#and wade through the river styx

[ghostaholics]

I don’t know if u will get me but I think ghosts *love* is hate?

trust, i get you

enemies-to-lovers

sabotaged missions

safehouse confession

'while you were bleeding out i gave you a direct blood transfusion from my own vein when MEDEVAC was too far so i could give you a chance at surviving and led resuscitation efforts not once but twice when they couldn't find a pulse because you kept dying on me and i wasn't gonna let that damn well happen; but when you wake up from being unconscious for days in the icu, my first words to you after watching you fight for your life are going to be a stupid fuckin' joke'

#sorry for anyone who has a different opinion #but he would rather rip the universe in half #and bargain with every god in existence even though he doesn't believe in religion #would look for you in every single circle of hell if you went missing #and wade through the river styx #bones and souls and all to get you back #than admit that he's in love #💌 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘹: 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[bueris]

homebrew necromany

[in the afterlife, it is a barren grassland with only a few rocks poking above the grass, there is a mountain range in the far distance but they do not seem as if they wish to be reached]

bue: (kicking a rock) boo, this is boring I thought there'd be more fire and brimstone. what a cop out

[there is no reply, no voice answer back and even the wind doesn't blow]

bue: (sigh) well, there's no point in staying in one place... hmm, those mountains are pretty, might as well check them out. (begins to walk towards them)

[the landscape changes rapidly, the grassland becomes a valley, flat ground shifts into steep slops that are populated with thistle and tough grass that pricks at bue's ankles]

bue: (flailing) woa- whoa! almost fell there... (looks down) oh? what's this?

[bue crouches down to pick up a tattered poster, she takes the torn edges between her fingers and is immediately drawn to the face of her twin printed next to her own]

bue: (muttering) wanted... dead or alive... bounty of 1.3 million galactic credits.... what?

[bue flips the paper around several times, trying to find anything else. faintly a shimmer of text of another universe inscribed on the back glints in the overcast light. it is nothing like bue had ever seen before, but they could understand it nonetheless]

bue: (confused) "I'm sorry, I tried, I swear. I tried to stop us I really did. - R"... who's R?

bue: (worried) what does it mean..?

[with a concerned face, bue folds the tattered poster into quarters and tucks it into their pocket. hesitant, she continues into the basin of the valley]

bue: (quietly) it's like the lake district... I suppose dying isn't that bad if these are the views you get... still those mountains...

[the snow caps of the mountains are distantly visible from over the other side of the valley, the distance has not changed and it is still far]

bue: (downcast, eyes facing down at her feet as she walks through the brush) I hope girlfriend fc is okay, we were in quite the predicament from what I last gathered... oh @riririnnnn, @hooudie212, @someprettyname I miss you already, it's so scary to be so far from you...

[bue finally reaches the stream that bisects the bottom of the valley, it's weird to think such a little stream once cut through the valley's rock, but bue supposes time can change anything]

bue: uh, do I just wade? what if it's like the Styx or something... I don't wanna be caught lacking, what would the people on instagram reels say? (shivers)

bue: I don't think I have a choice...

[with a squeak, bue wades into the stream. its gentle current laps at her ankles and seeps through her cleats and she shivers at the feeling]

bue: (looking down) huh?

[the pebbles at the bottom of the stream start to transform, ordinary little rocks expanding in ways that violate reality to become half recognisable mementos]

bue: oh....

[a journal is flicked open by the current and it washes away the writing on every page, a yellow rose, a phone, a futuristic looking gun, and odd shapes bue could tell represented something all warped themselves into the stream bed, pinned down by rocks no matter how easily they could be swept off by the current]

???: (kindly) so you chose to move forward? I'm glad.

bue: (incredibly shocked) JINGO RAICHI???

[raichi is dressed in peculiar ways, draped in cloth that bent reality itself with an uncharacteristically calm smile on his face]

raichi: yes, I suppose you know me by that

bue: what are you doing here?

raichi: helping you, obviously?

bue: ..."helping"?

raichi: you asked for it, no?

[bue stares at him in disbelief, what in the world is happening??]

raichi: the river, you stepped in it.

bue: there was no other way across?

raichi: you wanted to find a way forward and that is enough for me.

bue: (worried) 'kay...

raichi: have a seat (snaps his fingers)

[a rock pops into existence behind bue, pressing on the back of her knees in such a way it makes her sit down, across from her raichi takes a seat on a rock of his own]

raichi: to move forward you need to let go of what is old, you see those things in the river, yes?

bue: ...mhm...

raichi: you remember what they mean, right? so tell me

bue: well that journal was from the worst time ever, it was a very dark time-

raichi: (hums and nods)

bue: that rose, I hurt someone... the phone was so much and... I don't know what the gun means, sorry...

raichi: baby steps. you need to let them wash away

bue: what?

raichi: wash them away, let go

bue: I'm not holding them?

raichi: spiritually, you dumbass!

[bue flinches at the sudden yelling, but that was much more raichi-like. he pinches his nose in frustration but with a harsh sigh he seems to calm down]

bue: (hesitantly) well, um, I grew from the journal I...

raichi: go on

bue: well, I'm different now, I used to be so miserable... not just my feelings, I was a total downer and I only saw the worst in everything... sometimes I think I still do...

raichi: but do you want to?

bue: no! of course not!

raichi: then put your faith in the best, it's as easy as you make it

[bue sits in silence for a moment, thinking about it. it hits her eventually, it might be hard at some points but being more positive was as easy as catching bad thoughts and replacing them, she really could just do that]

[the journal flips to the last page and disintegrates in the water, carried away by the current, bue looks at raichi with surprise]

raichi: easy, right? now the rose.

bue: I hurt someone, I'm sorry for it

raichi: okay and?

bue: huh?

raichi: yeah you hurt someone but your inaction keeps you from moving on

bue: oh... I can't... really talk to her anymore. I know I was wrong and I don't ever want to do that again but I don't know what to do

raichi: I'm not going to absolve you of guilt. but if you can't do anything except change, why are you still letting it take up that much space?

[bue's breath hitches, she looks at the rose and thinks of all the good that came from it, promises to be better, wishes "her" the best and watches as the flower is delicately torn apart and carried off by the current]

raichi: the phone?

bue: same as the journal, really

[the phone disintergrates]

bue: what about the rest?

raichi: do you have the determination to keep going? to live despite it all? to live with love in the centre of your heart?

[they fall into silence as bue tries to unravel whatever riddle raichi wove]

bue: yes?

raichi: do you really?

bue: (brows furrowed) yes.

[every amorphous rock, stone and pebble drifts away and leaves only the gun behind]

bue: (pointing) what about that?

raichi: remember how you were twins with @riririnnnn in a past life? that is the link between that life and this one. you almost destroyed the universe together, can you come to terms with this?

bue: yes

raichi: you'll do your best to control yourself and become the best you can be?

bue: yes

raichi: (nodding at other side of stream) then cross

[cautiously, bue walks over to the far bank, only stopping to look back at raichi only to find he was no longer there and neither were the rocks they sat on. bue makes a note to get raichi something nice when she gets back]

bue: (happily) oh!

[bue crouches again to pick up girlfriend fc jersey, instinctively she pulls it on]

[the memory of her first time at gf fc replays in her head as the shirt goes over her face. a sunlit room and a sense of belonging were all the remained when the shirt collar settled against her collarbone]

[with determination, bue began to walk up the steep side of the valley, set on making it to the mountains]

bue: (exhaustedly) phew, what a climb!

[bue looks back on their climb, she hadn't felt like she'd travelled far but when she peered down the stream seemed a million miles behind her]

bue: (to herself) to the top...

[bue continue to climb the slope, dragging herself all the way to the top where she could see the mountains that had gotten closer. so close in fact that bue could reach out and touch them]

bue: (touching the mountain) whoa... cool...

[snow fell onto her wrist as she brushed the frost covered grass close to where uncovered rock met the snow cap]

bue: (earnestly) I'm not done yet, I have a lot to live for and I will continue to live in the best way I can. I will be ambitious and loving, I promise.

[bue grips the tuft of snow covered grass and shakes it firmly.]

[her vision goes pitch black and the cold feeling of snow creeps up her arm and stretches all over her body and she shivers. it felt cramped like she's been shoved in a box and there was something stuck to her forehead uncomfortably]

bue: cold!!

[struggling, bue reaches to peel off the sticky thing on her forehead but in the cold box there is no light to see what it was. blindly she gropes around, pushing in every side until one side gives out. light blinds her as she tumbles out of the freezer and on to the girlfriend fc headquarters kitchen]

bue: (happily) I LIVE!!!!

[she skitters out of the room to assess the situation and hopefully find her family]

#yes i made raichi my personal saviour #bite me #girlfriend fc #gf fc #girlfriend cult

[blakeriot]

River Styx

I beseeched my love to hold tightly my cold bones

So I wouldn’t have to walk these dark trails alone.

I desperately called to her, for I feared the unknown.

But I was merely left with fading remnants of her cologne.

The deer with sharp fangs and claws of great size

Stood on hind legs and pierced me with glowing eyes.

The forest overflowed with death. It planned my demise

But the witches they warned me to silence my cries.

Don’t look through the branches, they’ll know you see.

Carry on, unperturbed, the devils may let you go free.

But even with a stolid gaze, there was no guarantee

That I would leave these woods with me, and only me.

I once believed monsters lived in closets and under beds.

In truth, they exist everywhere. They dwell in our heads.

They feed on unspoken fears and taste the tears we shed.

I try to dream, and I’m gifted with night terrors instead.

I awoke on my back as his knife cut through my chest.

Grotesque faces in the darkness refuse to let me rest.

Terrified, I reach out to find empty cold pillows I caressed.

Hoping for warmth, I find your ghost at very best.

Your memories and last drop of cologne long ago faded.

You ran from the dark River Styx in which I waded.

My angels were easy to love, it was my demons you hated.

That’s why there’s only one throne in this Hell I created.

#poems and poetry #spilled ink #spilled words #original poem #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #quotes #spilled emotions

[mumms-the-word]

Awakening

Day #2 for the BG3 February Fic challenge. I've decided that I'll mostly follow the SFW list, but occasionally sub in some NSFW prompts. Also decided that, instead of sticking to one Tav/Durge, I'm going to pick whichever one I feel is best for the prompt. All Tavs/Durges are my OCs, though.

But anyway. Without further ado...

---

2. Waking up on the Ravaged Beach

---

She struggled through a cloud of red, murky fog, thick and humid on her skin. This was something more than fog. Every breath held the taste of iron, the scent of smoke and brimstone, as if she were wading through the Styx itself. Her head throbbed. Her fingers twitched. Her lungs burned as if she were both suffocating and overwhelmed by desire to breathe in the foul air around her, until suddenly—

Her eyes snapped open as she sucked in a gasp, staring upward not as the burning skies of Avernus, but the clear blue sky of…somewhere. It took her a second to process the sudden blue expanse above her, and it was only after a few seconds that she felt the sand beneath her fingers or registered the sound of moving water and distant birds. 

She stared up at the sky for a long moment, as if in shock. The dreams of red, cloying mist faded uncomfortably to the back of her mind, prickling just under the surface of her thoughts. Where had that image even come from? Was it a memory? A dream?

She tried not to dwell on it. She breathed in through her nose, taking in the clean scent of fresh air, and blew a steady breath out through her lips.

She was…alive. And out of the hells. And…

And that was essentially all she knew.

She stood carefully and brushed the sand from her arms, checking for any injuries. The last thing she remembered was being tossed about on the nautiloid as it crashed, careening toward the surface, first in the hells and then somewhere else. She looked up at the massive structure of the destroyed nautiloid. She wasn’t buried in its debris, which meant she must have been flung outside of it. Perhaps…the moment something had hit her? She distantly remembered a sharp pain as something struck her head. She reached up absently to check for a head wound, but found none. There was hardly a scratch on her.

Strange. By all accounts, she should be dead. Something or someone had saved her. But…what? Who? How?

She had no answers. About that, or anything else for that matter. The entirety of her memories spanned from this current moment back to the moment she woke up on the nautiloid. She remembered fighting, and briefly teaming up with a Githyanki soldier, a half-elf cleric, and a friendly intellect devourer. But before that?

Nothing. Her past stretched out before her like a yawning void, black and twisting and terrifyingly unknown. The more she tried to recall, the more her head ached. It was useless. 

Better to focus on what she had with her, in the present. She did a quick inventory of herself. Her clothes were relatively un-singed, which was nice. The blood stains that covered her dark robes were a little disconcerting, especially when she remembered she woke up with them already stained on the nautiloid, but there was nothing she could do about that right now. Her boots were in good shape—muddy, bloody, but made of well-worn, supple leather. Her quarterstaff was of simple make, but functional. Was it even hers? Had she picked it up on the nautiloid or had she already had it before she was taken? She couldn’t remember.

She reached up to touch the only other thing she knew she had with her, only for her fingers to brush the fabric of her robe rather than skin-warmed metal. Dread settled into the pit of her stomach. It was gone.

Frantically she turned around, eyes combing the sands of the beach and all the wreckage around here. Had it fallen off? Was it lost in the river? She lifted bits of debris and parted tall grasses, her dread slowly turning into a panic. It was the only thing she had that hinted at her past. The only clue that could tell her anything about her missing memories. She couldn’t lose it now.

Just as she was ready to give up in despair, a dull glint caught her eye, like sunlight glancing off metal. She turned quickly, following the glint to a spot on the sand, not far from where she had woken up. There, half-buried in the sand, was small round pendant and chain.

She snatched it up, relieved, brushing it off and shaking it so that the last stubborn grains of sand would come loose from the necklace. The silver metal was slightly tarnished, the chain even more so, but it had looked like that on the nautiloid as well. It didn’t look like it had been damaged during the fighting or the crash, at least to her untrained eyes.

She turned the pendant over in her hand. It was round, about the size of a gold piece, but silver and light. One side of the disk was an intricate carving, like a filigree knot that probably held some sort of significance she couldn’t remember. But the other side…

She flipped the pendant over. There, on the other side, were the letters N and V. Initials, she thought. Maybe they were her own initials. N.V.

She didn’t know. When she cast her mind back, she couldn’t even remember if she had been wearing the pendant when she’d jumped out of the pod on the nautiloid, or if it had just been clenched in her hand, or if it had been in the pod and she’d grabbed it later. She knew she hadn’t gotten it from anywhere else on the ship. It had been with her from the start. But was it her pendant, or someone else’s?

She wished she knew. She knew nothing about herself, or her past. Not even her own name. This pendant was all she had to go by.

N.V. It would have to do. She was N.V. now. NV. 

She took a deep breath and slipped the chain over her head, tucking the pendant beneath her robes where it would hopefully be safe. She needed answers, but she wouldn’t find them here. Looking ahead down the rest of the beach, she could see other bodies, more debris, and in the distance, a kind of stone structure with a door. Was she truly the only survivor of the crash?

As she gazed out over the beach, one of the bodies caught her eye. Chainmail and leather, an odd black disk symbol at the front, black hair…

Shadowheart! 

The name burst into NV’s mind like a sudden revelation. She’d all but forgotten the half-elf cleric who’d been trapped in that pod. She hurried over with her heart in her throat, wondering if the girl was dead. But as she neared Shadowheart’s body, she realized that it was as unmarked as her own. Hardly a scratch in sight.

NV crouched down and took the cleric’s shoulders in her hands, giving her a little shake. “Hello? Shadowheart?”

Shadowheart stirred with a groan, and then a small gasp. “You—you’re alive. I’m alive. How is this possible…?”

NV fought to keep the disappointment off her face. “I…was hoping you might know…”

Shadowheart shook her head, getting to her feet. “No. I remember the ship. I remember falling…then nothing.”

NV was quiet. Was Shadowheart missing memories, just like her? Was this something to do with the…what had that githyanki called them…the tadpoles in their heads?

Shadowheart seemed unconcerned by NV’s silence. “We should get moving,” she said. “First things first, we need supplies, shelter, and most of all, a healer. We might have escaped, but we still have these little monsters in our heads.”

NV blinked. “We? You mean…you want to stay together?” She tried not to appear too eager at the prospect, but Shadowheart seemed…well, nice. And sensible. She’d already come up with a decent plan in less time than it had taken NV to get her bearings. 

Shadowheart gave a little shrug. “We need each other, and we both know what’s at stake.” Her lips hinted at a smile, but maybe NV was imagining it. “I can’t think of better company.”

NV wasn’t sure about that at all. Already she could sense something dark within her, something that wanted to rip and tear and shred. Something that was already wishing she had found Shadowheart dead, and not just dead, but deliciously dead, her body broken by the fall, her neck twisted at an angle, that pretty black hair made darker by the pool of blood that would have spread beneath her poor, shattered body.

NV blinked and the image was gone. Shadowheart stood before her, alive and not broken, eyeing her with a carefully blank look. NV rubbed at her arm and nodded.

“Right,” she said. “In that case…I suppose we should get moving.” She started to turn away.

“Wait a moment.” Shadowheart held up a hand. “I never caught your name.”

NV paused for a moment, hesitating. What could she say? She didn’t even know her own name. Just two initials. N.V. NV. Invi.

“You can call me Invi.”

Saying it out loud for the first time felt odd, but right at the same time. She didn’t know any other names to go by, an Invi just…fit. It was who she was, now. For better or worse.

If the name seemed strange to her, Shadowheart didn’t let it show on her face. She simply nodded and gestured down the beach. 

“Lead the way, Invi.”

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3ficfeb #my fic #oc #invi #durge #shadowheart #no edits we die like men #poor invi tho like she's just out here confused about everything #including herself

[drcrushers]

prompt: they go swimming in the styx

out of all the rivers that loop through the underworld, the styx is her favorite. it’s the longest, and there are entire sections of it untouched - the souls only go so far downriver and beyond that, the water flows clear and true. it takes a bit of a walk from the house but it’s worth it, persephone finds. over the course of several years she’s managed to wear a decent path so it’s easier to follow. it’s not quite a secret of hers; hades knows of it, and sometimes he’ll join her but it’s rare more often than not (she’s learned her man is not exactly a swimmer, or one who likes to take breaks).

at the moment he’s bemoaning because she’s dragging him away from work upon threat of a number of things, least of all bodily harm.

"i didn't marry you for you to keep yourself slavin' away all day." she says over her shoulder as he trails along behind, probably still crunching those numbers in his head. numbers for a town he says he's gonna build to house the shades, to put them to work, to give them something to do other than wander around. give them purpose again. persephone ain't against it, but she reckons if he don't start taking more breaks then that gray that's started to show at his temples and in his stubble is gonna spread a whole lot faster.

"it won't be forever. just - for now. i want to give you the best, wife." he murmurs lowly and persephone shoots him another look that she knows he doesn't catch.

"all i want is you, darlin'. your company. that's the best." she's already kicking off her boots, sending them sailing into the dark grasses along the bank as she hops in her struggle to get the other off. she's breezily dressed today, so removing her clothes is a matter of unclipping the pomegranate inlay at her shoulder before the fabric pools at her feet and she can step out of it. ever one for comfort, she wears nothing else beneath.

the low rumble of noise that sounds like thunder behind her is a sure sign she has finally caught her husband's attention proper. all bemoaning is gone and when she turns he's standing there like a statue except those eyes, which are suddenly much darker and roam over her like a mortal man would any olympian feast. she grins, full of wild abandon, before she steps into the cool waters and wades into the river. the styx ain't too deep near the edges, but as she wades further into the wide river the ground slopes and she's forced to start treading water. by the time she turns again, hades is finally loosening his tie and she knows she's won.

he's meticulous in the way he undresses, folding things neatly whereas her garments lay in an unkempt pile. persephone's curls have already started to slump from the dampness by the time he even steps a toe into the river. they're safe from any prying eyes here, no shades to interrupt so there's no need to worry about their lack of clothing in order to enjoy the water across their skin. she watches in silent triumph when she sees him relax a fraction of an inch when the water hits his back, even more so when he finally reaches where she's swam out to. large hands envelop her from beneath the water and she smiles a bit too broadly.

"better?" she cocks a brow, sliding her arms around his neck as he holds her and treads water and suddenly the rest of the world melts away. she rakes a wet hand through his hair, thumb brushing against the gray at his temples fondly - it suits him, even if she hates seeing the signs of age on him every winter when she returns. another patch of gray, another set of lines around his eyes or mouth. it's hard, the suddenness of it - and it becomes more every year. she's luck to have a few more freckles or a few more light streaks in her hair from the sun - time wears on him far faster.

"gettin' there." he says lowly, as if it might kill him to relent to her being right, that this would serve as a de-stressing aid and more time spent with her. it's easier for him to forget work when they can spend time together outside of the house and away from his office.

her legs wrap around his waist and he easily holds her weightless frame against him. persephone brushes her nose against his.

"and now?"

hades hums and it nearly vibrates every inch of her body for how closely they're pressed to each other, how tightly wrapped around him she is.

"you're a real distraction, you know."

"i'll take that as a compliment." she kisses the corner of his mouth and draws away before he can protest. "c'mon. bet i can reach the other side before you."

"and what's my prize if i win?"

"you're a smart man, darlin' - i'm sure you can figure it out."

#Anonymous #hadestown #prompts #hadestown prompt

[dreamlink3d]

no one knows why these walls block further exploration of the River Styx, but i wouldn’t dwell on it too much.  nor would i dwell in the river itself though, who knows how the souls you wade through are gonna react 😰

#rpgmaker #rpg maker #indie games #game dev #indie dev #rpg maker horror #indie horror #lofi #pixel art #game development #indie development #dreamlink 3d #river styx

[a-bunch-of-startled-cats]

hyperempathy in a politically tumuluous time is so fucking exhausting. "a million is a statistic" just doesnt apply to me at all. all the misery, fear, anxiety, grief, grief, GRIEF. ive never met any of these people and i wouldnt be able to pick them out of a crowd. but i can feel all that PAIN. ceaseless. unending. it's wading through the river styx itself, except it's a marshy bog, so you walk as slow as a snail and a sloth coated together in molasses as the souls of the dead wail around you, demanding that you, the living person comfort them and. you. just. CANT. barely for yourself, not even one or let alone all. it's so unbelievably heavy.

#hyperempathy

[rein-ette]

A cleaner version of my previous ask 😅

Engport, babysitting (catsitting, plantsitting etc) or fire, please?

Oooookayyyy, so. I wrote...something. It's for the engport + fire prompt, but if I'm going to be completely honest it doesn't have anything that much to do with fire, though I swear I did come up with it because I was thinking about things related to fire. And this first part of it doesn't have much engport either, though there's certainly a lot of Port. It does have a cute small animal in it, if that's any consolation.

I do also have another idea for plantsitting, so I might write that at some point, but I didn't want to keep you waiting much longer so -- please accept my apologies and this fic that I can almost guarantee is not what you thought it was going to be.

Warnings: abuse of Greek mythology and one scene from Spirited Away. Also skulls. One skull. And I guess, death? But not really.

The realm of the dead was turning out to be a lot less crowded than Gabriel had expected. Since many mortals died every day, he had imagined that the banks of the river Styx would be crowded with souls, screaming or writhing or whatever spirits did in agony as they waited for their passage to the Underworld. Instead, Gabriel stood alone on what appeared to be a train platform, in the middle of a river so still he could easily see his own reflection in it, and so wide it might as well have been an ocean. Gabriel only knew it was a river because he could sense that the water was drawn to him like a curious child to pretty flower, responding to his immortal parentage. Unconsciously, Gabriel flexed his fingers and wondered if the steaming waters of the Styx would listen to him if he tried to command it. Probably not, and seeing as he was going to be knocking on the door of her master momentarily, Gabriel did not want to be introduced as that nephew who had angered the Goddess of Hatred the moment he had woken up in the Underworld.

Fat lot of good his powers had done him anyways, since he had died at sea.

Hadn't mother always told him the Oceanids were bad shit?

Sighing, Gabriel looked around again at his surroundings. He realized with no small amount of surprise that, while he had just been alone, now several shadowy figures stood with him on the platform, the edges of their figures melting in and out in the thick fog that rose from the waters around them. He tried to examine their faces to see if any of them were the spirits of his crewmates, but whenever he thought he could make out a feature their faces dissolved back into the fog. Exasperated, Gabriel glanced back at the river, noting with another jolt of surprise that now he could see the dark outline of a set of train tracks beside the platform, about half a meter underwater and stretching away into the blackness. Not long after he registered that, he heard the rumble of a train in the distance.

I suppose that's my ride, he thought to himself. The old myths said that Chiron ferried people on a boat across the Styx, but apparently the Industrial Revolution had come to the Underworld as well. Snorting at the thought, he dug in his pocket for his gold coin, which any good sailor always kept in case the ever-capricious ocean claimed them — even semi-immortal sons of river goddesses. Clearly, this was a good habit, because being semi-immortal had not saved Gabriel from that torpedo, which had reduced his poor ship to a lump of floating scrap metal before Gabriel could call up enough power to fill a water bottle, and, oh, all those poor soldier boys who would now never get a chance to die in a gruesome war and fulfill their heroic fates —

Gabriel could not find his coin. Frowning, he searched the front pockets of his admiral's tunic as well, even though he knew he had not kept it there. When that yielded nothing, he moved on to his back pant pockets, then his boots. For the first time since he had drowned in the icy cold Atlantic (which, admittedly, was not that long ago), Gabriel felt a shiver of true panic run through him. How would he board the train without his coin? How would he enter the Underworld? How would he join the ranks of the heroes in the Elysian Fields, where he belonged? Had he perhaps lost his coin when he had rushed to the railings to survey the damage on deck and was promptly dropped into the roaring Atlantic when a stray bit of flak from the exploding engine room tore clean through his right leg?

Now that he thought about it, that seemed likely.

At least he’d gotten his leg back.

The train slid to a rippling stop into front of him. With a soft swoosh, the doors opened, and Gabriel found himself staring at a man who, despite his smart train conductors uniform, could not have been anyone but Chiron, given that his face was a gleaming skull and his eyes literally balls of hellfire. It seemed the god had tried to update his aesthetic for the 20th century as well.

Chiron proffered to him a small wooden box, in which Gabriel could see several gold coins. Desperately digging through his pockets one last time, he finally shook his head. "I’m sorry, I don’t have the fare, I —"

The doors slid closed in his face, and immediately the train began to pull away.

Muttering a few choice curses, Gabriel stumbled a step away from the edge of the platform and watched as the train picked up speed and swooped away into the darkness.

Somehow, he doubted it would be returning to this station.

In the ensueing silence, Gabriel weighed his options. He could sit on this platform and mope, possibly for eternity. He could jump in the river and hope that his aunt either saved him or tore his soul into shreds from the agony. He could try walking along the rails in the direction the train had left, also possibly for the rest of eternity, in the hopes of reaching the entrance to the Underworld eventually.

Gabriel took off his shoes and chose the last option, despite feeling that sulking for the rest of eternity held a certain amount of appeal. He was very good at sulking. Nevertheless, he waded into the water at the end of the platform and found immediately that Hatred was lukewarm, not freezing cold like he had imagined — a nasty, suffocating lukewarm which swirled thickly around his thighs with the collected resentment, broken promises, lurid thoughts and heavens knew what else of millions of miserable souls.

He had feared the water might send him immediately into convulsions of unbearable pain or suck his consciousness right out of him, but as he continued along the track nothing remarkable occured. Perhaps the Styx had sensed his godly parentage and was protecting its kin. Or perhaps Gabriel had collected so much resentment in his long life that the river didn't even recognize him as a foreign body. Whatever the case, Gabriel held his shoes gingerly in one hand and sloshed on.

Quickly, he lost all sense of time, distance, or direction. It felt like he had barely taken two steps before the platform he left was swallowed by the fog, and the tracks underneath his feet curved and meandered like a small stream itself, without rhyme or reason. Gabriel realized that even if the water had not immediately destroyed him, he could not walk forever, and when he finally collapsed from exhaustion he would either be eaten by whatever dwelled in this wretched river or drown over and over in its depths until it dissolved him like a piece of wet toilet paper.

Still, he could not turn back. There was no hope even if he managed to return to the platform, and while a lesser man might have cowered in fear on dry land anyways, Gabriel had spent most of his twenty one centuries of life fighting and wandering across the oceans anyways. Wading through an infernal river until even his immortal soul crumbled into the waves — it seemed somehow like a fitting end.

To distract himself from his happy thoughts, he began to sing. At times it was just a wordless tune, but when he felt inspiration hit he added lyrics. He sang of his birth on the sun-kissed banks of the Douro, the eldest son of its beautiful immortal gaurdian and a local Roman nobleman. He sang of his siblings, not all of whom had inherited his mother's immortality, and he sang in particular of the one brother who did and accompanied him through the aching, bittersweet years that followed. He sang of the lands he had travelled, some bursting with life and colour, others stunning in their harsh, barren beauty. He sang of his lovers, the princes and the ladies, the soldiers and the nymphs and the humble farmhands whom he had courted, bed, and occasionally wed — but never to last, for mortal lives were but a flicker in the endless night and even the immortal ones could not tether down his heart for long. The stars called him, the waves called him, and Gabriel always, always answered.

He suppposed now, though, he had finally found his last resting place.

This thought was immediately followed by a less melancholic one: I didn't know polecats could swim.

Gabriel stopped singing and instead stood and watched as the little furry animal approached, paws paddling furiously as it slipped through the water. It stopped when it neared him and splashed around for a bit, before lifting its snout and looking pointedly at Gabriel, its dark eyes gleaming and intelligent.

Gabriel hadn't known that polecats could give pointed looks, either.

He cupped his hands and extended them to the animal, which immediately scrambled on and promptly snuggled up in his palms, curling into a little content ball. Unable to hold back a smile, he stroked its slick, midnight fur with a thumb, marvelling at how soft and warm it was and how docile it seemed.

Well, he thought, at least I still sing well enough to seduce a polecat.

"You've seduced more than just a polecat, that's for sure," someone muttered.

-- part 2 is here --

#hws portugal #engport #hws england #i swear he's in it #i swear #if the last one was barely a drabble this one definitely isn't #i'll post the second half when i'm done and the whole thing on AO3 when i have a title #speaking of which please suggest titles if you have them #sorry again needcake this...has no fire #not in this part at least #it actually has a lot of water now that i think about it #why can't i follow instructions smh #anyways #fic

[marshmallowprotection]

Explain to me saeran's whole character

I don't think you understand that Tumblr does have a word limit to asks and if we're going to ask ME of all people, we all know that I'm the kind of person that doesn't know when to stop talking about my boy, Saeran. I have hundreds of posts about Saeran.

Here's a major masterpost on GE Saeran. That can teach you more about Suit Saeran and Ray during the end of Ray Route!

If you're more curious about Ray and Suit Saeran's personalities and hot takes, you can look at this post that dives into them as people.

Literally, just read anything in the Character Analysis tag to learn how they react and act and how I read into Saeran.

Or, how's about the entire RAE reaction series?

Saeran Choi, to try and summarise him, is a man that has been into Hell and waded his way out of the River Styx back to the surface. It was a hard journey and he's suffered for so long. He hid his pain and joy underneath anger and fear, and he ran away from everything he'd assumed was no good for him—

Until you came into his life and helped him to see that he could believe in himself. He picked up the pieces and helped himself, but you were the one that gave him a push to help himself. He can be a humble man about this and say you helped him, but he did so much on his own. You just held his hand so he could stand properly and see himself in a new light.

He knows what it feels like to be angry and afraid, but he wants to choose to be kind and forgiving, so that he may be able to see the world through new eyes and forgive himself for the things that he did to himself and others in the past. He is a man that is very layered, complex, and compassionate. He is a man that grows before your eyes and we're proud of him.

#masterpost #choi saeran #saeran choi #saeray #ge saeran #mod kait #anon #ask #mm #mysme #mysticmessenger #mystic messenger #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #saeran mm #saeran mysme #saeran mystic messenger

[biclarisselarue]

Annabeth wakes up crying. It’s been a month since she made Nico take her down to the Underworld. A month since she waded into the River Styx. 

Her knees come up to her chest, and she gradually forces herself to breathe, deep, calm, patient. An unbidden memory of Luke teaching her how to stop a panic attack floats into her consciousness, the gentle hand on his shoulder changing into something rougher as her mind reconstructs the image. It’s for Luke that Annabeth went through hell for the curse. To stop him, to save him. 

A small part of her mind whispers that it’s for Percy, too, but she can’t think about that. Not now. Not on the brink of a war that he won’t come back from, that he’s been doomed to be a piece of since before he was born. Compared to that, her little swim is nothing, and she knows without thinking that she’d do it again in a heartbeat if it increases the odds of them winning. Of Percy living. Of Luke coming back. Of everything being okay again. 

Though, she supposes, when has anything ever been okay? Annabeth lets out a quiet, bitter laugh at the thought of her dad realizing what kind of a danger his daughter is now. The Annabeth who’s only desire was to finally go on a quest seems so far away now, and her heart aches. That Annabeth wouldn’t have found a monster after coming up from the Underworld and allowed it to attempt tearing off her arm with only a suppressed flinch. It had been a good test of the curse, if a bit hasty, but the sheer energy thrumming through her veins hadn’t given her a moment to stop and reflect. 

Nico’s been giving her strange looks from across the pavilion whenever he deigns to show up. It would be fine, if Percy hadn’t caught on, and if she has to make up one more excuse for why she can’t practice with him while he gazes at her with that stupid mixture of concern and hurt, well. It’s close enough to his birthday that the camp is in full war zone mode, and Percy is a busy guy. Everyone wants to talk to him; just in case it’s the last time they can. 

It won’t be. Annabeth sees his smiling face through the water of the Styx every time she closes her eyes. It won’t be. 

#wow had a burst of inspiration #always wanted to write annabeth with the curse of achilles #if anyone else wants to write this feel free i do not have the time to write more oof #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy jackson #luke castellan #pjo #curse of achilles #text #fic #my ramblings

[bluepenguinstories]

Horses Unstable

I waited out in limbo already knowing that they would put me in hell. So I ran out of the line, into the depths of uncertainty where I had to wade through the hands which wished to place me back. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I belonged there, I’ve always known that I was meant for hell but I just couldn’t bear to share the space with another soul. Never one to follow the rules etched into me I could do little else but flee the binary.

So I gouged out my eyes and flung myself to the river Styx. Blood illuminated my travel down the river and the ferryman was most displeased. Other lost souls were stained by my light. Peace and corruption alike were infected. Never mind that I knew myself to be a hermit. Never mind the price I always refused to pay. It was apparent that I had become my own ferry. As great as I would sink to depravity it was that depravity that kept me afloat.

Time is a paintbrush with a murky mixture of the diseases carried throughout history. I use it as a canvas to bring me ashore. Never to be cleansed, I am neither washed nor drenched. With each grain of sand being a flake of skin I sacrificed my flesh to bring myself to a place of rest. One where the only judge is silence.

#poem #poetry #writing #something #afterlife #solitude

[adelaidedrubman]

graciously tagged by @faithchel to share a WIP (thank you dear). sharing a scene from jestiny's main story line (which believe it or not, does exit, albeit as scattered and disconnected scenes at present). tagging @ohfaiths @lilwritingraven @nightingore @stacispratt @strafethesesinners

content warnings for implied drug hallucination, death mentions, and slight horror imagery

She thought she understood. She was in the land of the dead. She was dead. And death was not the sudden void she'd counted on. (Wished for.) It was the Styx, and she was doomed to keep knocking against the other crossing souls that had cluttered her life as she tried to wade through its thick marshes, the cursed waters she'd stupidly stumbled into thinking they could ever be something so innocent as the Henbane River.

She was dead. She was a ghost. Trapped in the company of other ghosts. Or so she thought. Until the next shape materialized from the mist, once swirls of fog settled into the shape of flesh stretching across white bone to form features her weeping eyes and dizzy brain could recognize. Features of a man she knew was alive. Knew because she was here -- here where she couldn't tell dream from reality and still stayed. Here where she was because he wasn't. Here because of exactly how alive he was.

John even still looked alive, lacking the ghastly film of green seeping from the worn flesh of the other visitors. He was coated only with the light sheen of his own sweat, no faint milky emerald glow radiating from his skin like those before him. Instead, his skin glowed exactly the way it did in her memories of that night, with moonbeams spilling across his face to kiss the apples of his cheeks, somehow the only thing bathed in moonlight in the overcast night.

And he looked solid, far too solid as he moved towards her, water sloshing as his steps cut through it.

"You really do run so easily, don't you Jessie?"

[not-close-to-straight]

Pomegranates (Spideypool)

A very Spideypool twist on the Hades/Persephone story. It hurt my soul to not write 12381927 words of lore and mythology and world building on this, but I love what I managed to get down without going too far over the commission limit (which was 7500 words, and this is like, 12k but hey, its not THAT far over the commission limit, right?)  Plus, I love a Peter who is determined to love Wade no matter what.

@pumpkin-spidey thank you for commissioning this and for allowing me to go a little wild with the interpretation and for responding to my nonsense emails while I chattered about random greek mythology bullshit... you’re the best!

THERE’S MORE SPIDEYPOOL ON MY MASTERLIST!

Enjoy!

*****************

In the beginning–

No. Not the beginning. In the before the beginning, before the humans knew what the beginning was and wove stories to try and explain the cosmos–

In the before the beginning, the Titans and giants ruled and the gods rose up to overthrow them. Anthony fought in the heavens and took the throne of Olympus, his heart glowing from his chest and lightning flashing in his palms. Steven fought among the waves, subduing the Hydra monsters and claiming the throne of the seas. The other gods settled through out the world, content with minor titles and various duties and Wade– Wade came to stand in the throne room of Olympus, his body twisted from the fight, his skin scarred from a thousand wounds, his immortality not enough to keep the pain at bay, his psyche and soul shredded by brutality. 

There was still blood on his hands, the stink of ravaged Titans clinging to his shoulders, the wounds of countless battles trying and failing to heal. They called him Deadpool now, the unkillable one, the unstoppable one, the one that came in the night with flashing swords and maniacal laughter. There would be stories written of the terror he’d brought to the giants, there would be songs sang in the dark of the way he killed, the way the victims screamed to the stars for help and none came. 

They had fought in the skies and in the depths but it had been Deadpool that had fought in the worst of it all and turned the tide of war and for his prize, for his reward, for his efforts–

“No.” Deadpool whispered, when Anthony took him to the place where the ground fell away and stairs dropped deep into the earth. “No, please–” he begged when the stench of the river reached his nose and the cries of a million souls yet to be collected came to his ears. “I deserve a seat in Olympus, I gave everything to fight this war, don’t condemn me to the Underworld.” 

The lonely howl of the beast Cerebus and the cold empty of a realm where nothing grew made Deadpool shiver and he fell to his knees, clutching at the green grass. “Don’t shut me away.” 

“All thrones need a ruler.” Anthony’s voice was unrelenting, but not unkind. “You are one of us trapped between living and gone, your soul in pieces but not destroyed, your body warped but unable to perish. You will reign over the Underworld, watching over the souls that linger, punishing those that deserve the darker places. Deadpool–” 

“–my name is Wade.” he choked out. “Please– please–” 

“This is not a punishment.” the god said slowly. “Your power here will be limitless, you will be able to cover your scars, settle your mind, ease your pain. You are hurt brother, and the brightness of Olympus would shatter all that is left of you. You are a being that is neither dead nor alive and here in the place below places, you will be home and you will be safe.”

“Home.” Wade Deadpool looked up to the sky, to the sunshine, to the flowers that bloomed and the trees that offered fruit and whispered, “But nothing grows down there.”

“Nothing dies, either.” Anthony strived for comforting, but his words fell flat. “This is the safest I can make you, the only way I know to keep you from falling apart. In a place with no time, your descent to madness and pain will be halted.”

Nothing dies either. 

What if I want to die?

“Please.” Deadpool whispered, even as spectral hands came to drag him below. “…please…” 

The throne of the Underworld was dark and cold, unforgiving rock and unrelenting stone and Deadpool huddled into the blue grey shadows to hide his scarred face.  

The river Styx flowed silent, the souls themselves hushed as if waiting for a proclamation from their new King and Cerebus held itself very still. 

From the darkness, from the corners, from the rotting places and damp rocks, slithering and creeping to the throne came Panic and Pain, winding their way into Deadpool’s mind and whispering in his head, voices in his ear, terror on his skin.

The Earth closed herself to him, and no sunlight came to touch his face, and even the Fates turned their back and let the golden strand of his life lie mangled and nearly torn, stained with blood and dulled to nearly black. 

And Deadpool threw his head back and screamed and screamed and screamed. 

**************

**************

There was no time in the Underworld, there was neither day nor night, not sunshine or rain. There was nothing but monotony, nothing but sameness, nothing but cold and damp and muted colors, bare branches and silent waves, the wail of those in the darker places, the melancholy of those meant to whirl endlessly in the chasm, the quiet tears of the ones Charon carried between worlds. 

Deadpool lived a thousand lifetimes listening to terrible whisperings in his ear, suffered an eternity feeling his skin and body twist and shudder and hurt and as Wade’s power grew in his new realm and he earned his place in legend and myth as Keeper of the Underworld, not even the endless amount of hours could still the loneliness in what was left of his soul, the sadness in what was left of his heart. 

It was a century in the dark, a millennia in the shadows, a life time and a day, an hour and a decade, only a breath and then a terrifying amount of uncountable seconds, and the sameness of it all drove Wade to the brink of madness and beyond, until the god that had fought the Titans was no more, and only the devil Deadpool remained. 

Oh what he’d give to remember what sunlight felt on his face, to feel the grass in his fingers, to scent a cherry blossom, to taste the sweetly sharp juice of a pomegranate fruit, to breathe in fresh air and be around the living. 

But time marched on with unending steps into the suffocating dark, and Deadpool sat on his throne with nothing more than Pain and Panic to keep him company, his true self lost and nearly forgotten in the memories of all but a few, alone and alone and alone. 

...until...

…They said the boy came into existence in the Spring, a child crafted from dew drops on a spider’s web and left lying on the flower petals for Demeter to find as she walked the fields and brought them to bloom for another season. 

Peter, they called him. Demeter’s son, a child of May and the favorite of Anthony and Olympus. As he grew, he was able to bring Spring with a simple touch, banish Winter with his fingers and create entire forests bursting with life, the planet itself sparking at the sound of his voice. 

They said he was lovely and sassy with eyes that tinted gold in the sunshine and fingers that lit green with the color of life, they said his laugh sounded like bells, and Deadpool could not imagine such a beauty. 

The only colors he saw anymore were black, blue and gray and the only bells he heard were death tolls and after an eternity alone in the beneath,  Deadpool was desperate for something --anything-- beautiful. 

“He brings life with just a touch.” Deadpool muttered to himself, staring at the barren trees lining the way to his throne. Their trunks were twisted and bark as marred as his skin, the branches reaching towards a dark sky with not a leaf or bud to be seen and for just a moment, for just a moment he wondered, “If I could see something bloom one more time, perhaps the madness won’t take me. If I can see something live, perhaps the darkness won’t-- won't crush me.” 

And Pain whispered, “You cannot go to the surface, the sun will ruin you.” and Panic insisted, “The boy will be too frightened of you and refuse to help.” 

Pain warned, “Death and life cannot coexist, the Fates won’t allow it.” and Panic shrieked, “You will bring the wrath of the gods with your selfishness!” 

But Deadpool didn’t care. 

What did he have to lose, what could the other gods to to him for punishment? Toss him in a pit, hurt him, banish him from the light? 

He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, even it was just for a moment, a second, a breath--

He had nothing to lose. 

****************

****************

“Peter!” May had shed the name Demeter centuries ago, preferring the name the humans chose as they worshiped her the change of seasons and the fertility she brought to their lands. “Peter, child where are you!” 

“May!” Peter burst from beneath the surface of the lake, shaking the water from his hair and laughing out loud over May’s startled surprise. “Look how beautiful.” he held out his palm to show off an exquisitely crafted flower with delicate petals. “I created this for the water nymphs. I think I’ll make them in a thousand different colors and call them nymphaea-- water lilies. Aren’t they lovely?” 

“Are you creating flowers to please yet another lover?” May raised her eyebrows and Peter wrinkled his nose in a teasing smile. “Some day one of your many consorts will demand your loyalty, and then what will you do? What happens when you find the one meant to be your eternal love, when the Fates wind your strand with another in an unbreakable bond? You cannot continue frolicking with a different companion every night.” 

“Anthony does.” Peter pointed out. “He has found the one meant to be his for all eternity and yet he has a hundred lovers.” 

May rolled her eyes. “Do not strive to live your life like Anthony, my love. He has an eternal partner and a hundred lovers and a thousand children. He is irresponsible and wild and a thousand years has not changed that. If the humans had any idea how petty and reckless the god of Olympus was, they would not build him temples and praise his lightning.” 

“If the humans knew how petty the gods were, they wouldn’t worship any of us.” Peter laughed, and at his side the flowers colored brighter as nature reacted to the sound of his joy. “But I do not scatter children across the Earth or send my lovers into fits of jealousy where one or the other ends up cursed to be cows or peacocks!” 

May begrudgingly agreed and Peter continued, “When I spend the night with a companion, flowers bloom and the trees bear fruit. I am a creator god, and my pleasure brings life, whether I find it with one partner or many. Surely there is nothing wrong with that.” 

“Surely not.” May allowed and dropped a kiss on her child’s forehead. “But you will change your mind when the Fates bring you your eternal love. Go on creating your water lilies for now, but don’t wander far. The Earth feels restless today and I’m not sure why. Guard yourself carefully.” 

“I’m fine.” Peter waved off her worries and dove back beneath the surface to design another lily, this one with brilliant purple flowers and leaves that stretched further than his reach, humming a quiet song and losing himself in the wonder of creation for longer than he realized. 

It was May who felt the change first, who felt the earth shift and open, felt Nature recoil as something that did not belong rushed to the surface. There was a flash of light and a roll of shadows, the sound of horses thundering and chariots crashing, and May saw just the glimpse of Peter’s curls and the wild grasp of his hand as he scrambled for a hold, but it was too late. 

Disfigured arms reached out to snatch the boy away from the land and drag him down into the beneath and when May screamed for her child, the fields beneath her feet went black with the force of her emotions. 

“Peter!” the goddess went running for the chasm, but it closed too quickly and May fell to her knees to dig at the Earth. “Peter!” Clouds filled thick and heavy across the sky, blanketing the sun and wiping out the light and May’s tears brought snow to the dying grass. 

Even the Fates themselves paused in their weaving when the goddess dug her fingers into the dirt, her eyes opening the color of raging wildfire, sparking and furious. 

“Give me back my child!” May screamed, and when she clenched her fists into the ground, black vines shot from her palms and crawled up the trunk of the nearest tree, strangling the life from it and leaving it barren within a few seconds. “PETER!” 

The dead tree burst into flame, the fields scorching in a path straight to where Peter had been swimming and turning the water to mist and the gods in Olympus froze when the atmosphere seemed to catch fire. 

“PETER!” 

*****************

*****************

Peter didn’t scream when he was snatched from the water, nor did he cry out in surprise when he was unceremoniously dumped onto cold, rough rock and abruptly abandoned, the steel like pressure of arms at his waist falling away with the sound of footsteps and what sounded like whispers. 

He took a moment to orient himself, absentmindedly pulling the length of his chiton up from his waist and looping it over one shoulder so he wasn’t dripping wet and half bared to whichever eyes were watching. Then he cocked his head at the empty trees, at the hedge bushes that were nothing more than spindly branches. The river ran slow and sluggish, the air tasted stale and heavy and when Peter turned his palms over and tried to call his power, it came like syrup through his veins until it finally glowed faint green on his skin. 

A noise like the skitter of claws on rock, whispers abruptly silenced by a near snarl, and Peter finally lifted his eyes to the raised dais to his left, up rough hewn stairs to a massive throne, and to the figure sprawled in the seat, and when the man on the throne shifted forward and leaned into the watery light, Peter’s mouth fell open in surprise. 

“Oh.” he breathed. “Oh, I know who you are.” 

“I would hope so, there aren’t many faces like mine around.” A lifetime in the Underworld had turned Deadpool’s voice caustic, the words biting and nearly sneered. On someone else, the answer might have been sarcastic and quippy but from Deadpool it only sounded bitter. “Tell me, do they still call me Deadpool on the surface, or has my name evolved into something more human friendly? I hear they call Anthony Zeus these days. Zeus. Ridiculous.” 

“The humans call you Hades.” Peter kept staring, his eyes brightening in interest and a smile curving his lips. “They think you and the realm you rule are one and the same, Hades and Hell, but on Olympus they still call you Deadpool. I’ve heard stories about you, you know.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Deadpool twitched uncomfortably beneath the boy’s perusal. “Am I still the horror stories told around campfires? The one the humans claim make them do horrible things? The Devil?”

“Oh no, I haven’t heard anything like that.” Peter either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the scorn nearly dripping from Deadpool’s words. “No, I meant I’ve heard the stories of how you fought the giants, how you drove the Titan’s back, and why you were sent here. You’re considered a hero, do you know? They have statues of you in Olympus.”  

A hero? “...I see.” Deadpool said slowly, but it was obvious he didn’t see at all. 

“Besides, I don’t care what the humans say.” Peter laughed softly and out of the corner of his eye, Deadpool could have sworn he saw the river lighten for a split second. “They know nothing and pretend they know it all. Silly things. I don’t know why Anthony loves them so much.” 

“No doubt because they are naive enough to think we gods aren’t every bit as awful as humanity.” Deadpool tried not to cringe when Peter’s eyes found his again, the dark brown swirling gold as that interested smile stretched even wider, a plush bottom lip caught between Peter’s teeth as he tipped his head and simply stared. 

Deadpool tried not to cringe but it had been a long time since anything other than the eyes of the dead had looked at him and now May’s child, a creator god, an embodiment of life was standing in the realm of death, face to face with the one who hoarded the souls of the deceased. 

Deadpool didn’t want to cringe but the sun had hurt him even for the few seconds he’d been on the surface and the fresh air had stung his skin and he couldn’t stand to be so hideous in the face of such beauty.

And Peter was beauty. Even wearing only a simple chiton with hair still drying into thick waves, even with a nearly painful curiosity in the golden eyes and with eerie, otherworldly green lighting the tips of his fingers, Peter was beauty alive and Deadpool was horror unending and it hurt. 

“What are you staring at!” He suddenly snarled, angry that he was so affected by the boy, almost furious that this-- this Adonis could be so blase about the moment, could be laughing and looking as if nothing was wrong. “Do not stare at me!” 

“I’m sorry.” Peter startled from his focus and held up his hands peacefully. “I’m sorry, but I’ve heard so many stories of you and never once did they mention how handsome you are. I expected the Deadpool to be a monster, not--” he made a vague gesture. “I suppose I should be terrified, but I’ve never been scared of anything in my life and certainly not of a man who looks like you.” 

“I am no man.” Deadpool’s  heart startled when Peter’s nose scrunched in delight like he thought Deadpool were teasing. “You- you would be wise to fear me, child.” 

“Child.” Peter rolled his eyes and huffed as if annoyed. “How old must I be before I am no longer a child to you ancient gods! I have seen over two hundred summers already, and they still call me--”

“They say you can create life with nothing more than a touch.” Deadpool interrupted, pushing down the shiver of wonder that Peter hadn’t recoiled from him like the other gods did, that he had called him handsome. It wouldn’t do any good to bask in the warmth that flowed from the creator god, nor to linger in the way Peter made Deadpool feel inexplicably whole. 

He wanted one thing from the beauty-- “Lies.” Panic hissed. “You want everything from him!” -- and then he would let the god go. 

“You will make something grow and then I will let you leave.” He said quickly. “Bring something to bloom and you’ll have my permission to leave.”

“That’s it?” Peter looked over his shoulder to peer at the river and then twisted to the other side to look at the hedges. “You went through all the trouble of kidnapping me just so I would make something grow?” 

“I--” Deadpool blinked a few times. “Yes. That’s it. You will make something grow, and then you are allowed to leave my realm.” Peter waited, and Deadpool hesitated before adding, “Why else would I kidnap you?” 

“Because I’m beautiful!” Peter laughed as if it made perfect sense. “I assumed you wanted my company, not my creator power! Being kidnapped for a moment with a lover would be so much more fun than simply growing things, don’t you think?” 

“You--” No, he cannot be serious. “You thought I kidnapped you because I wanted--wanted a rendezvous? You thought I snatched you from the surface because I wanted to see beneath your robes?” Deadpool laughed but it was an ugly sound. “You’re joking.”  

“Why would I be joking?” Peter asked frankly. “You are very handsome and I’m a creator god, I’m gorgeous. I assumed you could not join me in the sunshine so you brought me here instead.” 

“And you’re alright with that?” Deadpool asked incredulously. “Are you standards for your lovers so low?”

“Well, it’s not the most traditional proposition I’ve ever received.” Peter winked and Deadpool swore felt it to his soul. “But I can assure you, it would not take much convincing to bring me around.” 

“I feel as if I’m missing an opportunity here, but I didn’t bring you here for that.” Deadpool slumped back into his throne and pulled his hood over his face. 

For a moment he’d almost wanted to laugh but his reality was far too harsh for something so lighthearted. No matter how teasing and flirty Peter was, everything would change if he saw Deadpool’s face in the light, and the god would rather Peter make something bloom and be gone than risk the humiliation of having the beauty look on him with pity, or worse, recoil in horror. 

“Make something grow and be gone.” He said hoarsely. “Please.” 

“I’ll have to have your permission to leave, won’t I?” Peter knelt and swept his fingers over the soil curiously, bringing a few bits to his tongue to taste the acidity “Not even the gods on Olympus can pass through your realm alone, much less a lesser god like me.” 

“That’s correct--” 

“Oh!” Peter jumped up again, eyes wide. “Could I see Cerebus? You brought me down through a split in the earth so we didn’t come to the gates! Could I see them before I go?” 

“...you want to see Cerebus?” Deadpool asked in confusion. “Child, you should be--” 

“My name is Peter.” he interrupted. “May calls me child and so does Anthony but I not near as innocent nor half as guileless as they want to believe. if you and I are to be friends, you should call me Peter.”

“Friends.” Hope bloomed before Deadpool could squash it, an eternity of loneliness sparking with anticipation for just a second before it was gone. “And-- and why would you think we are friends?” 

“Well we aren’t lovers yet, but we certainly aren’t strangers anymore.” Peter winked again and Deadpool had to call his power to physically quell the reaction the pretty brunette brought around in him. “Friends seems appropriate for now, don’t you think?” 

All creator gods were like this, Deadpool reminded himself. They were always half drunk on too much oxygen and herbal aphrodisiacs, sweetly flower scented and warmed from the sun. The act of making life moved so easily towards making love that gods like Peter, like could hardly help the way they were drawn to others and others were drawn to them. 

But Deadpool was hideous, twisted and deformed, scarred and ruined and Peter should not be staring, much less winking and flirting--

“You will make something grow.” he said again, ignoring the pull in what was left of his soul, ignoring the way he nearly itched to be closer to Peter and bask in the glow of life. It didn’t mean anything, it was just the thrum of a creator god, Peter’s power twisting in the air and creating a connection between them that wasn’t truly there. It didn’t mean anything. “I don’t care if it’s simply grass or a single bloom. Make it grow, then you will be free to--” 

“--see Cerebus?” Peter finished, and flattened his palms to the trunk of the barren tree. “Yes, I very much want to see your pet.” 

“They aren’t my pet, they are a beast to guard the gates to this realm.” Deadpool argued and when Peter scrunched his nose again in obvious disagreement, Deadpool chuckled and said, “Pete, I’m not going to let you waltz over and pet Cerebus’s nose.” 

“You called me Pete.” Peter’s eyes lit golden in approval as his magic ran through his body and out through his hands. “See? You already like me!” 

Deadpool scowled but it wasn’t in anger. He had called the creator god Pete, had slipped through with a nickname without even realizing, had laughed a little bit without any effort at all. It was the power of life, of creation that was so unexpected in this realm and that was why he had let his guard down. 

It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t mean anything. 

“Come to me.” Peter’s voice was soft and sweet then, nearly a croon and practically a purr and Deadpool’s head snapped up, his body jolting forward as if he’d been physically yanked by it, his eyes going helplessly to where Peter had pressed his forehead to the bark of the tree and was whispering, “Eláte, ómorfo, come here beautiful, grow for me. Grow.” 

Deadpool held his breath and in the silence that followed, Panic slithered to his ear and hissed, “Nothing grows here, not in the underworld. Death and life cannot coexist.” 

He didn’t want to listen, he didn’t want to listen, but Panic’s words were terribly prophetic as Peter leaned away from the tree and stared down at his palms in confusion. 

“It didn’t work?” Peter sounded entirely mystified. “I can’t believe-- why didn’t it--” he called his power again and this time his palms lit with a dark, vibrant green that made the very air seem to spark around them and Deadpool held his breath---

--nothing. 

“Hm.” Peter clicked his tongue and shrugged. “Perhaps I need time to adjust to this realm. Come on, shall we explore?” He held out his hand to Deadpool and waited with an expectant smile. 

“...what are you doing?” Deadpool asked slowly, inching backwards in his throne until he was nearly plastered to the back rest, his breath coming hard and uneven, fingers digging furrows into the rock as every cell in his body screamed to go to Peter and Pain and Panic screamed for him to stay put. 

“I can’t very well wander here alone.” Peter said, as if that were a perfectly valid reason for Deadpool to take his hand and escort him through the Underworld. “Usually when I wander I lay a trail of flowers behind me so I don’t get lost but until my power sparks again, that isn’t an option. How else will I find my way around?” 

“You’ve been to Olympus.” Deadpool’s fingers bled where they scraped stone to keep himself from running to Peter. “The place is a mirrored copy of the mountain top. Don’t you recognize the throne room?” 

Peter’s brow furrowed, his features pinching as he looked around the cavernous space, then his expression cleared in understanding. “Ah. It’s Olympus but without the glitter and gold, without the flowers and flowing fountains. Still a domain of the gods, but--” 

“--but dark.” Deadpool finished, and then with a grimace and far more vulnerability than he intended, “Ugly. There is no beauty here.” 

Creator gods were drawn to beauty, drawn to life and laughter and it didn’t make any sense for Peter to be smiling that way at Deadpool or for his eyes to be lit quite so warm as he replied, “Humility among the gods is as rare as an eclipse, who knew I’d find it here in the Underworld? What could you possibly mean, no beauty here?” 

It would have been easy to discount Peter’s words as kindness, his flirting only flattery for a captor. It was easy to think the beauty talked of propositions as if they were already lovers because creator gods were lovers to almost everyone. But Panic was snarling lies into his ear and suddenly-- suddenly Deadpool had to know, he had to know--

“Pete.” There was the nickname again, easy and natural as if they’d known each other for centuries, as if they were friends and it felt so right, Deadpool couldn’t believe it. “Pete?” 

“Yes?” Peter’s chiton had slipped down his shoulder again, baring sun bronzed skin glittered with gold and Deadpool couldn’t tear his eyes away. “What is it?” 

“Why--why---” Deadpool wet his lips anxiously. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be nervous, to be unsure. He’d been angry for so long, and after he was angry he was cold and then he’d become numb and he’d forgotten everything else. “....why don’t you flinch from me?”  

Peter’s red lips parted, one slim shoulder lifting in a half shrug. “Why did you kidnap me?” 

“...because you are beautiful.” Deadpool didn’t mean to be honest, he didn’t mean to even be kind but something about Peter soothed his edges, calmed the anger in his soul and even just these few moments in the creator god’s presence had tempered the furious whisperings of Pain and Panic at his side. 

Deadpool didn’t understand, but he was grateful all the same. “I took you because you are beautiful.” 

“I think our answers are the same.” Peter held out his hand again and that damnable hope bloomed in Deadpool’s chest again. “Now then. You’ll walk with me around this place? Mirror of Olympus or not, I am hopelessly lost without my plants to guide me, and the last thing you’d want is someone like me wandering your realm. Imagine the chaos if I found Cerebus and tried riding them through your Kingdom.” 

“Cerebus would never let you ride them.” Deadpool stated, fighting a smile, fighting the growing anticipation that perhaps his eons of loneliness could be drawing to a close. Peter wasn’t flinching from him, wasn’t running away, wasn’t acting as if he desperately wanted to leave. It was more than Deadpool could have ever hoped for after everything and maybe--just maybe the Fates had decided to grant him just a bit of happiness. 

But still, he tried to temper his smile as he said, “Cerebus is vicious, Pete. They are more likely to bite your hand than allow you to pet them.” 

Peter had no such qualms about hiding his smiles, and the room lit with his brilliance as he returned, “Are you sure? I’ve never met a dog I didn’t love.”

“You should be in a hurry to leave this place, you know.” Deadpool finally peeled himself off the throne and came down the steps, close but not too close to Peter, letting his his sleeves fall over his hands to hide the scars. “Not trying to adopt the guardian of the Underworld.” 

“And you should be in a hurry to make me leave.” Peter countered, tipping his head back and back to meet Deadpool’s eyes, his hair falling loose and curled around his face. “Not standing here being so tall and tempting me to try and climb you like a tree.” 

“Climb me like a--” Deadpool shouted with unexpected laughter. “Pete--!” 

“Come on!” Peter laughed too, reached for Deadpool’s hand and clasped their fingers together, humming when the god shivered at the gentle touch. “Show me your world.” 

****************

 ****************

Deadpool did not let go of Peter’s hand as they walked, even as the creator god dusted his fingers across various plants and tried to spark something green. Every once in a while there was a flash, sometimes even a burst of color but it never stayed and when it inevitably faded, Peter only shrugged and moved on. 

And Deadpool didn’t let go of his hand, not sure if he even could at this point. The energy that rolled through Peter’s body was almost intoxicating, electrifying and Deadpool felt as if his fingers were nearly fused to the other god’s, woven together and unable to separate. 

Before the beginning, creator gods were hidden away and protected from the Titans and the giants and Deadpool had only heard of them in theory, in passing, in whispers from the more lecherous of the gods as they talked about aphrodisia that hovered above sun warmed skin, lips stained red from berries and kisses. 

He’d never been this close to a creator god, had never touched one, had never had one turn and offer him a smile or tease and flirt, or stare at him as if he gorgeous instead of cringe away as if he were hideous.

It was unbelievable and almost too good to be true, and when they stopped at the banks of the river and Peter knelt to peer curiously into the water, it was then that Deadpool caught sight of his own reflection and realized that it was too good to be true. 

All the time he had been in the Underworld, Deadpool had never sought his own reflection. It was telling enough that the newly arrived souls shuddered in horror when they saw him, that even Charon would not meet his eyes, that Cerebus whined and ducked their heads when he approached. 

Deadpool could see the scars on his hands and could feel the itch of pain on his face and didn’t need a reflection to tell him he was ruined. 

Anthony had promised the Underworld would heal him, and as Deadpool stared down at the reflection of clear skin and nearly blonde hair, he suddenly understood why Peter hadn’t cringed away. 

Too good to be true.  

The creator god was drawn to beauty and somehow this realm allowed Deadpool to look how he did before the war, when he’d rivaled Anthony and Steven in looks and the goddesses and nymphs had fought over who would lie in his bed each night. 

Peter didn’t see him, he saw the glamour the Underworld had afforded him and that was all it was, that was the basis for the attraction that flowed thick between them and the reason Peter didn’t drop Deadpool’s hand and run away. 

Too good to be true.

“How long did it take the scars to heal?” Deadpool startled from his thoughts when Peter squeezed at his hands. “The stories all say the war ruined you, ruined your body, but I can’t see it. How long did it take them to heal?” 

“They haven’t healed.” Deadpool looked down at his palms, at the rough patches and raised lines that only he could see, the awfulness of it contrasting so sharply with Peter’s flawless skin. “It’s an illusion, one I didn’t realize had taken affect. This is why you didn’t scream when I grabbed you, why you are drawn to me. I’m not healed but the Underworld has given me a glamour to cover it.” 

“I wouldn’t stare in horror even if you weren’t glamoured.” Peter countered and Deadpool denied, “That’s easy for you to say that when you are not seeing it.” 

Something like sadness flickered through Peter’s eyes, turning the honeyed brown almost black, and he turned on his heel to press his hand to the ground and whisper to the dirt, green rippling from his palms and then fading into nothing. “Damn. Not quite. Come walk with me some more and I will try again--” 

“Leave it be.” Deadpool was still staring at his own reflection, a mix of awe and revulsion making bile rise in his throat. 

This was why Peter was willing to stay, this was why the creator god was letting his power spark and form a connection that felt nearly intimate. If Peter were really seeing him, the beauty would have turned tail and screamed to be returned to the surface, he wouldn’t be flirting and teasing and insisting on holding Deadpool’s hand as they wandered. 

“You are stupid for hoping.” Panic whispered and Pain chimed in, “This will be another memory to hurt later on. Let him go.” 

“Tell him to leave.” 

“You were banished here alone, why would you think the Fates would grant you someone so beautiful as company.” 

“Do you hear that?” Peter tipped his head in confusion, and shook his head. “The whispers, are they constant? Is that the--” he gestured to the river. “--the souls? Or the wind that sounds like voices or--” 

“You should go.” Deadpool dropped Peter’s hand and stepped away, hunching his shoulders and turning his back. “Go on. You have my permission to leave.” 

“You told me I had to make something grow before I returned home.” Peter’s eyes flickered dark again but his tone was light, expectant. “I’m not leaving until I bring something beautiful here. Something beautiful besides you, I mean.” 

He was flirting again and it hurt like nails raking down Deadpool’s cheek. “You are the something beautiful.” he said hoarsely. “The only thing beautiful this world will ever know. Now go.” 

“Why are you hiding from me?” Peter reached for Deadpool’s hand and frowned when the god jerked away. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” 

“You are being kind to me because you only see this form.” Deadpool said bitterly. “You creator gods, you are only drawn to beauty and if you saw me in my true form you would turn away from me. I thought perhaps the Fates---” 

Deadpool shut up, wrenching his hand free from Peter and putting it over his mouth. “Leave. Get out. Consider this your permission to go to the surface and get out.” 

“What did you say?” Peter reached for Deadpool’s hand again and matched the span of their fingers. “About the Fates?” 

“I said nothing about the Fates and I told you to get out.” Deadpool couldn’t look away from their hands, the heat gone from his words and defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders. “May is no doubt unleashing some sort of awful Winter on the surface world as she searches for you, and you do not belong in this realm. Leave.” 

“You don’t want me to go, and I do not want to leave.” Peter ignored everything else Deadpool said and stepped closer until they were nearly chest to chest. “What were you going to say about the Fates?”

“Only that they are cruel women to tempt me with you.” Deadpool whispered and Peter’s eyes tinted gold in understanding. “Leave before I make you stay. Please.” 

“I’ll stay until I can bring something to life.” Peter said decisively. “That is what we agreed on and that is what I will do. But first you must tell me your name.” 

“My name is Deadpool.” Deadpool’s emotions roiled over and his eyes flickered haunted red, the glamour fading from his skin and revealing the scars for one awful second. “Everyone knows that.” 

“What was your name before you were Deadpool?” Peter lay his hands gently, so gently where the scars had shown on Deadpool’s arm and stood on his toes to make their noses bump, smiling when the other god didn’t pull away. “Who were you before? Who are you really?” 

“Your name doesn’t matter.” Panic whispered, and Pain agreed, “He won’t care anyway. You will tell him and he will leave and it won’t matter.” 

“Do you even remember it?” 

“Are you anyone at all besides this monster?” 

“My name.” Deadpool breathed out shakily. “...is Wade.” 

“Wade.” Peter’s finger tips lit light green as he reached for the hood and pushed it further away from Wade’s face, drew his fingers to Wade’s temples. “Kiss me.” 

“Pete--” 

“Kiss me.” Peter said again and Deadpool grimaced away from him. “No, no I know what you’re going to say about how creator gods want to kiss everything, how we make love as easily as we make life, but this is different. Please. Kiss me.”  

“I don’t think--” 

“Just one.” Peter’s touch was soft and so so warm and Wade could have fallen apart beneath it. “What will it hurt? One kiss. Please?”

He had nothing to lose and it had been so long since Wade had known anything beautiful at all, so he gave in, bent down, leaned in to press his lips to Peter’s and swallow the quiet gasp the gorgeous brunette made. 

“Oh-h-h--” Peter sighed and chased the kiss, the vibrant green at his hands heating until Wade’s entire body was thrumming with energy. “Wade…” 

Too long Wade had been jagged pieces and sharp edges and but as their kiss lengthened, deepened, his brittleness melted into slow, caramel languidness that began and ended with Peter’s drugging mouth, the sweet taste of Spring and the verdant suddenness of sunshine--

--and somewhere in their place between places, the Fates wove a strand of gray so dark it was nearly black with a red as ruinous as blood, and put them together with a brown that shifted gold in the light and a lush, living green. 

“Interesting.” One said to the other, and the other said to a third, “We did not see this.” and the third set the strands as stone and decided, “What Fate has brought together, not even the gods will tear apart. A creator will love a guardian of souls.”

**************

 *************

There was no time in the Underworld, so it might have been minutes or it might have been days, as Wade and Peter wandered hand in hand along the paths of the god’s realm. It could have been an entire season or nothing more than an hour as they shared kisses that grew more and more heated with each pass, Peter’s power flexing in the air like aphrodisia, Wade helpless against the pull and not caring to try and stop. 

Some things were meant to be, some fated lines were meant to cross, and though Wade knew the surface world was no doubt paying for his selfishness, for his boldness in snatching a god of Spring and Growth, it was difficult to care when Peter was laughing and bells were ringing, when Peter was teasing and Wade was whole. 

It could have been a hundred years for all the time between them lasted, a million steps they took in no particular direction, a thousand quiet conversations that didn’t have to mean anything at all. 

They went aimlessly through gardens every bit as grand as those in Olympus but empty, the vines brown and brittle, the ground littered with the remains of petals that had fallen before they’d even opened all the way. They explored the winding maze hat was nothing more than spindly branches and tangled hedges, paused at fountains that had never flowed, sat at benches that had never been used. 

The orchards were empty and bare, the trunks twisted as if wrenched by force into horrid shapes and though animal eyes peered from behind walls and out of darkness, the shapes that separated from the shadows weren’t quite right, not quite normal, and Peter pressed a little closer to Wade as they passed. 

The only creature Peter didn’t shy away from was Cerebus, in fact the creator god greeted the beast with wide smiles and awed exclamations and Wade didn’t know whether to smile or to curse when the three headed monster huffed at Peter’s clothing and then simply fell at the god’s feet and blinked up at him in adoration.

“Oh you beauty.” Peter crooned, getting right down on the ground next to Cerebus and patting at each head in turn. “What a lovely creature. There is nothing like you on the surface, nothing at all, you are magnificent.” 

“He is a monster.” Wade disagreed and Peter scowled at him-- or gave the closest approximation to a scowl he could manage when he was flushed pink in happiness and laughing out loud as massive teeth closed whisper soft over his wrist as Cerebus demanded more attention. 

“Just because he is different doesn’t mean he is a monster.” Peter denied and pushed his face into one of Cerebus’s foreheads. “There is beauty found everywhere, if only people would look.” 

Wade felt the approval and acceptance from the creator god as healing balm on his skin and once Peter had murmured at least a hundred praises of ‘good dog’ and relinquished his hold on Cerebus, he pulled Peter back up into his arms and buried his face in the curve of Peter’s neck. 

“Alright?” Peter asked softly, holding Wade just as tight for just as long. “Are you ever so devastated that I’e ruined the guardian of the gates?” 

“I’m sure he’s perfectly worthless.” Wade said dryly and when Peter laughed, he tipped the brunette’s chin up for a long kiss. “Walk with me, Pete.” 

“I’m right here.” Peter scrunched his nose and kissed Wade right back. “You’re the one not doing the walking, oh god of the Underworld.” 

Wade laughed which was-- well it was surprising all on it’s own, and tugged Peter further down the path, ignoring Cerebus’ whines and quiet growls at having their new friend taken away. 

“May says the Fates always know where our lives are leading.” Peter said sometime-- maybe days?-- later, green sparkling everywhere he touched, there and gone again, bright and then dimming, flaring with life before succumbing to the call of death. Peter didn’t even seem to notice, his touches too casual to be purposeful, his eyes either on Wade’s face or on the creatures that flitted on the shadows. “And the harder we pull on the strings, the tighter the Fates draw them until we have no choice but to walk the path they design.” 

“Are you saying I was fated to rule the Underworld?” 

“Whatever you were fated for, it led to our paths crossing, even if it’s only for today and that is enough for me.” Peter yanked Wade in for a kiss that went on and on and on until the creator god was gasping and shivering and Wade was clutching at his sides with a sort of desperation he’d never thought he’d feel again. 

“Peter.” he whispered, and the beauty smiled into another kiss. “Lovely, you practically bloom when we touch.” 

“If we were on the surface there would be new flowers appearing every time we were together.” Peter decided and Wade left a gentle kiss on his palm. “I’d create entire forest for you, my love. Moonflowers and jasmine and night orchids. Beauty that you could enjoy without the sun hurting you. Which one is your favorite?” 

“It doesn’t matter, Pete.” Wade denied but Peter insisted, “Tell me! I want to try to make something for you!” 

“I--” Wade didn’t want to tell the creator god how badly it would hurt if even after all this time together-- or, the little time together perhaps. How long had it been? Had he loved Peter forever, or was it still only a few minutes?-- he didn’t want to tell Peter how badly it would hurt to love and to be loved, for it was certainly love brightening golden brown eyes, and then to see even that wasn’t enough to bring life to the Underworld, to bring beauty to this domain. 

“Tell me.” Peter swept aside the folds of Wade’s robe and and pressed his hands to the god’s chest, humming and sighing when Wade leaned into the touch with a quiet moan. “Mmmm, do my hands feel good, my love? Like sunshine, isn’t it, but no pain?” 

“No pain.” Wade tugged the sleeve of the chiton off Peter’s shoulder and mouthed over the glitter on the creator gods skin, reveling in the pleased sound Peter made, the way the brunette pushed tighter into his arms. “I only feel you, Pete.” 

“What is your favorite thing in the entire world?” Peter pressed. “What is your favorite flower, your favorite fruit/ I want to make something bloom for you, don’t make me guess. Time between lovers should be spent learning each other but not all learning requires questions. I’d rather learn by touch, but first I want you tell me just one thing. Please?” 

“...Pomegranates.” Wade could practically feel the strands linking his and Peter’s hearts and souls strengthening, weaving, settling as he admitted,“Pomegranates are my favorite and I haven’t had them since before the Titan’s fell.” 

“Then that’s what I’ll make for you.” Peter decided and with one last kiss, he pulled away to crouch on the ground and rake his fingers into the dirt. “What this is between us has brought my power back to the surface, look.” he held up his hands to show Wade the brilliantly green glow. “Be still, my love. Be still and watch.” 

This time Peter lifted his chiton above his knees and knelt on the ground, spread his hands wide and leaned over until his forehead touched the cold soil as well, and Wade held his breath--the Underworld held it’s breath-- in the places between places the Fates stopped in their weaving and waited--

--and Peter whispered something soft and sweet, gentle and coaxing, clicking his tongue and trilling under his breath--

--and the ground exploded with the force of life, a trunk shooting skyward and weaving together with supple limbs, leaves bursting from the tips and coloring gorgeous green, flowers unfurling in all the colors of sunrise and then fruit, ripening heavy and round and plentiful until the branches strained to hold themselves upright.

“Oh!” Peter fell back onto his heels and clapped his hands. “Oh, I did it! Wade, look!” 

Wade was looking, but he wasn’t looking at the tree. He was staring at the creator god laughing in excitement, at the way Peter’s eyes were wide with wonder as if the pomegranate tree was the first thing he’d ever created, the way Peter kept glancing at him as if for approval. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” he whispered, and Peter’s cheeks flushed a surprised, pleased pink, his eyes sparkling gold. “Pete, you are the most beautiful wonder--”

“Taste.” Peter broke the first fruit in half and scooped the seeds from the inside, holding up his fingers to Wade’s mouth and gasping when the god sucked them into his mouth with a low moan. “How-how is it?” 

“Peter.” Wade pushed the rest of the fruit away and crushed their mouths together, sharing the sweetness and holding Peter as tight as he could. Moonflowers and night orchids burst into bloom at their feet and Peter laughed again as his power surged between them in a blast of warm air. 

Wade fell backwards onto a ground suddenly covered in thick grass and Peter landed on top of him, hands roaming and legs tangling and mouths meeting again and again and again. It could have been weeks, it could have been years while Wade remembered what it was to love and Peter proved how easy it was to learn someone with nothing more than touches and whispered yes and please and more, my love, always always more. 

It could have been a hundred years lost in each other’s arms, an entire millennia while the strands of Fate wove tighter and tighter between them until Peter wasn’t sure where he left off and Wade began, where creation and life met death and end but it didn’t matter when their kisses were stained with pomegranate juice and their skin was slick with sweat and Peter was--

“Ah!” He cried out, breaking away from a drugging kiss and rolling out from beneath Wade, clutching at his head. “Ow ow ow--” 

“Pete?” Wade sat up in an instant, adjusting his tunic to cover more of himself and reaching for the brunette. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” 

“I can feel um--” Peter shook his head, dazed from the sudden drop of swimming in pleasure to nearly crying from pain. “I can feel May, feel her anger-- the surface-- Winter--” 

“She’s taking her pain out on the humans because she can’t punish me for taking you.” Wade realized. “She can’t see in here to know you are fine.” 

“I forgot you kidnapped me.” Peter managed a laugh, and shook his head. “I’ve been so lost in you, I don’t even know how long we’ve been here, I forgot how it all started. I have to go and see her so she stops unleashing blizzards on the surface.”

“--you have to go?” Ice cold reality crashed over Wade, rocking him to his core with a rush of horror, the woven strands that tied he and Peter’s souls straining at the thought of being apart.

Peter only sighed as if the entire thing was a simple inconvenience. “I’ll come back, my love. Give me time to soothe May and right whatever the Winter has ruined above and I’ll come back as soon as I can.” 

“But Pete if you leave, you can’t--” Wade started to answer but Pain dug it’s claws into his calves and muttered, “Better to let him leave.” and Panic whispered, “If he knows he cannot come back, he will feel obligated to stay, then he will resent you.” 

“He will hate you and wither to nothing if you make him stay.”  

“Wade?” Peter held out his hand and waited for Wade with raised eyebrows. “I’ll need your help to leave, won’t I? Come on.” 

Wade got to his feet and clasped at Peter’s hand, swallowing back his fear as he said, “You have my permission to leave, Pete. You don’t need anything more than that. But--but you can’t take anything with you, or you’ll be bound to this place. If you leave now, you are free but if you take anything with you, you will be forced to return.” 

“You don’t have to force me to return.” Peter said with a quiet laugh, pressing at Wade’s palm and falling into step beside him. “Look at the beauty we’ve created together! I’ll come back of my own will.” 

But if you leave, you won’t be allowed back in.

Wade pushed the truth of it away, pushed away the Panic at the thought of losing Peter when he’d only just found him, pushed away the Pain of facing another eternity alone. “It’s very important that you take nothing with you, Pete. Being bound to this place is not like visiting, do you understand? It’s awful, and I won’t let you do that.” 

I’d rather lose you forever, then bind you here against your will.

“I understand!” Peter insisted. “But stop worrying! You are staring at me as if I’ll never--” he frowned. “Wade?” 

“Pete.” Wade cupped his jaw and forced the creator god to meet his eyes. “Give me the pomegranate.” 

“Wade--” 

“Give it here.” he ordered again and Peter gave another one of those put out sighs before withdrawing a handful of seeds from the folds of his chiton. “Pete, if you took these with you and ate them along the way, you would have to return. You wouldn’t have a choice, and I don’t want to do that to you.” 

“You think if I don’t have a choice, I’ll grow to hate you and this place.” Peter realized slowly. “You want me to come back of my own free will to prove--” 

“--not to prove anything.” Wade hastened to correct him. “No Pete, not like that. But I don’t want you to hate me. Whatever this has been, whatever we have here, I want it-- I want--” 

“You think I’ll leave here and never come back.” Peter whispered. “Don’t you? You’d rather give me the choice of never coming back than let me be bound here with you.” 

Yes. 

No. 

Oh god, please please stay with me. 

“I think you’ll find the sunshine and forget about the shadows.” Wade said around the lump in his throat, around the strangle of the strands of Fate as they strained to nearly breaking. “You will find your other lovers and forget about me.” 

“How dare you.” For the first time since Wade had snatched him below, Peter’s eyes dimmed, the glow disappearing from his skin. “You think so little of me, after all we’ve shared?” 

“You are a creator god.” The words were ash in Wade’s mouth, bitter and painful but he said them anyway, spoke over the slither and hiss of Panic and Pain. “You love whoever is beautiful at that moment and then you move on. You think I am beautiful, but the truth is, I am not and when you return to true beauty, you won’t want to come back to me. It’s your nature and I will not try to change that.”

“No!” Peter came close to Wade and shook his head. “No, you are wrong. I know you feel it, I know you can feel Fate winding through us. This is not my magic, this is not my nature, this is truth and eternal and--”

“You have my permission to go.” Heartbreak, a new voice, companion to Pain hovered over Wade’s shoulder. “But do not feel as if you owe me anything to return. You’ve done what I asked and made something grow and now you are free to leave.” 

“I don’t know if I should be angry with you for assuming I will forget you, or love you for giving me the freedom to do so.” Peter’s eyes were nearly black in sadness and the grass at the base of the pomegranate tree started to wither. “Will you kiss me before I go? One more time?” 

“Peter--” 

“Kiss me, damn you.” Peter threw his arms around Wade’s neck and yanked him down into a fierce kiss, crushing their mouths together and biting down into Wade’s lip until he drew blood and the other god cursed, held him tighter, kissed Peter back until neither of them could even breathe. 

And then Peter’s eyes swirled gold with affection and a sweet sort of satisfaction that Wade didn’t understand, the creator god’s fingertips lit green as he brushed them over Wade’s temples and down along the line of his jaw. “You taste like pomegranates, my love. A taste and a beauty I will never forget.” 

“Go on.” Wade said raggedly, pushing Peter away gently but firmly. “Peter go, get out. Get out before I change my mind.” 

“I’ll come back to you.” Peter promised, but Wade turned his back and shook his head, and Peter went on his way. 

Lost in the gathering darkness, hiding from the sight of the Earth opening to allow Peter back to the surface, Wade didn’t see Peter leave, and when Cerebus didn’t lift his head and howl in anguish as the Earth closed above them again, Wade knew even the dog was heart broken. 

But he hadn’t seen Peter kneel by Cerebus’ post and whisper, “I’ve done a wicked thing, you lovely beast. I’ll see you soon.” and he hadn’t seen Peter pause by the pomegranate tree and whisper a blessing into the flowers.

Stumbling for his throne and slumping into the gloom, Wade Deadpool saw nothing but Pain and Panic, Heartbreak and Self-Loathing writhing around his feet--

--and clawing up his legs to get to his heart. 

*************

*************

The Winter on the surface ceased as abruptly as it began, the blizzards easing and lightning calming the moment Peter stepped from the Underworld and reached out his arms for May.

“You are over reacting.” He scolded the goddess teasingly, letting his power flex and warm the frigid air, bringing flowers to bloom to make May smile. “I left to spend time with a lover and you devastate the human’s with an unending Winter! You cannot be so angry when I am reckless!” 

“A lover.” May repeated in disbelief. “Peter, you were kidnapped! Taken from me! The Earth opened up and swallowed you and you-- you---” Peter raised his eyebrows and May cursed out loud. “By Olympus. Peter! You took Deadpool as a lover?”

“He’s very handsome, May.” Peter said absentmindedly, dusting his hands over the banks of snow and banishing them with a flick of his wrist. “Lonely, too. I would not wish a banishment to the Underworld on anyone, let alone someone who helped fell the Titans.” 

“His body and mind could not survive the aftermath, and living in a place where time is still was the only way to save him.” May relented quietly, sadly. “There was a time when Deadpool was the most beautiful of us all, but the things he did in the war-- they ruined him, Peter. You have to be careful with this. It is in your nature to be drawn to those that need love but you have to be careful. Deadpool’s power might have eased his mind and masked his scars but that doesn't change who he is.” 

“No.” Peter brought an orchard back to life with nothing more than a few words and a pulse of green from his palms, gold brightening in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t change who he is and yes, it is in my nature to want to love, but this is different, May.” 

“Different.” May hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Peter, you cannot go back and see him.” 

“Of course I can.” The wind warmed around them as May’s hold on the Winter eased even further, and Peter created a pomegranate tree from nothing more than his will, coaxing it from the soil and stretching it towards the sky. “What is there to stop me?” 

“My child.” May’s face fell into sadness. “Oh, you think you can go back and forth to the Underworld, but you cannot. It doesn’t matter what connection you think you forged with the Deadpool or how wonderful your months--” 

“Months?” 

“--you’ve been gone for almost six months.” She confirmed and Peter’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I do not know how he fooled you for all that time, but you cannot return to him. Once the portal to the Underworld is closed, no one can come through unless it is time for their soul to pass by Cerebus and through to Charon. You will never see him again.” 

“Yes.” Peter said firmly and May paled at the belief in his voice. “Yes, I will see him again. The Fates have woven us together and we will not be torn apart.” 

“Peter.” May whispered. “Oh Peter, what have you done?”

Peter only touched his lips where they were stained with pomegranate juice and a remnant of Wade’s blood, and smiled. 

***************

***************

All life failed in the Underworld. 

Any humanity left in the souls that came to Charon flickered and fell away before they departed the ferry, the darker souls in the deeper places writhed in an existence that was only alive enough to cause pain and the rest was nothing but death. 

The grass Peter had brought to green as they kissed withered away to chaff and scattered, the flowered hedges wilted and the orchards fell to ruin until all was black and bleak and bare again. 

All life failed, and as the beautiful pomegranate tree lost it's color and then it’s leaves and the fruit rotted on wasted soil, Wade let his own power fail, let it seep away like blood into the cracks of the throne room, taking his glamour along with it and leaving him scarred and twisted and in body racking pain. 

Everything hurt and Wade couldn't manage the energy to will it away. Pain and Panic roamed freely, not corralled by his will any longer, and Heartbreak and Self Loathing grew content in his psyche until Wade could hardly hear over the noise in his own head. 

“You sent him away.” one voice hissed, day after day after day. “It’s your own fault you’re sad now.” 

“You did the right thing.” another snarled for weeks at a time. “Perhaps you have some humanity left after all, to spare the beauty an eternity of your horror.” 

“You are disgusting.” Abrupt and scathing, repeating for ages and ages. “No wonder the humans tell horror stories about you.” 

“They call you the devil Deadpool, perhaps you should act like it.” Encouragement to awful deeds, unrelenting in his ear. 

“Stop letting the souls circle in peace, force them to pay for their sins.” Coaxing, nearly pleading, non stop for more minutes than Wade could count.

“Stop standing idly by, command this place like the damnation it is.” 

“He was a creator god, you made yourself into a god of destruction. Prove it.” 

“Violence. Anger. Destruction. You are so good at it. Unleash it all.”

“Burn it all to the ground.” 

“Get back at Olympus for what they did to you. They wanted you when you won the war and then forgot you here below.” 

“The Fate’s spun those threads and then severed them just as quickly.” 

“You are meant to be a madman, meant to be cursed, why don’t you enjoy it a little.” 

“Burn it all to the ground.” “You are disgusting.” “He is never coming back.” “You should have forced him to stay.” “You should have forced him to love you.” “You should have forced him--” 

“NO!” Wade fell from the throne to his knees on the unforgiving stone, dragged his fingers across the surface until they bled. “No no no. Please. Please--” 

So long he’d been alone with the voices and the pain and after Peter had come and gone it all seemed worse. It was so much worse, it was so much worse, he couldn’t--he couldn’t--he couldn’t--

Warmth. 

Wade froze when he felt the softest ray of sunshine on his skin, the barest puff of summer wind, the lightest hint of something floral and beautiful in the air. 

“....Pete?” 

There it was again, warmth and sunshine, summer wind and flowers and Wade forced himself to sit up and look and there-- there on the pomegranate tree was a single bud forming on the tip of the highest branch, turning from brown to green and then unfurling into a beautiful leaf as Wade watched in shock. 

And then another, joining the first, a third joining those two and as the god’s jaw fell open in disbelief, the pomegranate tree leafed out entirely until it was green and healthy and glowing. 

“...what?” 

It had been so long, or maybe it hadn’t been long at all, but it felt like forever since Peter had gone and yet here was life, proof of the creator god, right here in the Underworld. 

“Oh.”

“Pete.” 

*****************

*****************

The pomegranate tree grew at something of a regular pace, the leaves lengthening until flower buds appeared, the flowers opening into brilliant colors a while after, the first signs of fruit coming along much later after that. 

And on the day the fruit was ripe, Wade stumbled from his throne and lurched towards the tree, leaving Pain and Panic, Heartbreak and Self Loathing behind as he plucked a red pomegranate from a tall branch and broke it open to stare at the ripeness within. 

“Are you going to eat that without me?” 

Wade’s head jerked up when he heard Peter’s voice and when he tried to speak, the words failed the first time. “P--Pete--” 

“I told you I’d come back.” Peter was almost painfully beautiful, his eyes a season wiser and skin a summer more golden, the green at his finger tips swirling in the air as if he couldn’t quite contain his power. “I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

“You--” Wade glanced back down at the mouthwatering fruit then up again to Peter. “You aren’t allowed back in my realm without permission, no one passes Cerebus without my knowing. How are you here?” 

“Oh my love.” Peter touched his lips gently. “I never really left. I carried a piece of you the surface and left a piece of myself here.” 

“When you bit me.” Wade said numbly. “And I bled.” 

“Only after we shared a pomegranate.” Peter acknowledged. “Something of me and something of you.” 

“I--” Despair, not a new companion but one that had made itself so loud after Peter had gone the first time. He’s only here because he is bound to this place. “I didn’t want you to return to me because you had to, Pete.” 

“I chose to stay because I wanted to.” Peter said simply, easily. “I’m not bound to this place, Wade. I’m bound to you. Willingly. My choice, not yours.” 

And then with teasing smile, “I mean, you didn’t have to let me force feed you pomegranates and you could have pushed me away when I bit you. So I suppose this is sort of your choice, too.” 

“My choice.” Hope, blooming unexpectedly and nearly taking Wade’s breath away and then all at once it was crushed when Self Loathing hissed, “Your scars. Your glamour is gone.” 

“Oh.” Wade dropped the fruit and turned away, hiding his face. “Pete, I--” 

“I thought you were going to kidnap me again.” Peter’s smile didn’t even waver as he ambled in closer to the tree, plucking a piece of fruit of his own and breaking it open, inhaling the syrupy sweet scent and smiling as he scooped the seeds free. “I even waited by the lake, sure you’d spring up and take me away.” 

“You need to give me some time.” Wade mumbled, stumbling blindly up the stairs to his throne, desperate for the cover the shadows would provide. He needed a moment to gather his power, to flex his will and cover his scars and his ugliness. “Pete, please just give me a minute.” 

“Wade.” The creator god might have just been light on his feet, it might have been his magic, but suddenly Peter was there right in front of Wade, pushing him back into the throne and crawling onto his lap to straddle his thighs. “Why are you hiding from me?” 

“I--I--” Wade had thought he’d forgotten what it meant to be terrified, but right now he was terrified as Peter brought his palms up to frame his face, fingers stroking careful lines over his cheek and jaw. “Pete--” 

“I’ve missed you.” Peter leaned in and pressed their mouths together, inching closer until they were touching everywhere possible. “Mmmm, my love. Haven’t you missed me?” 

“Of course I have but--” 

“But?” Peter bumped their noses together, slid his hands beneath Wade’s tunic and flattened his palms to the rough skin. “But what?” 

“Do you see me?” Wade caught Peter’s wrists and held him still. “Pete, do you see me? This is me, this Deadpool, the scars and the--” he swallowed. “--the demons at my feet. My glamour is--” 

“Unnecessary.” Peter glanced down to the foot of the throne and then kicked out at Panic and Pain until they scattered, waved his hands at Self Loathing and Heartbreak until they slunk away and said conversationally, “I had to compromise with May, you know. She is upset I want to be here, but I promised to be on the surface for an equal part of the year so the two of will have to learn to share.” 

“Share.” It felt incredible to be the recipient of Peter’s smiles again, to feel the lithe body against his own and see the open, honest, affection in the golden brown eyes. Wade was still trying to understand it all, still tempted to cringe away from the light, but Peter was smiling and touching him and pressed close as if nothing was wrong and he didn’t see anything awful even when Wade’s glamour was gone. 

“Share.” Wade said again and this time he tried for a smile. “I have to share with May? I don’t share well Pete, I don’t-- don’t think that will work.” 

“You ancient gods are so selfish and petty!” Peter’s laugh was clear and bright and intoxicating. “But that’s why I left the pomegranate tree behind! When the leaves fall, I’ll go back to May, and when the fruit is ripe, I will return to you. It’s balanced! Learn to share!

Wade tipped his head back onto the throne and squeezed at Peter’s waist, trying not to let his roiling emotions spill out and over.  “You’ll come back to me when the fruit is ripe?” 

“Like the seasons, my love.” Peter promised, and then with a thoroughly enticing wiggle, “Now then, aren’t you going to tell how happy you are to see me?” 

“I uh--” Wade pressed at Peter’s waist again and the gorgeous creator god came closer, sparking his magic until the air was filled with aphrodisia and Wade’s body was surging to answer the invitation. “I just barely got Cerebus trained to be vicious again, you’re going to ruin them.” 

“Oh no, not a vicious Cerebus!” Peter gasped in mock horror, then tipped his head back and whistled, and in the distance, Cerebus answered with an excited howl. 

“And um, if you’re going to stay, you’ll need a throne.” Wade said next and Peter’s eyes crinkled when he grinned. “Unfortunately there isn’t room for a second one in here so...”

“So, I suppose I’ll have to sit on your lap.” Peter said solemnly. “Any other complaints, oh guardian of the Underworld?” 

“I thought I’d lost you.” Wade’s voice cracked then and Peter magicked a pomegranate blossom out of thin air and into his palm, dusting the petals over Wade’s lips.

“Never, my love. Never.” 

**************

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#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #hades and persephone #commission

[jupitersmiles]

HI ANGEL <3333

persephone, river styx and titans for the asks game!! >:)

babydoll !!! 

persephone; “what is your ‘type’ ?”

baby.... i have so many LMAOHSAJD but, if i had to choose one, it would have to be the snarky but sweet type. people that tease me n have that playfully insulting humor but’ll also hear you out if needed, whether it be sentimental or in their own way, is just very cute n attractive to me <33

river styx; “what do you think happens when we die ?”

THIS QUESTION IS SO COOL !!! m okay so !! i really believe in the idea of reincarnation. i like to think that there is life after death, literal life. you wade through the cosmos in search of another adventure, to find one that beckons you to the point of rebirth, and from then on, you’re given that chance to be-- be someone different, and experience new things. 

i have so many things i want to say abt this but i wont LMAOAOS

titans; “if you could go anywhere in time, where would you want to go ?”

probably the 1950′s !!! ive always loved the bright colors and downtown diners with jukebox’s installed in every corner, music that makes you want to stand up and shimmy for the sake of having fun and nothing else. it seemed like such a fun time and i ADORE it

#goofing off at closing time #business partners 💌 #i actually loved this GSHDHS #babydoll ghostie <3

[xiubaek-13]

Gods & Myths

Prompt: J-Hope + 3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

Setting/AU: College AU

Warnings: Alcohol use, frat party, sexual tension, lewd humour etc

Word Count: 3,278

You didn’t want to be here. Every fiber of your being wanted desperately to be anywhere that wasn’t at the Gods and Myths party at Ravenwood Academy. It’s not that you hated parties, or despised dressing up, rather, it was that you hated ending up alone at these things. Your friends always came with you, spotted someone they were crushing on and left without fail. Leaving you alone for the remainder of the evening, easy prey for drunk creeps to hit on. Usually you left before they saw you all alone, in your mind you wondered if you had a huge neon sign above you that said Easy Target.

Every time you brought this fact up with them their responses were the same. “Well maybe you should try it sometime.” “It’s not going to hurt you to have fun. Live a little.” “Just do, don’t think about it for once in your life.”

All of that was easier said than done though. Overthinking was a skill of yours, one excelled at. Your friends meant well, you knew that, but it hurt to realise time and time again that in some aspects, they just truly didn’t understand you. You weren’t as outgoing as them and apparently didn’t have anywhere near as high a sex drive as they did. They said you were too picky while you thought that sometimes they weren’t picky enough.

You wanted to be the person who could just switch off and live in the moment but you were too observant, too analytical and too concerned with how what you did at any given moment would impact your life. Other people got to finish class and leave their academic commitments in their dorm, not concerned with how their actions in the night would impact them in the future but not you, the burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your shoulders. You had to get good grades so that you could get a good job and a good career. That was what had been ingrained into you since you were a small child. Romance and frivolity just weren’t luxuries that you could afford.

Regardless of how you feel about social gatherings, you’re here, sitting on Minhee’s bed with Sora while they brainstorm costumes for each of you to wear. According to them this party was a big deal and proper thought should go into your outfit. In your mind it was just middle ground between angels & devils and toga party. Wear a coloured sheet and something on your head and drink. It seemed simple to you but to your friends, it was more. They were well known for their partying ways and impeccable costumes. How you ended up with these two as your best friends you’ll never know, but you wouldn’t have it any other way… most of the time.

Minhee stands in front of her wardrobe facing the two of you with her arms crossed in front of her, resolute in her statement. “As a history major I refuse to allow the three of us to be basic. There will be enough Aphrodite’s, Hera’s, Athena’s and Persephone’s in attendance so we need something unique.” 

“Why don’t we go as the three fates?” Sora offers as she flips through a Greek Mythology book.

Minhee shakes her head. “No, then we’d have to spend the entire night together so that our costumes made sense.”

“Wow, you make hanging out together sound like a punishment.” You remark.

Her eyes roll. “You know that’s not how I meant it. If we do a group costume then we have to stick together. At the biggest party of the academic year.” Next to you Sora nods. If she thinks this is convincing you that she wasn’t being harsh before, she’s sorely mistaken.

“What Minhee is trying to say is that Jaebum is going to be there and she wants to get that.” She chuckles as she looks at you. “We love you dearly, but we both have goals for this party, and apparently that means we need standalone costumes. Otherwise Minhee will be insufferable because she couldn’t jump JB’s bones because we did a group costume… which is not a crazy persons reasoning at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at Sora’s bluntness. You knew they’d both be wanting to impress their crushes and that they would not be sticking with you all night. Still, the reality of being alone at a party yet again kind of dampens the mood for you. “Then Minhee should be Nyx.” You state.

“Primordial goddess of the night?” She asks, to no one in particular.

You shrug. “Look if there was a goddess of determination to get that dick then I’d pick that one for you. This is the closest thing.”

Sora collapses into the bed in a fit of laughter at your words while Minhee feigns offence, doing her best to not laugh yet. “Are you calling me a skank?”

“Of course not. If I wanted to do that I’d have suggested Peitho.” Minhee sputters as her cool facade cracks and she joins Sora in a fit of laughter, doubling over and grabbing the wardrobe with her spare hand to brace herself as she laughs.

“You bitch.” She says as she regains her composure.

“Honestly, the lengths you go to for dick.”  You do your best to sound nonchalant but a laugh breaks through.

“For that uncalled for comment you get to be Hecate, it’s not in the mythology books but I’m pretty sure she was a snarky biatch like you.” She points at Sora as you crack up laughing. “And you can be Kotys, you party animal.”

***

The party is going almost exactly how you imagined it would. The three of you arrived, wading through a crowd of multiple Hades, Persephone, Zeus, Hera, Apollo & Aphrodite costumes. Minhee and Sora are ecstatic that no one seems to have picked the goddesses that the three of you did but a small part of you wishes you could blend in with the crowd, it would make escaping drunk horny guys later so much easier.

You had to give it to the decorators. They had outdone themselves this year. The large dining hall had been transformed into a Greek paradise. There was a Mount Olympus in the back corner, a Dionysus themed bar, hanging gardens, beautifully draped sheets around fake columns. There were games all around the room, based off ancient Olympics and myths. You spotted a stone grotto where you had to trick Medusa, a makeshift river Styx, the list went on.

It was hard to believe that this was the dining hall. The spot where you usually sat for your meals was currently the entrance to hell and where you normally sat was Yoongi, dressed as Hades, trying to convince people to actually pay him money to be kept safe. You laughed to yourself, remembering the time that Minhee had her sights set on him only to be shut down because he didn’t want to fuck someone who didn’t know what an arpeggio was. She had been livid for weeks. She thought it was some kind of pasta. You and Sora hadn’t let her live it down, much to her displeasure.

The rest of his group are performing similar grifts around the room. Namjoon is at Mount Olympus, dressed as Zeus and giving orders as King of the Gods. Jimin is dressed as Eros and is wandering around pushing people together, daring them to kiss. Dressed is a loose statement given the minimal amount of coverage he has going for him but that kind of goes hand in hand with being the god of sexual desire, attraction, love and procreation. Jin is dressed as Plutus and in his drunken stupor keeps telling everyone “Opulence, I own everything!” Taehyung is behind the bar, dressed as Dionysus, reveling in getting partygoers drunk out of their brains. Jungkook is Heracles, doing upside down keg stands and challenging people to arm wrestling and Mario Kart, probably not exactly the picture of the greatest hero but he fits the strongest man on earth part of the brief. Hoseok is Caerus, flitting around the room to each of the games and convincing people to do things they normally wouldn’t, telling them he felt lucky about their odds of winning if they did as he suggested. Whoever put those 7 in charge as hosts for the evening was either out of their mind or a genius.

Shortly after arriving Sora directs you to the bar, making sure the three of you have drinks in your hands at all times then drags your trio over to a group who are playing a range of drinking games loosely based off mythology. So loosely that you’d wager that they were just playing normal drinking games and adding one greek work to them to fit the theme of the party. You glance at Minhee, thinking she might have hit the nail on the head with the goddess she picked for Sora, who raises a brow at you as if to say I was dead on right?

You stand back with Minhee while Sora leads the next round of games, completely in her element as the life of the party. Out of the corner of your eye you spot the very person who Minhee keeps searching for. She probably thinks she’s being subtle but to you she looks like a lost bird with how much her head is darting around as she scans the room. You nudge her, directing her attention towards her mark. “He’s over there when you’re ready to go throw yourself at him.”

She scoffs at you and smirks. “Don’t be ridiculous, I won’t need to throw myself at him, have you seen me in this dress?” To make sure you get the full effect she twirls and poses for you, her shamelessness making you cringe.

“Oh my god, just go already.”

Sora appears beside you, laughing. “Looks like I have perfect timing!” she says as she latches onto your arm, her grip ironclad, tugging it towards the centre of the group where the games are being played. “Come on, we’re playing the next game.”

“Wha-” you start to protest, refusing to budge from your spot. You don’t join in at these parties. You observe. You’re not the free spirited type. You don’t know the social cues or the rules for these games.

“No excuses. If you fuck up the game you drink, if you win you drink. Pretty simple really.” She holds onto your arm tightly, no intentions of letting you flee. “For once, try to enjoy yourself.” She says.

Begrudgingly you give up trying to escape. She knows you too well and she has no plans on letting go of you until you’re in the circle and the game is starting. There’s no escape now, not when you’re surrounded. Your anxiety spikes for a moment, wondering if all of the people around you know that you don’t fit in here. That little voice in your head tells you that they’re judging you, mocking you, no matter how hard you try to ignore it.  

“What game have you been playing here?” Hoseok asks, appearing out of nowhere, his red locks wreathed in olive branches. That part of his costume irks you. Caerus was always described as bald, with one lock of hair, not a luscious soft looking full head of hair. At least he had the non aging, beautiful part down, because Hoseok was beautiful. His high cheekbones and strong jawline framed his face, inviting eyes and an infectious smile made him hard to resist. You have watched him from a distance at many parties, never actually interacting with words. A few times he caught you staring, only to raise an eyebrow at you and for you to avert your gaze. This is the closest you’d ever been to him at a party and you decide that it is incredibly unfair for him to look that good.

“Escape the Manticore.” Someone says at the same time as you say “Beer Pong.” Hoseok laughs as he moves to the center of the group. He raises his hands, beckoning those in the circle to listen to him.

“An excellent choice of game, however, might I suggest a change in proceedings before Jungkook/Heracles makes his way over here?” The noises from the group seem to lean towards agreeing to change games. Everyone knows that you can’t beat Jungkook at beer pong. The guy is stupidly good at it. Smiling, Hoseok continues. “Might I suggest Sirens Call?”

You scoff. “What’s that, truth or dare?” The crowd laughs at your comment.

“Closer to spin the bottle actually.” Hoseok responds, winking at you as he does so. “Alright, you lot” He says as he points to 7 others, Sora and yourself “are playing this round with me.” You do your best to ignore the wink, surely he does that to everyone. Like Sora, he’s always the life of the party. It probably doesn’t mean anything. Even if part of you wants it to.

Sora claps with glee as she realizes that his selection includes the man she’s been ogling all night, Shownu. He’s a mountain of a man with soft, kind eyes and Sora has been swooning over him for months. You know that she’ll shatter the bottle if it doesn’t land on him when she spins it.

“You look like you want to eat him alive Sora, maybe dial it down a notch.” You murmur.

Her eyes flit to yours for a moment, a mischievous grin on her face. “I’d rather climb him like a tree but eating works as well.”

You don’t get a chance to tell her to keep it in her pants as Hoseok produces a bottle and motions for the ten of you to sit on the floor. “The person spinning the bottle is the siren. Whoever the bottle lands on is their target. If their target succumbs to their call and kisses them they’re out of the game, Sirens were kind of evil guys, they lured men to their deaths. If you resist the siren for thirty seconds then you survive and they are out of the game.

The game progresses as drunken people lock lips and disappear from the game, often wandering off together to continue where they left off, much to Jimin’s delight. Shownu did his best to resist Sora, but your maniac of a friend legitimately climbed him when he refused her request for him to kiss her, straddling his hips and teasingly leaning in, ghosting kisses over his neck, face & mouth until he gave in and captured her lips with his. As she got up and lead Shownu away from the group she winked at you, happy to have secured her man for the night.

Hoseok spins the bottle next. You watch it spin round and round, wondering who it will land on and if they’re going to be able to resist his charms. To your surprise the bottle lands on you. You stare at it in mild shock. Hoseok isn’t supposed to get this close to you. No, you watch him from afar, wondering what it would be like to touch him, to be held by him, to kiss him. But those were only ever supposed to be thoughts, never a reality.

You watch with wide eyes as he crawls towards you, like a predator circling its prey. You don’t know if you are strong enough to resist him, not when his eyes were laser focused on you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before. Whenever he’d caught you staring at him he’d always kept that inviting look in his eyes but that was nowhere to be found right now. It felt like he was staring into your soul which unnerves you. You try to swallow but your throat feels dry, and your hand can’t seem to find your drink.

He closes the distance between the two of you quickly, stopping only once his arms are caging your legs where you sit. He is too close, so close that you can feel his breath fanning your neck, you can smell his cologne, you can’t concentrate. He licks his lips and leans forward, his mouth ghosting your ear. Breathily he says “Kiss me” then moves back slightly so that he can see your face.

If you do as he asks you’ll lose the game, but you will have kissed Jung Hoseok. That little voice inside your head tries to tell you that he’d only be kissing you because of the game, not because he has any interest in you. Another smaller voice speaks up, telling you so what if its only because of the game? You still get to kiss him and if the other voice is wrong, then you’ll have bagged Jung motherfucking Hoseok. Where is the loss for you here?

You stare at his lips longer than you care to admit, at his prominent cupids bow and soft looking lower lip, at the way he slightly smirks when he realises that you’re fixated on his mouth. It feels like aeons but in reality it takes only seconds for the two of you to stare at each other, your eyes flickering because for a moment Hoseok does look like a god, but one who is within your reach, and it causes a quiet breath to escape your lips.

Cautiously you inch forward, and Hoseok cups your cheek with his hand. He feels warm. You lean into his touch, letting yourself indulge in the moment. You press your lips into his, they are softer than you were expecting. He moves his head slightly and your lips slot together perfectly, his hand sliding into your hair. You could end it here, you had already failed the game and there was no need to continue the kiss.

Except that you don’t want it to end. You want more. You press into his lips harder, parting them, and you feel him smile into it as he deepens the kiss. Your hand grips his cloak, as if you’re scared he will let go of you and end this. The nature of the kiss shifts from a soft, sweet meeting of the mouths to a heated, passionate tangling of tongues. When you do break apart its because you both need air. His eyes are hooded and dark as he stares at you as if you are the only person in the room.

Gradually both of you realize that you have an audience and you blush furiously. Hoseok clears his throat and looks around, attempting to put on the mask of the host as he says. “That’s game over. You know how it works now, form your own teams and go.” He grabs your wrist and helps you stand, his eyes never leaving your face. It’s written all over his face, plain as day, that he wants to kiss you again. You want to kiss him again too, but not with so many people around.

“Come with me?” He asks.

#kloversnet #thekpopnetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #kwordsmiths #bts scenario #bts fic #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts drabble #hoseok imagine #hoseok scenario #hoseok fic #hoseok drabble #j-hope imagine #j-hope drabble #j-hope fic #j-hope scenario #jhope imagines #jhope drabble #jhope scenarios #jhope fic

[whirlybirbs]

i’m ready for the miss turner and arthur angst because i’m a sadist who lives for seeing my ships being out through pain apparently

MIDNIGHT RIDERS.

summary: miss turner is dragged from camp by bounty hunters looking to settle a score of waylon robbins. she has a lizzie borden moment. she graduates from lamb to wolf.rating: t+, this has some canon typical violence, threats of non-conpairing: arthur morgan x reader, turner as a surnamea/n: this is gonna set up a nice arc for miss turner – there’s gonna b some angst and softness to follow. this is part of my simpler said aloud series!

“GET THE GIRL!”

There’s a fist in your hair, dragging you from bed.

Your scream rips through the quiet, sleepy, Clemens Point night like jagged glass cuts through skin.

Thick and painful and full of fear.

Arthur Morgan is torn from his dreams by the chaos. 

The inky night blankets the stampede of the phantom horses, burning lanterns swinging in the heavy air, glow swimming in the fog like souls in the River Styx. The bellows of the masked men echoes through the camp. Their masks do nothing to hide their intentions. Instead, it brands them horsemen of some home-grown apocalypse.

Arthur wades into the violence immediately, gunning down the nearest rider.

Across camp, you’ve been pistol whipped into silence. The blood in your mouth is drowning you, screams smothered by the hood tied tight around your throat.

“We been lookin’ fer you, sweetheart.”

Meanwhile, Javier and Bill and Charles are emerging from their tents alongside Arthur with guns blazing and eyes wide, but it’s a futile effort. The night raid ends as quick as it begins and in its wake, there’s nothing but silence, trodden mud and one, single dead rider. 

Confusion ripples in their absence. 

Something’s not right.

Arthur’s eyes roam the tired faces of the remaining Van der Linde’s. They pull themselves from their tents with more questions than answers.

“Where’s Miss Turner?”

Enter panic; all encompassing.

You are in the thick of aforementioned panic, vision coming and going in blacked out blurs – the hood over your head is dark and the ropes are tight and you can feel the skin of your wrists and ankles bleeding raw. The taste of blood is ever-present with the heavy gallops. 

“If y’ know what’s good for you,” you rasp, “You’ll let me go –”

A chorus of laughs surrounds you. 

“I don’t think so, Miss Turner,” a voice in front of you calls out with a faux sense of sincerity, “You’re quite the woman to catch. Mr. Robbins has been worried sick.”

More laughter. Another rifle butt to the temple.

When you wake up, you’re upright.

In the groggy disconnect between reality and your mind, you recognize there’s a fire, somewhere, and voices. 

You can still taste blood.

You blink, world spinning in terrifying dashes of light, before finally your violent vertigo rights itself.

You’re tied to a tree on the outskirts of a camp. You do not know where you are. Your head hurts. Your nose has stopped bleeding. Your lip is split. You blink at your knees, dashed with bruises. Your ivory nightgown is stained with crimson from your kidnapping. 

You’re mad.

You snarl.

“I’ll skin you all alive.”

Owlish heads turn at the hellcat call, and three men rise at a single beckoned wave by a man in black at the head of the camp. They are not kind nor gentle nor careful when they gather you. They pry at your gown, wandering hands trying to get a grab at warm flesh.

You’re alive and real and not theirs. 

You smack their hands from you, battling at the assault.

They throw you to the dirt in front of the fire. You land on your knees. Your hair spills around your face and hides the bubbling anger. You feel every bit wild – every bit feral. You’ve been stolen from your bed, dragged from home. 

You’re not safe.

You’re angry.

“Waylon Robbins sends his warmest regards.”

You spit at the ground at the mere mention of the name.

“Frank,” the man snaps, calling attention to the thug beside you, “Make her look at me.”

A fist knots itself into your hair. You’re yanked, then, fingers clawing at the wrist as your head is raised and you struggle; you try to keep your face set in stone. You try to think about what Sadie Adler would do – what Arthur would need you to do. 

Wild eyes rake the figure before you. He’s young – about your age – and well-dressed. His hat is pushed back, displaying the youthful sense of pride that blooms in his cheeks. He props a boot up on the log beside the fire. A hunk of fire wood sits beside you. 

In it is lodged an ax.

“Miss Turner,” he begins again, “My name is Nicholas Dennis.”

You snort. “Good name, it’ll look nice on a grave.”

“Clever, aren’t you?” he asks, laughing brightly, “Listen, Miss Turner, I’m gonna put this nicely. You robbed us. You robbed the kind Mr. Robbins. An’ he was gonna let th’ whole runnin’ off thing go but…”

He leans, dropping his elbow to his knee. 

When he smiles, it glints with danger.

“You’ve gotta pretty bounty on your head, Van der Linde,” he snorts, “An’ once I let my boys have their way, we’ll turn you in, we’ll go back and pick that camp a’ yours apart. Them folks you’re runnin’ with… well, Jenny told me they were bad… Sweet girl, she is. I think she might be sweet on me.”

The mention of your sister strikes you in the heart.

The fist in your hair lets you go and you’re kicked forward. Your nails dig into the dirt and you cry out, rage boiling over. You stagger to stand, heaving.

“You bastards –”

Suddenly, there’s pistol cocked in your face.

“If yer smart,” Nicholas breathes, “You’d be a good girl an’ let th’ boys tie y’ back up –”

You’re grabbed roughly then, arms pinned.

“Or, I’ll have t’ put a bullet in y’ like I did that friend of yours back in Rhodes. Arthur Morgan, was it? Shame, he’d be better to the world dead.”

You’re not really sure where it comes from – this horrifying, gut-wrenching anger born out of a need for survival and revenge washes over you and drowns your composure whole. The thought that this man nearly stole Arthur Morgan from this world, that he brags at the idea… You wonder if this is what love is like, if murder is acceptable in the eyes of a holy matrimony unspoken. 

Til’ homicide do you part. 

You wonder, when you break for the ax, if Mary Linton ever killed for Arthur Morgan.

When you drive the ax through the head of Nicholas Dennis, and then through the chest of the thug to your right, you wonder if Arthur would be proud.

There’s a lot of blood.

You’re manic.

The gruesome sight sends the rest of Robbins’ men scattering, horrified cries drowned in your rage. Horses kick up a dust and the camp empties and you’re still swinging, fight or flight dying down as reality melts.

You watch the sunrise beside two bludgeoned bodies.

You then begin the long wander back.

You’d thought, before, that your hands had been dirty. That a robbery had put you thick in with the thieves. But, now… 

Javier had told you a story about La LLorona once around the fire. You recon that with your lace chemise drenched in blood and stained hands still clinging to the ax, you must fall in with that ghostly weeping woman – though there are no tears. No weeps. No sorrow. No regret.

Cold disconnect.

The sun crawls over the horizon.

When Arthur finally finds you, you’re crossing the bridge into Rhodes like the dead walking.

You drop the ax from shaking hands at the sight of the lone outlaw.

The sight drives pain into his heart worse than the bullet shaped scar there.

WAYLON ROBBINS SENDS HIS REGARDS. 

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan reader insert #hmhmhmhmh meeeee writing on my day off???? yep #tw: threats of non-con