough?”

You hand her several bills out of your pouch, and she gapes.

“I can't accept this, Your Majesty!”

“You can and you will, please?” You beg, clasping your hands together.

She contemplates for a second before putting the money into her bag.

“Your Majesty, how can I thank you?”

“No need, keep doing what you're doing.”

You feel a slight tug on your dress, and the little girl from before is at your side.

You bend down to her size, “Hello, what's your name?”

“I'm Ara, Your Majesty!”

What an adorable child, “Ara is a beautiful name. You can call me Y/N.”

“Thank you, you have a beautiful name, too, Y/N.”

She smiles that blinding smile before presenting a flower in her tiny hands.

“I picked this for you.”

You take it from her, “Thank you so much, Ara. Now I have two beautiful gifts.” You gesture to the necklace.

She takes the flower and puts it in your hair by your ear.

“Now you're even more beautiful!”

“Your majesty,” the coachman calls, “we should be going.”

You nod, sad that you have to leave.

“I hope to see you again, Ara.”

She nods before hugging you tightly. Everyone around you awes as you hug her back.

Then it's back into the carriage, and you continue your ascent to the castle.

When you reach the entrance, the large doors are agape, and a carpet greets you.

As you step out, loud footsteps come from inside until three people appear.

The king and queen are smiling, unexpected to you.

“Y/N, my dear, so great to meet you at last,” the King says.

You do a long curtsy, bowing your head, “Your Majesties.”

The queen takes your hand into her own, “What a beautiful girl you are. I hope you'll enjoy being here.”

“You're too kind.”

“This is our son, Heeseung.”

They part to reveal him, and oh.

You weren't expecting him to be so handsome.

He offers a sweet smile.

“Y/N,” he says, taking your hand and planting a kiss on it. “It's a pleasure.”

You bow to him, “To you as well.”

His parents waste no time, shouting at the guards surrounding the entrance to bring your things inside.

They give you an extensive tour of their castle, introducing every room. Their foyer is beautiful and decorated with multiple styles of paintings.

They eventually lead you to your room.

It’s huge, even bigger than your room at home.

The bed sits in the middle of the far right wall. It’s king-sized with red silk sheets and a comforter.

Heeseung bends down and whispers in your ear, “More than big enough for the 2 of us.”

Face filled with confusion, you turn to look at him, but all he does is wink at you.

What happened to Mr. Respectful?

“You’ll meet us for dinner when you’ve unpacked your things, yes?” The queen says, not noticing the scowl on your face.

You nod, watching them leave.

Heeseung does not leave; he closes the door behind his parents, leaving you two alone.

“I’ve been waiting every day of my life to meet you, and now I have you.” He saunters towards you, close enough until your chests are pressed against each other lightly.

“First, you don’t have me. I’m not happy about this marriage. I’m only doing it for my kingdom.”

Your arms cross in anger, putting just the smallest space between you and him.

He laughs, “You’re cute. However you view this marriage doesn’t matter. You and I will be one soon enough.”

Whatever that means.

“I’d appreciate it if you left my room now. Don’t you have to prepare for dinner too?” Heeseung puts his hands up in defense, not saying another word before leaving your room.

So not only are you stuck marrying him, but he’s also a weird dickhead? Great.

You sigh in defeat and grab your bags to unpack.

There are no drawers, so there must be a closet.

There are two large mahogany doors on the left side of the room.

You open the first but do not find a closet, instead; you find an enormous bathroom. There’s a large, deep-set tub in the back of the room with three large shower heads attached. To the left of the tub is the toilet and double sinks, with more than enough space for your hair and skin care products.

You close that door and then move to the other.

It is the closet, and it is vast. It has enough room for your many clothes, so you begin to place and hang them to your desire.

Once you’ve finished, you hear a bell chime within the castle. You look at the clock above your bed and see it’s 8 o’clock.

You can’t be late for dinner. You exit your room, bowing to the guards outside your door.

You almost fear you’ve forgotten where the dining room is, but your feet seem to remember, moving and not stopping.

The large double doors of the dining room greet you, and as you put your hands on the handles, you pray you’re not the last to arrive.

You take a deep breath, fanning your face quickly before opening the doors.

Dammit.

The king, queen, and Heeseung are already seated.

You bow, apologizing profusely for your tardiness.

The king waves his hand, “Don’t apologize, dear. A minute will not kill anyone.”

You sit in your reserved seat, of course, next to Heeseung while his parents sit at the other end of the table.

Heeseung wastes no time in putting his hand on your thigh.

You want to push it off but don’t want to upset his parents.

Now you’re wondering why exactly you are meeting for dinner? You’re the only human here. Don’t they drink blood to quench their hunger?

“We can still eat regular food, sweetheart. Blood is just our preference.”

Did you say that out loud, or can the queen read minds?

“Yes, I can read minds,” she says, smiling.

You try to stop thinking, knowing it’s futile.

“Y/N, now that you’re here, you must tell us all about yourself. It’s only right that we get to know our future daughter-in-law.” The king holds up his drink, which you assume is wine…or blood.

You clear your throat, “There’s not much to tell. I enjoy art and paintings, and I’d love to admire the ones in your foyer during my free time. I’m a straightforward person. I pride myself on being kind to all and being open-minded.”

As the king and queen take in your words, you can feel Heeseung’s grip on your thigh getting tighter.

It’s almost to where it hurts, so you put your hand on top of his, making him relax.

Within a few minutes, dinner arrives. It's a beautifully done steak (extra rare for them) with potatoes, asparagus, and a beautiful au jus.

You have to say it was pretty delicious, and you devoured your plate within minutes.

You almost feel embarrassed as the Lees stare at you, but the king smiles. “Nice to see someone who truly enjoys well-prepared food.”

You laugh with them, blushing as you wipe your mouth with your napkin.

By 9:30, you find yourself getting tired, eyes fluttering every few seconds.

“Heeseung, be a dear and bring Y/N up to bed.” The queen requests.

Heeseung immediately gets out of his chair, deciding to be a gentleman and pulling yours out.

You take his hand and leave the dining room, wishing the king and queen goodnight.

As you walk the long halls, Heeseung takes the chance to wrap his arm around your waist.

You grab his hand, about to pull him off, but he suddenly twirls you around to face him.

You try to step back, “What are you doing?”

“You’re too tired to keep walking.” Without another word, he tucks his left hand under your knees and the other around your waist and lifts you into his arms.

You squeal, “Put me down! I can walk just fine.”

He shakes his head, “What kind of future husband would I be if I let my lady walk when she’s tired?”

You go to protest again, but Heeseung shushes you. Giving up, you let him carry you until you’ve arrived at your bedroom door. “May I come in?” He asks.

Your confused stare has him chuckling, “To wish you goodnight.”

You’re about to ask why he can’t do it right here, but he’s already entering your room.

You head to your bathroom to wash up, glaring at him as you go.

“I’m not gonna do anything!”

After you’ve washed up, you head back into your room, expecting Heeseung to be gone, but he’s not.

You yelp, putting your hands in front of yourself, even though you have a robe on.

“Relax, I can’t see anything.”

You go into your closet, closing the door behind you to change.

Heeseung is now sitting on your bed. As he looks up, he smirks, “Cute pj’s.”

You huff, taking his hand and dragging him off your bed, “Nice having you, goodnight!”

Before you can push him out the door, he puts his hands out, stopping himself.

“What, no goodnight kiss?”

You laugh mockingly, “In your dreams, goodnight Heeseung.”

He finally leaves, giving you peace.

You practically launch yourself into bed, snuggling into the warm sheets.

So little happened today, yet you feel exhausted as it ends.

You don’t know what’s in store for you, but you hope Heeseung doesn’t piss you off to death.

As your eyes flutter, you think about your family and the friends you’ve left behind. This is your life now.

Maybe it’s best to accept it. Perhaps you should try to make the most of it.

When the Lees gave their extravagant castle tour, they told you about a garden in the back of the castle. If you desire, you may enter the garden.

You recall the king's words, “This is your home now. There is no place you can’t go.”

So here you find yourself in the garden. It’s home to a multitude of fresh flowers.

Orchids, carnations, roses, peonies, lilies, you name it, they’re here. You can’t help but go around smelling every flower, the scent sweet to your nose.

Soon you find yourself in the garden's center, where a sleek steel bench sits.

You sit down, admiring the surrounding scenery.

“I see you’ve found my favorite spot.”

There’s that aggravating voice, the last thing you wanted to hear this morning.

“Is it?” You ask. “I wouldn’t expect you to be the type to like flowers.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, pretty girl. I’d love to change that.” Heeseung says, sitting next to you on the bench.

“I don’t desire to know anything about you.”

You turn your face away from him, but his swift fingers reach for your chin, pulling you to face him.

“But I desire to know everything about you.”

His hand is icy, to where a chill runs down your spine.

You refuse to let him influence you.

“What? Are you obsessed with me or something?”

Heeseung chuckles, and his fangs, long and sharp, make their presence known. You think about those things biting you. Would it hurt? Would it leave a bruise? You fear you’ll be finding out the answer to that soon enough.

“You could say that. Or you could say I’m fascinated with you. I have been since the day I knew we were betrothed.”

You’re confused, “We only met yesterday. How could you be fascinated with someone you didn’t know?”

“Because I can feel it, the connection we have. I’ve been able to feel it since day one. You may not know this, but vampires can remember every day of our lives, even our birth. As I’ve grown older, the feeling has grown stronger. It feels as if it’s going to burst out of my chest. You and I are meant for each other. The universe decided that for us. Who am I to disobey it?”

You take Heeseung’s hand and pull it away from your face, “If you think for one second I’m going to believe this universe bullshit, you’re dead wrong!”

Heeseung frowns, “Why don’t you understand? The prophecy—”

“Forget the prophecy, Heeseung!” You shout, standing abruptly. “You can believe in that all you want, but that doesn’t mean I have to. I’m not doing this because the prophecy said so. I’m certainly not doing it because I love you. It’s solely for relations.”

For the first time, you see a flash of hurt graze Heeseung’s dark eyes. After a long, quiet minute, Heeseung leaves the garden.

You’re relieved he’s finally gone, yet you can’t help but think you’ve gone too far.

Insulting their prophecy probably wasn’t a good idea.

You go inside, hoping to find Heeseung and apologize, but he’s nowhere to be found.

You sigh in defeat. Hopefully, he’s not too angry. As much as he’s bothersome, you’re scared to think about him being angry.

Making your way to Heeseung’s room, you’re curious. You haven’t seen it and don’t know what to expect. You knock hesitantly but receive no answer. Taking a deep breath, you open the door. It squeals as it opens, and the darkness of his room greets you.

It’s as if there's no one living in it.

You take small steps inside, leaving the door open to allow some light to shine in.

“Heeseung,” you call. No answer.

“What are you doing?”

The scream that leaves your mouth could wake the dead. You turn around to Heeseung standing over you. Your hand grabs your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I came… to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have insulted your prophecy. It’s important to you and your family, and I shouldn’t disrespect it. I’m sorry.”

In the darkness, you can barely make out Heeseung's silhouette, and yet you can feel the smirk slowly rise on his face. “I knew you couldn’t resist me, pretty girl.”

You scoff, “And now you ruined it, goodbye.”

“Wait!” He grabs your arm, preventing you from leaving, and suddenly, the room is flooded with light. Your eyes squint at the brightness, then widen in shock. “How did you do that?”

“I have telekinesis,” Heeseung shrugs like it’s so casual. Well, it is, for him, at least.

Heeseung grabs your attention by placing his arm around your waist, the other hand coming up to gently cup your face.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to convince you to give me a chance. Let me show you how good I can be, how good we could be. I’ll beg on my knees if I have to.”

Then, he’s on his knees, holding your hands in his.

“Please,” he pleads. “Give me a chance.”

You feel a tug at your heartstrings. The way he’s pleading makes your legs feel weak.

“Fine, I’ll give you a chance.”

A smile erupts on Heeseung’s face, and he stands before pulling you in for a tight hug.

His embrace is warm, despite usually being cold.

You slowly wrap your arms around his waist, prolonging the hug.

Heeseung finally lets you go, “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

You don’t hear from Heeseung for the rest of the day. You have no idea what he’s up to, but you hope you haven’t made a mistake.

The next day, you’re awoken by a gentle knocking on your door.

You tell them to come in, and it’s Heeseung.

“Good morning, pretty girl. I have something planned for today, so wash up and meet me downstairs by the entrance.”

He exits, leaving you wondering.

You don’t want to keep him waiting, so you get out of bed and run to the bathroom.

After washing up, you pick out one of your favorite dresses to wear.

You rush downstairs but compose yourself before you reach the entrance.

Heeseung is there waiting for you.

He offers you his hand, and you take it.

“So what are we doing?” You ask.

“You’ll see,” he smirks but doesn’t reveal the plan.

Once outside, you see a horse standing with some guards.

Its coat is a pristine, long mane flowing in the wind.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, carefully approaching it.

Reaching a handout, the horse sniffs you before letting out a loud whine.

“He likes you,” Heeseung says, petting his mane.

“What’s his name?”

“Casper.”

Heeseung suddenly mounts Casper, holding his hand out for you.

Your eyes widen, “Wait, what?”

“Come on!” Heeseung urges you.

You have to admit, you’ve only mounted a horse once before in your life.

You take Heeseung’s hand, put your foot in the stirrup, and he pulls you up.

“Hold on to me.”

You oblige, putting your arms around his waist and resting your head on his back.

Heeseung smiles as he feels you. He doesn’t know how he’s gotten so lucky to have such a beautiful bride. He has to impress you.

At Heeseung’s command, Casper trots.

You make your way out of the castle gates and begin your descent.

The townspeople greet you both as you come through.

Heeseung leads you deep into the woods, far away from any people.

After about 10 minutes, you finally stop.

In front of you is a rock wall with vines hanging on it.

“What are we doing in front of a wall?”

Heeseung chuckles at your cuteness before pulling back the vines, revealing an opening in the wall.

You walk through it and are amazed.

Inside is a small field surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers.

There’s a creek with crystal clear water running through it and a blanket in the middle.

“Heeseung, it's beautiful,” you gasp.

He leads you to the blanket, and you both sit down.

“I figured if we’re going to get to know each other better, it should be somewhere special.”

“This place is special,” you say, looking above you. The sky is visible, and the clouds are big and beautiful. “Tell me about you, not just what you said at dinner last night. I want to know everything about you. Your childhood, what you like, what you dislike, everything.” Heeseung doesn't take his eyes off you.

If you're genuinely going to give him a chance, you feel he deserves the truth. Not lies or uncertainty.

So you spill your guts.

Heeseung pays close attention, eyes never leaving yours. He gives the occasional hum or nod, but other than that is silent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

You turn to face Heeseung, “So, it’s your turn. Tell me all about you.”

“Well, I love music. It's something I've enjoyed since I was young. I play the guitar and piano, and if I'm not in my room, I'm usually in our music room.”

“You’ll have to play for me sometime,” you say, lying on the blanket.

Heeseung follows and lies down beside you.

As you stare at the sky above you, you think, maybe this arrangement isn't so bad.

The next day Heeseung took you on a picnic. Sure, it was in the garden, but it was still romantic.

What you didn’t know before is how funny he is.

He had you laughing so hard, your stomach hurt.

You told him if he wasn’t a prince, he could make a living as a comedian.

He showed you his musical skills.

He’s like a prodigy. Not only is he a master at guitar and piano, but he can also sing.

When he sang for you, your ears nearly melted.

His voice is like honey, caressing you from the inside out.

Your praises made his cheeks flush, a shy smile gracing his lips.

Later that same day, he took you to a festival in the kingdom.

Everyone was amazed by how good you two looked together.

They cheered for you, their future princess.

Today, you and Heeseung find yourselves in your room. You're both lying on your bed, and you're reading to him.

It’s a fantasy book about a maiden who falls in love with someone forbidden from being with her.

“I'd hate to be forbidden from you. It’s only been a few days, but I can’t live without you.”

Heeseung’s words make your heart flutter.

“I've gotten used to you too. You're not what I expected. Your kingdom isn't what I expected, but I’m glad I was wrong.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything else, so you continue reading. By the end of the book, the maiden and her lover can be together, and their people rejoice in harmony.

“That was a nice ending,” Heeseung slurs beside you. Looking at him, his eyes are closed, and he’s breathing slowly.

He must have been tired, you think to yourself.

Putting the book time, you figure you could take a nap yourself.

You lay beside him and close your eyes.

When you awaken, Heeseung is gone, but there’s a sticky note on your forehead.

I had a nice nap. Thanks for keeping me warm - Heeseung.

You chuckle as he runs through your mind.

You went from hating him to taking naps with him within two days.

Maybe you’re weak, but this has been the best couple of days of your life.

You never realized how lonely you were until you started spending all this time with Heeseung.

You admit you didn’t have many friends growing up. Kids stayed away from you because of your status, or they were only your “friend” to get something from you.

You never had a real friend or more than that.

Now you have a real friend, or rather fiancé, who seems to be in love with you, although you haven’t done anything to deserve it.

You regret how you initially treated Heeseung, but you’re looking forward to your future together; however that may look.

The next day, you wake up to a wonderful smell.

Opening your eyes, in front of you is a whole breakfast platter: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and orange juice.

Heeseung sits at the edge of your bed, watching your reaction.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning,” you say as you start digging in.

“I love watching you eat,” Heeseung says, coming to sit next to you.

You offer him some pancake on your fork, and he accepts it eagerly.

“I have to compliment your chef, seriously.”

After your astounding breakfast, you and Heeseung decide to walk in the field behind the castle.

Heeseung takes the opportunity to slip his hand into yours. You don't hesitate to intertwine your fingers.

Later, during dinner, the queen asks you how you and Heeseung are progressing.

“We’re getting along great. Heeseung is a pleasure.”

This time when Heeseung places his hand on your thigh, you put yours on top to hold his hand.

Throughout the next couple of days, you and Heessung spend every minute together.

You find yourself falling harder for him every day.

Quickly your wedding day approaches, and your nerves are starting to get to you.

Heeseung has never mentioned biting you. But one day, in the library, you read a book about vampires and their betrothed. It was tradition for a vampire to bite their betrothed on their wedding day as a sign of bonding the souls together.

You didn't know if that tradition still held, but you’ll find out eventually.

You wonder what a bite feels like. Will it hurt? Are you going to feel weakness from it? The thought almost excites you. Heeseung biting you would symbolize you as his.

You want to ask him, but you fear it will be awkward.

Still, you feel like you have to know. To at least prepare yourself beforehand.

You and Heeseung are in the music room, and he's singing to you.

Suddenly, he stops.

“What's wrong?” He asks.

“Are you going to bite me at any point? I read about tradition in the library and wanted to know if it still applies.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened for a second before returning to normal.

He coughed awkwardly before answering, “Yes, it's tradition. But we don't have to if you're not comfortable.”

“Can you bite me now?”

Heeseung freezes in his seat. You can hear how heavily he starts breathing.

He clears his throat, “Why?”

“Because,” you say, coming to sit next to him. “I wanna know what it feels like. And I trust you. But if you can't, it’s okay.”

“I can,” he stutters. “I just don't want to hurt you.”

“I trust you, Heeseung. I know you won't hurt me.”

Heeseuny nods, taking your hand into his. He leads you to his room, where you're entirely alone.

“Are you sure about this? It'll probably sting, but it shouldn't hurt that much.”

You nod, moving your hair away from your neck.

Heeseung moves his head down right in front of your neck.

You hear him breathing in and out.

“You smell good. Always have.”

He takes your hands in his. “I'm gonna do it.”

Then he bites down.

There's a searing pain that only lasts for a second before a calming feeling replaces it.

You can hear your blood flowing from your neck into Heeseung’s mouth.

Then it starts to feel good.

You feel as if you're in a trance.

The room starts to spin, and you feel Heeseung stop.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, coming back to your senses. “It felt nice.”

“Good.”

You lead Heeseung to his bed, sitting on the edge.

“Thank you, now I know what to expect.”

“It'll be different on our wedding day. You have probably already read about it. We must perform a ritual. If you're okay with that.”

“I know,” you answer.

“Heeseung, it feels like so much has changed in my life so quickly. But you're at the base of that, and I feel like everything is right. Like everything is going the way it should. It changed quickly from how it was my first day here, but I don't regret anything.”

You put your arm around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

You can feel his shiver.

“Is this you admitting you have feelings for me?”

The smug look on his face makes you want to slap it off him.

Maybe your past mean side is still alive a little bit.

“And if it was?”

Before he knows it, you're pulling Heeseung towards you and planting a fat kiss on his cheek.

His face turns bright red, hand brushing where your lips just were.

“You can't do that,” he whines. “I'm sensitive.”

“Well, I did.”

Heeseung lunges forward abruptly, planting his lips on yours.

When he pulls back, it's your turn to blush.

“Do it again, properly this time.” You say.

Heeseung leans forward, as do you.

When your lips meet, it tingles.

The kiss is soft and passionate.

It feels as if you’re on cloud nine.

You can smell Heeseung’s cologne as he pulls you closer.

You place your other arm around his neck, smiling into the kiss.

As you both pull away, breathing heavily, you place one last peck on his lips.

“That was amazing.” He says, pushing a strand of your hair back.

You hum in agreement.

“It’s late. We should both go to sleep.”

Heeseung agrees, and you wish each other good night.

Back in your room, you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You grab the closest pillow and shove it in your face, squealing and kicking your feet.

The next few days leading up to the wedding are spent with last-minute preparations.

The day of, your heart feels like it will beat out of your chest.

A custom, handmade dress crafted from the finest fabrics cascades down your body.

Your mother is in the room with you, your father outside, ready to walk you down the aisle.

Once you step out, everyone's eyes turn to you.

You see your family members on one side and Heeseung’s family and friends on the other.

You see his friends from other kingdoms, six nice boys you consider your friends now.

They're all smiling at you, and you smile back brightly.

You finally look at Heeseung, and his eyes are trained on you. They don't leave yours for a second.

You smile shyly, and his serious face dissipates.

You make it down the aisle, and your face goes to sit down.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Lee Heeseung and Y/L/N Y/N.

These two have been betrothed to one another since birth, and today we finally see them become one.

If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

“Good. Now we will hear the vows prepared by both parties. Heeseung, you shall go first.”

Heeseung clears his throat, “Y/N, from a young age, I felt our connection. Not just because of the prophecy but because of our hearts. I am honored to be your husband. To protect you, to serve you, to give my life to make you happy. I will never hurt you, betray you or disrespect you. I promise to love you and give you the life you deserve.”

You can feel tears prick your eyes as he finishes.

“Now, Y/N, it's your turn.”

“Heeseung, when I first came here, I resented you. I thought my life was being taken from me, but I was wrong. In the past two weeks, you have shown me nothing but love, caring, and what a wonderful life I will have here with you. I promise to give you all my love, respect, and care. I will never let you feel neglected or unimportant. You will always be my priority.”

“Now, for the bonding ritual.” The officiant holds a large blade, one that was handcrafted thousands of years ago by the first king.

He then holds up the ancient prophecy, where the Lee symbol appears prominent.

The mingling of blood is a sacred part of the Lee clan and tradition.

Heeseung puts his hands around your neck, and you anticipate the bite.

It feels just as it did the first time, a sting, then bliss.

When Heeseung retreats, you palm the blood dripping down your neck.

Heeseung slices his palm with the blade, and you bring your hands together to mix the blood.

Then, on the prophecy, you both mark it with your handprints, sealing your fate and bonding your souls together.

Heeseung takes a towel to clean your neck while you wrap his hand.

“You souls are now bonded and forever one. To the new generation of Lee!” The officiant concludes.

Standing up, everyone cheers.

Heeseung pulls your face towards his, kissing you slowly.

The cheers become louder as you part.

Everyone comes up to congratulate you.

You hug your parents tightly while Heeseung hugs his.

Your friends come up, hugging you individually, and then run to Heeseung and give him multiple pats on the back.

The ceremony afterward is full of love and laughter. Your favorite music plays as you and Heeseung cut the cake.

It's delicious red velvet with cream cheese frosting.

You can't help but smother Heeseung’s cheek in frosting as he looks at you offended.

You scream as he does it back to both your cheeks.

Once cleaned up, you head outside to the palace balcony, where the kingdom is gathered.

They cheer as you both walk out, chanting your names.

You give them all your biggest smile and wave eagerly.

You hear someone calling you, and as you look down, you spot Ara.

You wave at her diligently before making your way down.

She runs to you as the kingdom coos.

You pick her up and swing her around, settling her in your arms.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N,” she says.

“Thank you, Ara.”

She looks to Heeseung. “Take good care of her, please.”

You both laugh, “I will, Ara.” Heeseung replies.

You're being handed gifts left and right by the people who you thank diligently.

The rest of your evening is spent with your friends, family, and the kingdom.

When everyone has left, it's just you and Heeseung.

“You're my wife…pinch me.”

So you do, pinching his butt.

He yelps before sighing, “I didn't mean it literally.”

Before you can react, he's attacking you with tickles, pokes, and prodding.

You try not to scream as it's late but can't help the squeals that leave your mouth.

You both arrive at your door and as Heeseung goes to kiss you goodnight, you stop him.

“Why don't you get some pajamas and spend the night with me?”

You've never seen Heeseung move so quickly.

He's back within record time, and you spend the rest of the night together.

Waking up next to Heeseung is blissful.

You watch his handsome face as he sleeps. This man is your husband.

You stroke his face gently, stirring him awake.

“Good morning,” his raspy voice says.

“Morning, husband.”

He smiles, “Say it again.”

“Good morning, husband.”

He wraps his arms around you, “I'll never get tired of hearing that.”

“Good, 'cause I’ll never stop saying it.”

“You're mine, and I’m yours. I couldn't ask for anything more.” Heeseung pecks your lips once, twice, thrice.

You take his hand in yours, “Now we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I can't wait. Let the fun begin.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and that’s it! this is the longest thing i’ve ever written (so far) so here’s to more in the future!

taglist: @chiiiiiiiiis @seungjiseyo @yohanabanana @yenqa @woongkification @lovekyr @autumn-lv @urszn

perm taglist: @escapetheash @vatterie

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fuckyeahisawthat · 2 months

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There are so many places in the Villeneuve Dune adaptations where he just...takes all the narrative pieces that Frank Herbert laid out and subtly rearranges them into something that tells the story better--that creates dramatic tension where you need it, communicates the themes and message of the book more clearly, or corrects something in the text that contradicts or undermines what Herbert said he was trying to say.

The fedaykin are probably my favorite example of this. I just re-read a little part of the book and got smacked in the face with how different they are.

(under the cut for book spoilers and length)

The fedaykin in the book are Paul's personal followers, sort of his personal guard. They show up after his legend has already started growing (the word doesn't appear in the book until chapter 40) and they are people who have specifically dedicated themselves to fighting for him, and right from the moment they're introduced there is a kind of implied fanaticism to their militancy that's a bit uncomfortable to read. They're the most ardent believers in Paul's messianic status and willing to die for him. (They are also, as far as you can tell from the text, all men.)

In the book, as far as I can remember (I could be forgetting some small detail but I don't think so) there is no mention of armed resistance to colonialism on Arrakis before Paul shows up. As far as we know, he created it. ETA: Okay I actually went back and checked on this and while we hear about the Fremen being "a thorn in the side" of the Harkonnens and we know that they are good fighters, we don't see anything other than possibly one bit of industrial sabotage. The book is very clear that the organized military force we see in the second half was armed and trained by Paul. This is exacerbated by the two-year time jump in the book, which means we never see how Paul goes from being a newly deposed ex-colonial overlord running for his life to someone who has his own private militia of people ready to give their lives for him.

The movie completely flips all these dynamics on their head in ways that add up to a radical change in meaning.

The fedaykin in the movie are an already-existing guerrilla resistance movement on Arrakis that formed long before Paul showed up. Literally the first thing we learn about the Fremen, less that two minutes into the first movie, is that they are fighting back against the colonization and exploitation of their home and have been for decades.

The movie fedaykin also start out being the most skeptical of the prophecy about Paul, which is a great choice from both a political and a character standpoint. Of course they're skeptical. If you're part of a small guerrilla force repeatedly going up against a much bigger and stronger imperial army...you have to believe in your own agency. You have to believe that it is possible to win, and that this tiny little chip in the armor of a giant terrifying military machine that you are making right now will make a difference in the end. These are the people who are directly on the front lines of resisting oppression. They are doing it with their own sweat, blood and ingenuity, and they are not about to wait around for some messiah who may never come.

From a character standpoint, this is really the best possible environment you could put Paul Atreides in if you want to keep him humble. He doesn't get any automatic respect handed to him due to title or birthright or religious belief. He has to prove himself--not as any kind of savior but as a good fighter and a reliable member of a collective political project. And he does. This is an environment that really draws out his best qualities. He's a skilled fighter; he's brave (sometimes recklessly so); he's intensely loyal to and protective of people he cares about. He is not too proud to learn from others and work hard in an egalitarian environment where he gets no special treatment or extra glory. The longer he spends with the fedaykin the more his allegiance shifts from Atreides to Fremen, and the more skeptical he himself becomes about the prophecy. This sets up the conflict with Jessica, which comes to a head before she leaves for the south. And his political sincerity--that he genuinely comes to believe that these people deserve liberation from all colonial forces and his only role should be to help where he can--is what makes the tragedy work. Because in the end we know he will betray all these values and become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be.

There's another layer of meaning to all this that I don't know if the filmmakers were even aware of. ETA: rescinding my doubt cause based on some of Villeneuve's other projects I'm pretty sure he could work it out. Given the time period (1960s) and Herbert's propensity for using Arabic or Arabic-inspired words for aspects of Fremen culture, it seems very likely that the made-up word fedaykin was taken from fedayeen, a real Arabic word that was frequently used untranslated in American news media at the time, usually to refer to Palestinian armed resistance groups.

Fedayeen is usually translated into English as fighter, guerrilla, militant or something similar. The translation of fedaykin that Herbert provides in Dune is "death commando"...which is a whole bucket of yikes in my opinion, but it's not entirely absurd if we're assuming that this fake word and the real word fedayeen function in the same way. A more literal translation of fedayeen is "self-sacrificer," as in willing, intentional self-sacrifice for a political cause, up to and including sacrificing your life.

If you apply this logic to Dune, it means that Villeneuve has actually shifted the meaning of this word in-universe, from fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for Paul to fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. And the fedaykin are no longer a group created for Paul but a group that Paul counts himself as part of, one member among equals. Which is just WILDLY different from what's in the book. And so much better in my opinion.

#dune #dune part two #adaptation #paul atreides #fedaykin

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toyourheartandback · 2 months

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WAITING LINE

book!percy jackson x reader

in which you have been waiting to be percy’s first choice since the first time you met him

word count: 1.45k

warnings: bad english and crearly ooc percy (because he’s such a complex character and i strongly believe his relationship with annabeth is fundamental for his development)

a/n: currently reading son and feeling very inspired to write a second part with older percy, but first i gotta see if at least one person gets interested in this one

you met percy jackson for the first time at 12 years old. the two of you stumbled across each other on the lakeshore by the limit of the forest, some days after him returning the lighting bolt and luke’s betrayal. camp halfblood was a mess, trying to recover from the possibility of a war between gods and the realization of being backstabbed by their favorite counselor, and that’s why both of you decided to search peace far from all of that.

when you approached the lake, percy was sitting into the water with damp clothes looking at the sun in front of him. it was time for apollo to rest from his work, but there were still enough light to let you see the tears on the boy’s cheeks once you got close to him. “can i stay here?” he moved his head in your direction at the question while attempting to get rid of the tears with his hand. “yeah, sure.”

the sand and the water were still warm when your bare feet touched it as you reached the close side of the son of poseidon and sat there. sea green eyes full of curiosity followed all of your movements. “i’m percy, what’s your name?” you giggled a little too loud at his first statement that he looked at you confused.

“do you really think i don’t know who you are?” of course you knew him. how could you not? everyone at camp talked about the little kid who killed a minotaur, returned the master bolt and saved olympus all in one week. he was a hero and a cute one as well. “i’m y/n between.”

percy blushed at your words and you couldn’t help but feel yourself do the same at the sight. “nice to meet you, y/n” he had a bright welcoming smile on his face and the two of started talking for hours after that moment. sharing insecurities, passions, feelings and moments. everything that came to your minds. the both of you felt finally seen after some tremendous weeks.

that time was one of many through the years. during the school year you would send letters to each other and while at camp you would meet up when you could make time for that, between his quests and the war. it was always at that same spot on the lakeshore after dinner. just the two of you, alone.

your friendship was like a whisper, a quiet secret. you weren’t that close outside of your private encounters full of emotions and doubts about your lives. percy had his friends, his adventures and a prophecy to fulfill. he didn’t have the time for you.

nonetheless you didn’t care if you were able to see each other just once a week because it was enough. until the letters stopped arriving in your mailbox and percy started ignoring you at camp. the first time was because of rachel and then when he started dating annabeth. you were very happy for him, but you were also crying in your cabin at night missing the guy who knew you the best.

at some point you had to move on with your life. percy and annabeth were perfect for each other. he didn’t need your silly conversations anymore when he could just talk to his nice little girlfriend. so you moved on and it was like you and him have never been anything for one another. simply two people whose lives never crossed.

that was all before he decided to startle your life again. “since when do you still pray?” his unexpected voice made a shiver go through your spine. you were in the waiting line for burning your offerings to the gods at dinner and percy was just right behind you, probably also waiting for his turn like you were. “i could tell you the same thing” you said looking at him smirking at your words.

he seemed more mature since the last time you two had an interaction together. probably it was achille’s curse or the weight of the war on his shoulders, but to you it was deeper than that. he wasn’t the little kid crying on the lakeshore that you met years prior anymore. he almost resembled a god and you would have believed he was if you didn’t know better.

“i don’t” percy answered you with a shrug of his shoulders and deep green eyes looking at yours. “usual spot tonight?” you were at loss of words but a million thought in your head, so you just nodded. he showed you the biggest and most radiant smile ever and left you baffled in front of the burning fire.

perhaps it was stupid agreeing. after months trying to forget him, you just didn’t need the wound to be open again. but you still went to that same old spot that night right after dinner and percy was already there, waiting for you. all of your doubts were swept away when he looked at you.

gods, you missed him.

“i’m glad you came” he genuinely seemed happy to see you, almost relieved. his hands were fidgeting with riptide as a pen and his puppy eyes were focused on yours. your heart was doing cartwheels and backflips at the mere sight of percy jackson. you pulled yourself together by focusing your gaze behind the boy and reminding yourself of your well thought argument that you prepped before approaching him. “percy, why are we here?”

“I think we should talk” you sighed at his answer, fixing your camp t-shirt nervously while still facing the shining water instead of his deep stare of the same color. “talk about what?” you just wanted the boy to acknowledge how unfair he had been with you, rather than pushing you away. you wanted closure.

he placed riptide in his jeans pocket and got closer to you, trying to get in your line of sight. “i missed you” your cheeks were flushing an unintentional bright red at his words that only got worse once the son of poseidon grabbed your hands. “i’m lost without your support” percy’s touch on your skin was as tender as his voice in your ears.

“you have other people in your life to rely on” your bitterness was shown as you scoffed. the boy squeezed your hands and gave you a sweet smile, getting so close that you could breathe the comforting smell of salt water. “annabeth and i broke up” you pushed him away as hard as your heart sank at his words.

“i’m just your rebound” you felt so stupid for misplacing his actions towards you. percy was there only because he felt alone and you were his last and most desperate choice. tears started rolling down your cheeks as you were overwhelmed with emotions. “no, y/n, no” he tried to come closer but you shoved him off. “i couldn’t bear being near you before” his whole being was showing guilt and worry, but you could only see pity for you.

“i need to be alone” you were already backing away from him, rubbing your face to stop crying and trying to compose yourself. percy was frenetically apologizing as he was attempting to grab your arms to make you stay with him. “please, i’m sorry, just listen to me” he looked like a rumbling mess, but you couldn’t have this conversation with him that day. you thought you were ready to confront him and you were wrong.

you had gotten the explanation of his behavior that you so ardently needed, therefore you could leave and you did. you just walked away from him and went straight to your cabin, shutting the door behind. you thanked the gods that your siblings were at the campfire as you started violently sobbing.

he was being unfair to you. you were just starting to get over him and then he barged into your peacefulness with his cocky handsome smile and pretty dark hair which you weren’t able to ignore. the son of poseidon knew how whipped you were of him and that you would have always waited for him to affirm your place in his life, but you were tired of being left on the sidelines for when he needed a shoulder to cry on. you didn’t need to be made second to annabeth or rachel or anyone else, not a goddamn prophecy either. you were going to be first on someone else’s line if you couldn’t be on percy’s.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus

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