#like none of them know the physical proof of the silly play is sitting right there w them 3-4 generations later | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phykios · 3 years

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the marble king, part 12 [end] [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Constantinople, 1453

Even here beneath the waves, down in the darkness of the crushing ocean, all she could smell was smoke. War drums still thundered in her ears. On her lips, she tasted blood and salt--though whether it was the seawater or her tears, she could not say.

But it was not enough that she had failed to defend the city of Constantinople. It was not enough that she had lost her unit to a man, or had abandoned her post, or had allowed the Ottomans through the Kerkoporta on her watch.

Any one of these things would have branded her a failure--but that the wretched, insufferable, intolerable son of Poseidon had borne witness to it all only turned the knife even deeper, salting the wound and taking pleasure in her misfortune.

To be reduced to a weeping woman like this, taking refuge in his embrace, it was disgraceful. It was nearly as painful as the loss of the city.

The city… gods above, the city.

The heart of the known world. The defense of Europe. The last gasp of the Roman empire.

Gone.

And all that was left of it was him.

And so she clung even tighter.

It felt vaguely sacrilegious to be here, holding his hand, beneath the shadow of the temple erected to his father’s defeat. Her siblings would shun her. Her mother would disown her. The earth should have split open and swallowed her whole for such blasphemy.

And yet, it felt so right.

They had traveled so many miles together, weathered so many storms and stood against so many monsters. He had followed the Hunters of Artemis all the way to Mauretania, chasing a hazy vision of Annabeth struggling beneath Atlas’ burden. He had returned from certain death, thrown himself before her when she was in danger, had refused the gods’ offer of immortality. Then, even after she had spat in his face, expelling him from her sight, when the world crumbled around them and he could have so easily turned and ran, straight into the arms of the sea, his protection and the source of his power--he had sought her out.

“If you agree, Annabeth,” he said, strikingly earnest in the way that only he could be, “let us, here and now, tie off these threads of our history, as one would to a tapestry. Let us end this rivalry of ours.”

Percy had always risked life and limb for her safety. And, she thought, her old shoulder wound itching, she had done the same. They were a team, a partnership. In the absence of their brothers in arms, of their divine parents, of all trappings of the world they once knew, they should stay together. His logic was sound.

“A plan worthy of Athena,” she said. “I agree to your terms.”

That her mother did not immediately emerge from the temple, in all her heavenly glory, to smite her for such an insult was even more proof that her spirit no longer dwelt in this place. Lady Athena had never attempted to hide her distaste for her uncle’s son.

“To think,” he wondered, softly, hazily, “that such a legendary rivalry could have been resolved so easily.”

“It is strange,” she admitted, looking out on the diminished city, the light streaking across wooden roofs and weathered stone, “that along with my mother and our ancestral home, I have lost this as well.”

As long as she had known him, Percy had been a remarkably consistent presence in his life--in some ways, even more solid than the other foundational truths of her life. Her mother would not always be pleased, her friends may not always return from war, but Percy would always be there to irritate, antagonize, and infuriate her to previously unreached heights. To let that go as well, to be so unmoored… it was frightening.

“Well,” said Percy, squeezing her hand, a silly little smile crossing his lips, "my first act, in the shedding of our rivalry, is to pledge myself to our future empress, Ana Zabeta Palaiologina."

Palaiologina. The word cut through her in a way she could not quite understand.

Maidens the world over dreamed of marrying into a family with such prestige, spent every waking moment scheming how best to attach themselves to royalty. Annabeth herself had done the very same thing, not days previously. To ingratiate herself to Thomas and Demetrios would be child’s play for someone with her abilities.

And yet… she did not want Percy to call her Palaiologina.

He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed the skin there, gracious, deferential. Or mocking, if the glint in his eye was any indication.

Phykios, she grumbled to herself.

Pulling her hand back, she wiped it on her dress, hoping to rid her fingers of the hot, tingly sensation which had taken hold.

***

The words echoed in her head, long after they had been spoken aloud, clanging like the bells which sat atop the churches on every corner, inescapable.

Percy had long since gone to sleep, safe in the strength of their companionship. How easily had he divulged his secrets to her! Were their rivalry still intact, she would now have the precise knowledge she required to ruin him entirely. Alas that the same knowledge which would have brought her victory years ago now brought her to ruin and despair.

No mortal woman.

Again, for what must have been the fifth time since he had fallen asleep, she examined every corner of their conversation, turning each word over for double, triple, twisted meanings, meanings which he may not have even been clever enough to imply. That he had rejected Rachael’s advances, even though she had been a fine marriage prospect, that she had never seen him in the company of another woman, that he had admitted to relations with a man so easily, that he had never pursued her, despite years of questing and friendship and several less-than-obvious hints--it all pointed to one logical, if devastating, conclusion.

Yet there was another side to such a terrible coin. She should not have spent so many years agonizing over her words and actions which had turned his heart from her, for she had never had his heart in the first place, had never had a chance to it. No woman had. Annabeth need not have gone to such lengths, seducing Katya when she had expressed an interest in Percy’s hand, monopolizing his attention, flaunting her femininity before his eyes, for he never would have noticed her at all.

While Annabeth was beside herself, worrying herself sick over his health and safety, Percy had been languishing in the arms of another man--of a man of the Legion.

She felt so cold, despite the fire, despite her cloak, despite the heat of the summer night which lay upon her, heavy and still.

None of it had mattered, she was coming to realize. Not the time he had refused immortality, nor the time he had returned from the island of Ogygia, nor the time he had crossed the known world to rescue her from Lukas and the titans. A maiden’s fanciful romance, she had enjoyed imagining that at least some of it may have been for her sake.

The stars blurred before her eyes, her breath hitching.

No. She would not let herself fall to pieces, in her silent, lonesome revelation. There was no sense in weeping over spilled oil; to mourn for a future which had never been possible was a waste of time and energy.

And yet. Gods above, and yet.

She had so successfully repressed the stunning depths of her feelings for him for years, her stubborn, willful pride refusing to let go of a silly grudge and a terrible misunderstanding. How fitting, then, that it should resurface as soon as she discovered such an avenue had never been available to her.

Sniffing heartily, she scrubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears which had gathered in them.

Do not weep, she told herself. There were more wars to fight, more battles to be won, and matters of the heart did not take precedence, no matter how much they hurt.

***

Her siblings, as children, always teased her for her fixation on her hair. Blonde was not an unusual color at the agoge, but children of the war goddess were not supposed to be so concerned with such things as physical appearance. That was strictly the purview of the sons and daughters of Aphrodite; Athena’s children were supposed to focus their wits on things far more deserving of their attention than beauty. Beauty was fleeting, ephemeral, intangible--beauty did not win battles. Athena and Aphrodite were always at odds, in this way.

Yet when Annabeth, a child of fourteen years old, one day very shyly sidled up to Silena, having swallowed her pride to ask the older girl for assistance, Silena agreed immediately, without ever having to hear any arguments. “You have always had such lovely hair,” she had cooed, sitting beneath the shadow of one of the olive trees, her hands deftly twisting her thick, curly, unruly hair into sleek, orderly locks. “Many a sibling of mine has lamented that you have been given so many gifts, your tresses not the least among them.”

Annabeth had smiled, pleased. The older she became, the more comments appraising her apparent beauty she received, and she was not always so pleased to receive them, though coming from Silena’s mouth, they seemed much more sincere. “You speak truly?”

“Of course! And it is not only my siblings who say so.” Then, Silena had leaned over, slipping Annabeth a sly wink. “I have heard tell that a certain son of Poseidon has expressed quite a particular admiration for it as well.”

Indignant, she had squawked, lightly smacking her friend, while Silena tittered, very prettily. “Cease with such falsehood! I know you do nothing but jest!”

“It is no falsehood, korie,” she had said, pulling on a curly forelock. “Carlo has told me how he often speaks of you in such flattering tones. One would think he had decided to court you already!” And then she had laughed again, gaily, delighted--but never mocking.

Flushing, Annabeth’s heart had begun to pound as she considered the potential truth of such a statement, that Percy had spoken of her that way. Recently, she had developed a rather peculiar set of reactions to Percy’s presence: flushed cheeks, pounding heart, an absence of all her faculties so that she, at times, became nearly as foolish as he.

She did not like those feelings. Not at all.

“Can you teach me,” she had said instead, unwilling to dwell on such strange emotion, for such things were so obviously beneath her, “how you wove your hair so skillfully the other day?”

“Of course,” Silena had said, a knowing glint in her eyes. “In fact, I will teach you one better. My siblings say that this particular braid is supposed to resemble the tail of a mermaid.”

Annabeth had practiced the skill for years, long before and long after the moment she had divined what those feelings of hers had truly meant. The mermaid’s tail, however, had not caught its mark--nor had any of the other simple or complex plaits she had mastered and perfected. By the time she was old enough to begin covering her hair, as older girls were meant to do, it seemed that there was nothing she could do with her hair to entice a particular man’s gaze, nor with any other part of her.

Of course, now she understood why.

How cruel were the Fates, that they had finally given her what she had so fervently desired, Percy’s hands in her hair, at such a terrible, unromantic time!

Still, he treated her with all delicacy and respect as he quite crudely hacked away at her gathered hair, sawing off all traces of her femininity. Annabeth was not endowed with so much in her hips nor her breasts; her hair was certainly the most obviously feminine part about her, thus with its removal, she would be better able to pass for a man, and be better kept safe from marauding bandits with evil, grasping hands.

It was sound logic, yes. But it was not her only goal.

She closed her eyes, measuring her breathing so as to keep the rapid war-drum of her heart from alerting the other party. All she could smell was the comforting salt scent which seemed to engulf her, like the warm embrace of the sea on a sunny day.

With a tug, then, it was done. “There,” said her companion. “It is finished.”

How odd, she thought, to feel air on her neck, so cold and exposed. “Well?” she asked, turning round before she let fear get the better of her. “Am I sufficiently boyish?”

He looked on her so oddly, his face a strange concoction of overlapping emotions, coalescing into a furrowing of his handsome brow, a pursing of his lips which still sent her into madness if she should consider them for too long. Please, she nearly prayed, as though she could change his mind from the force of her want alone. Am I as beautiful as all the boys in Rome? Am I someone you could love?

It seemed he had learned quite a bit of tact in their years apart, for he relieved her of her little fantasy ever so gently. “I am not certain,” he said, careful, deliberate, “you could pass as a man--though, perhaps you could be seen as a particularly delicate one.”

Her foolish wish shattered, as glass hurled against a wall.

Well. What was done was done. With a snap and an appeal to his gentlemanly nature, she sent him away so that she could pilfer a dead man’s clothes--and mourn her childish dreams--in peace.

***

Something in the air, the cold snap of it, the feeling as though one were breathing in pure ice, little shards of glass tickling the lungs and stomach--she had not realized just how much she had missed it. Of course the summer nights of the south were pleasant and fair, but there was something so sublime in the frigidity, the freezing, the ice in her fingers and the heat in her cheeks.

And, truth be told, something to say of her traveling companion as well.

Percy had been… nothing short of a miracle. Ripped far from his home, from everything he had ever known, and from his great Roman love (she thought to herself, with an internal scowl), he had been, the whole time, staunch, stalwart, solid. A better companion she could not have asked for, nor a better friend.

She told him as such, and distantly enjoyed the way his face flushed, ever so lightly. Tanned a deep, dark brown by the sun and by his natural coloring, it was sometimes difficult to tell what he was thinking, but she knew him well enough now. Had known him well enough for years.

He was very, very close now. For warmth, they had begun drifting closer together, their bodies’ natural attempts to stave off the bitter, northern cold.

She saw his eyes flick down to her lips.

No, she told herself firmly, no. He did not want for her advances. She had done everything she could to demonstrate her interest, short of simply throwing herself at him, and he had never risen for a single one. Annabeth and Percy were simply not meant to be, and no amount of forced companionship could change that.

For a brief, agonizing heartbeat, she thought she saw him twitch closer.

Then, from the corner of her eyes--light. “Percy, look!” she gasped.

Ásbrú, the rainbow bridge, pierced through the night sky as a blade through water, a burning ribbon of color, near as bright as the moon itself, even more beautiful than in her wildest imaginations. Though she knew well its existence, the bridge had never presented itself to her, not as the mountain of Olympus had. To see it now, it felt like stepping through a silk curtain, passing some invisible line. It felt like a rush of bloodlust, a guttural roar, like a warm fire and the hot curl of mead in her stomach.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

It felt like coming home.

***

How little her father had changed.

Politics was certainly not his area of interest, but he threw himself into his work as passionately as he had with the histories of Anglia and Gallia. His collections of papers, books, and pamphlets of various sizes and subjects were dizzyingly well-researched, a kind of organized chaos which resonated within her, every piece of information in its precise place, even if the place was incomprehensible to others. However, she could sense how little he cared for it.

“My dear,” he said, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, “I am afraid there is not much else that I can do. Mary tells me the Totts are growing more and more insistent--and they are merely the kindest about it. Word of both your reappearance and your inheritance has spread far faster than either of us had suspected it would, and we are expected to reply to a demand.”

Annabeth had returned to Svealand, it seemed, in the middle of quite the precarious situation. In the years since she had escaped her monastic doom, there had been no less than three separate kings who had ruled over the joining of northern lands: one deposed, one dead, and one perilously close to danger. Now the union had split apart, and had been at war with itself, with no signs of stopping.

Like many, many noble girls, Annabeth was being paraded around for marriage. At first, when she learned her mad uncle Randulf had left her some properties and the like, she had been oddly touched. She had never known the man personally, nor his children, who had died by some supernatural force whilst she had been roaming the European countryside, but she supposed it had been a final act of some charity, some avuncular affection for his brother’s daughter--yet, after she had learned what the inheritance had brought with it, she wished her uncle had given it to Magnus instead. Or at the very least, kept it to himself.

At least her father was equally upset at this turn of events, if not more so.

“Understand me well, Anja,” he said, his voice thick with fear and worry, “were it up to me, I would never allow it. If I had known you would have been subjected to the predatory whims of the blue-blooded fools in Uppsala, I would have never prayed for your return. I did not get you back just to lose you to--”

“I understand, papa,” she interrupted, gently. It would do neither of them to lose their heads at this time. “Of course I understand.”

“The rebellion is growing, and it is powerful. I do not think it will be very long until Karl Bonde is overthrown, but I worry this land cannot undergo any further crises. To see you enmeshed in such bloody business is one of my deepest, darkest fears, and yet…” He then put his head in his hands, the picture of defeat. “I see no way out of this.”

For her part, Annabeth could think of a few ways, each more distasteful than the last, full of lies and conceit. If she knew she would be forced to be married after all, she would have done more to convince Percy to take her to the Morea.

Then, a thought occurred to her. An idea. A magnificent, inspired plan. A dirty, sordid trick.

“What if…” she said slowly, considering. The next few words out of her mouth could determine a whole host of things, be they pleasant or or unpleasant. She had to speak carefully. “What if I were already married?”

He raised his head, peering at her curiously. “Are you--?”

“No, no,” she assured him. “Certainly not.” Not for a lack of trying, anyway.

Still, he looked thoughtful. “That is a clever idea,” he mused, rubbing his chin, “though I suppose they would then question why we did not think to mention it sooner.”

No doubt her stepmother had paraded about her unmarried status to all who would hear her. “We could say I was married in the eastern church. Perhaps that could explain the irregularity.”

“Perhaps.” Her father sounded doubtful. “I fear, however, that without a union in this church, it would not be recognized as legitimate.”

Seated in her chair, her foot tapped against the floor, quite unbecoming of a lady. Her fingers twitched in her lap, blood pulsing. “Then I suppose my ersatz husband and I must be married again.”

He nodded. “I see… yes, I see. And have you someone in mind for the role?”

It came tumbling out of her mouth so quickly, she ought to have been embarrassed. “Percy.”

“Your friend from the agoge?”

Upon her return, she had relayed a number of stories to her family of her adventures--and of course, nearly all of them included Percy. They had all been privy to tales of his nobility, honor, and gentlemanly nature; surely there would be no reason for her father to refuse the idea.

She swallowed, a knot of terror in her stomach.

“Percy,” he said again, “yes, I do believe this could work.”

At his assent, Annabeth nearly collapsed.

“Another brilliant idea, my dear,” said her father, fondness suffusing every word, “though I cannot say I am surprised. Even as a child, your mother’s influence shone through quite clearly.”

Were she of a crueler, colder nature, Annabeth could have walked away right there and then, freedom solidly within her grasp, in a form most pleasing to her. Percy’s hand in marriage--the dream of many a girl in the agoge. She could leave it at that, and be done with the whole affair.

But. But.

“I will speak to him on the morrow, then,” he said, gathering up his files. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Just--” she blurted, heat rushing to her face. “Only--promise me, papa, that we will not move forward without his consent to the match. I do not… I would never wish to force his hand in this manner.”

She may have had him in her grasp, but she loved him too much to keep him there.

But, she vowed, as long as Percy was beside her, she would never be able to marry another man, not a lord nor a king nor an emperor--for what were any of these compared to her prince of the sea?

***

She silenced the little voice of doubt in her mind, cast aside all thoughts of fear or nerves.

Percy had agreed to marry her, and, all told, it had taken very little convincing, as she had suspected--his nobility was well-documented and unflagging. He would never have left her to such a horrid fate if he thought he could do something to save her.

It did not make her feel better.

But, in the end, they were married in the local church, in a simple, unfussy ceremony. Annabeth wore blue for the occasion, a garment of her own creation, and a garland of flowers, as was custom. Percy, of course, was unfairly handsome as always, his eyes lighting up when he first saw her, and when he kissed her, as the ceremony required, she allowed herself to pretend for one beautiful, beautiful moment, that he had kissed her of his own volition.

She was smiling as she pulled away, carried off by the fantasy, even as she could tell he worked very hard to keep his composure. It would not do to show open disgust at his own wedding, she surmised.

They were forced to kiss once more by her dastardly cousins, Magnus cheering and jeering and egging them on until they participated in the little wedding game devised by Alejandro. Her cousin was far more empathetic than many people realized, and though she had never spoken of it to him, she was almost certain Magnus knew the truth of her feelings, and had decided to play a cruel trick on her. If only it did not make her heart tremble so!

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon the perspective, she could not dwell on it for very long. The marriage bed awaited them.

Her family accompanied them there, to see her off on this final portion of the path to womanhood. Magnus and Alejandro were still quite inebriated, but her father was sober as could be, embracing his daughter warmly. “Tell me, Anja,” he whispered to her, in their language. “Do you love him?”

Athena would only have chosen the cleverest of men with whom to create a child. Of course he had uncovered the truth of it.

She nodded into his chest, and he held her even tighter. “I am glad,” he said. “I am so glad.”

Then releasing her, he nodded to her husband--her husband--and he left them alone with the marriage bed.

The two of them had shared a bed several times during their journey. It should not have affected her so--but there was a slight, yet significant, distinction between a bed shared by two friends, and one shared by a husband and wife. A distinction she could no longer ignore. A distinction which Percy, too, seemed well aware of.

A distinction which, unfortunately, changed the nature of their relationship.

The trinity men believed a marriage was not valid until intercourse had occurred--the rule held even more strongly for those of the nobility. Percy and Annabeth shared no such inane assumptions, of course, but they were beholden to a different set of rules, now. To please the land-grabbing nobles of Svealand, they would have to consummate the marriage.

Annabeth wished she could say she explained the matter plainly and calmly, and that Percy had accepted her logic without much fuss, and they had gone to bed in order to fulfill the silly contract set out for them.

In reality, that was not how it had gone.

She had fallen to pieces, dissolving into tears, so intense he had had to hold her, and she could not even enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, so ashamed was she by her display of emotions. Haltingly, punctuated by sobs and hiccups, she explained her case, and all but begged him to make love to her.

And he did. Because he was a noble man.

And it was just as wonderful as she had always imagined it.

He finished inside of her, glorious and copious, and she could have died in that moment, so full of him, she might never be empty again.

But the truth swiftly fell upon her like a sword: she had coerced, tricked, and beguiled a good man into her bed, a man who did not, and would never, love her. She felt cold all over, from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her toes, still wrapped around him.

It was done. They were married. And Annabeth had never felt worse.

Not even sleep could soothe her, for that night, she had a most frightening dream.

In her dream, she stands upon a stone hill, overlooking a little town. From the rocks beneath her burbles forth a spring, salty and strong, and beside, an olive tree, of thick trunk and golden branches. Before her, there is a king, his body compounded of a man and a serpent, and there is a god, he who is the wave and the storm and the thunder of hoofbeats, and she, too, is a god, she who is the owl and the spear and the shield who strikes terror in the hearts of men, and the king delivers judgement onto them. He says then to the wave and the storm, “The people have spoken, and their choice is clear. This land shall be ceded to the goddess.”

“Bah!” scoffs the god, the rumble of the earth in his breath. “You would insult me so, who cares for your sailors and delivers them home unharmed?”

“Cecrops has spoken, uncle,” she says, in a voice not her own, silver and gold and unyielding. “The Oracle has given the people of this city the power to choose their patron, and chosen they have. You, who lay claim to the bounty of waves and the power of the sea, will you not allow me this little hill? Will you not respect their judgement, and go in peace?”

But the god frowns, his thick brows drawing together above the typhoon in his eyes, and he brandishes his weapon, the three-pronged trident which had split the very earth itself. “I shall go,” he says, as the crash of water on the shore, “I shall leave you the city--but be warned, glaukopis, and be wary, king, for you and your people have made a powerful enemy on this day.”

“No, uncle,” she says, commanding and columnar, the sound and the fury and the cry of triumph, bolstered by the land which now belongs to her, and the people who are already worshipping in her name, an ever present thrum in the core of her being. “It is you who has made a powerful enemy.”

He glowers, the black, heavy clouds of the horizon, and he strikes the stone with his weapon, and from that spring which had been his gift, now becomes his curse, a mighty wave pouring forth from the earth itself, powerful and unyielding as the hundred foot waves and the stampede of horses, rising up as the sea itself, flooding the plain and the people and the king and the goddess, burying it all beneath the sand and the water, but still the stone hill remains, and still the olive tree stands upon it, its branches stretching towards the sky, defiant, willful. It stands, proud, rooted, planted, immovable, immutable.

Permanent.

***

Annabeth had dreamed of married life with Percy for far, far longer than she was willing to admit. In her dreams, she had imagined it to be endless fun, endless bickering, and endless bliss.

It was none of those things.

He did not love her, nor any woman. He’d married her to secure her hand away from squabbling lords and wicked step mothers, and possibly for the financial security of her land--she did not blame him for it, of course. Such a large favor demanded an equal reward, and if any man deserved to rest on his laurels it was Percy. She was happy to take care of him, but as the days dragged on, she wondered if that was what was happening at all.

Marriage seemed to have drained all the light out of Percy. He floated around the manor, gray and listless, speaking rarely, and then mostly to Alejandra. They shared a bed, closer than ever before, and yet, she was not sure she’d ever felt so distant. He looked at her, yet she was not certain he saw anything at all.

She tried to entice him to enjoy the finer things, offering to hunt with him as Alejandro had, suggesting that they go for a trip around the lake, even attempting to arrange for them to visit his new holding, so he might see where they were to make their estate. Each advance was summarily turned down. He resisted meals together, and ate very little. He retired to bed early, and stayed in after she’d gotten up.

Once, desperate and sad, she even asked him to join her to view the beauty of the midnight sky. It was an indulgent thing, but she thought only the night sky could compare with him in beauty, and she wished to see it all up close.

He declined.

He did not even seem to notice when she found herself ill several mornings in a row. He slept for much of the time these days, but it still hurt--once upon a time, he had been so quick to observe her.

Her maidservant tutted as she instructed a chamber girl to take the chamber pot into which Annabeth had vomited away. She was a middle aged woman who had served Annabeth’s aunt, and was rather eager to have another woman in the family, because Alejandra did not like having a personal servant to help with dressing for reasons Annabeth understood, but that was not well known beyond the family. After the pot had been emptied and the dirtied linen had been delivered to the laundry, she had helped Annabeth into her gown.

Annabeth had not engaged any servants in Constantinople, obviously, nor at the agoge, and could lace her stays perfectly well, yet there was something delightful about having assistance. The gowns here were heavier, after all, the fabric much thicker and the detailing far finer. Not having to do it all herself was a relief, as was someone to clean the room and cook the food.

“Will you and the master be moving to your estate before or after your babe is born, ma’am?” asked the maidservant.

Stunned, all she could say, was a single, inelegant, “What?”

“I know you were inquiring with the steward about going and surveying them, and the houses,” said the older woman. “But no one was sure what you’d found.”

Slowly, like the pieces of a good strategy, the woman’s meaning began to make itself clear: Percy, her master, and the estate her dowry, now transferred to her husband, where they would have to move sooner or later. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth said. Percy had not wanted to. “We have not yet gone,” Annabeth repeated, because she could not quite understand the last part of the maid’s question.

“Then, if Lord Magnus and Doña Alejandra will have it, best stay here until the baby is born. You and your husband can have some time then to engage the household. My brother in law would be a good candidate for steward, ma’am. He’s learned in his letters, can write anything the master might need, even in Latin.”

“Percy can write Latin,” Annabeth said distractedly.

“Oh, of course, ma’am. I should expect nothing less of a prince.”

Annabeth could not even begin to parse that statement. Percy was, technically, a prince, but that status was kept even from the small group of people who still kept the heathen gods in her cousin's house, and this woman was not one of those. But--“What baby?” she asked, instead of interrogating the woman what she knew of Percy.

Her servant blinked, and paused in her lacing, just above Annabeth’s stomach. She gave a kind of condescending smile which would have normally rubbed Annabeth all the wrong way, but she was too struck with terror by the implication. “Well,” she said, speaking as though Annabeth were a little girl, “you can never quite tell before the quickening, of course. However, it has been seven weeks since your monthly, and five since your wedding. Now you have fallen ill in the morning,” She had a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t be getting anyone in trouble, but there has been lots of talk, given how taken you and your prince are with each other, for how long it would be before you’d be with child. Such a joyous occasion is to be celebrated, even if perhaps it wouldn’t do to go around announcing it just yet. For safety's sake."

Her blood rushing, the ocean in her ears, with almost trembling hands, Annabeth touched at her belly. Nothing felt different beneath the layers of fabric.

It had not occurred to her it could even be a possibility. Percy had only laid with her once, on their wedding night, and only at her insistence. Now that the idea had entered her head, it began to grow, taking shape in her mind and her heart. Just like Percy’s seed in her womb.

Percy’s child. She could give Percy a child.

That happy thought carried her for several more weeks, as she monitored the signs and tried to find the perfect time to speak with him, to get him to visit their land, so she might show him his fortune and share the news that she would give him an heir for it as well.

Men wanted sons, she knew. Perhaps, perhaps with luck Annabeth could still win him, could give him money and a son, and earn a little of his affection in return.

As the days turned longer, still his mood did not improve, until one day after the morning meal, she prodded him to eat more, so she could then take him out to see all that was his.

He told her instead that he wished to leave. Leave Svealand, his newly acquired land, and leave her, too.

Struck with panic and despair, still she would not resort to cheap ploys. She fell back to the tricks that always worked with Percy: a little bullying, a lot of logic, and a refusal to let him go without her.

By the end of the week, then, the plan was set. Once again, she would set out for lands unknown, leaving her father and her family behind, with no assurance she would ever see them again. This time, however, she was able to give her a proper farewell--and to tell him her suspicions.

He embraced her, his joy overtaking his sorrow, and she embraced him in turn.

To leave once before nearly rent her in two. Leaving him now was sorrowful, yes, but startlingly simple. The road would be long, and hard, and dangerous, but she was going to have Percy’s child. She was going to find her mother.

Let all manner of horrors just try and stop her.

***

She was beginning to understand why her mother had sworn to remain a chaste goddess.

Pregnancy was a truly nightmarish invention. Between the nausea, the soreness, the constant need to relieve herself, the inability to use the full spectrum of her wits in the manner to which she had been accustomed, she was well and truly suffering--to say nothing of the incessant, unending, all consuming lust which would strike her at the most inopportune times. The wind could merely change direction, and she would suddenly be aflame with carnal desire, aching for the touch of her husband in her most private, feminine parts, unable to think for the haze of want and need.

It was maddening. Utterly, utterly maddening.

Then, her hand would come to rest on her stomach, and it all would fade away at the mere thought of the child inside of her. Percy’s child. Their child.

Their son, she prayed.

And oh, how she prayed for a son, a little boy with wild black hair and eyes the color of the sea in the sunlight, who drooled in his sleep and loved his mother above all other women!

Concern gripped her, then, cold fingers around her heart.

What did Annabeth know of being a mother?

She had only met her true mother a handful of times, and had barely ever received an ounce of affection from her. Her father’s wife had been the sworn enemy of her childhood, the two of them always at odds, until it had reached its boiling point, and Annabeth had taken her chances with the wild. The most she knew of motherhood had been what little she had been able to glean from Percy’s mother, Sarah, who had been more than happy to share the secrets of her trade--yet she could have spent a lifetime under Sarah’s tutelage, and still she feared it would not be enough.

Annabeth was not a kind, nurturing person by nature. Hard rather than soft, sharp rather than gentle, none who had ever known her would have ever imagined her to be a mother. In truth, as a young girl, Annabeth had not even imagined it for herself. A warrior woman, a daughter of Athena: she had been so sure that she had been destined for greater things than marriage and children.

How foolish she had been.

Wives and mothers won wars in ways that Athena herself could not even conceive of. When she considered motherhood now, she thought of Mary, her father’s wife, moving money and bodies on a chessboard of titanic proportions. She thought of Sarah, who had labored every day beneath the notice of the men around her to provide and care for her son, to teach him what he would need to know to defeat the titan lord.

Now she better understood why Hera, queen of the heavens, had also been the patroness of mothers.

Annabeth would do everything in her power, she swore, to shore up influence around their little family, to ensure that they were safe and secure and comfortable in all ways, both seen and unforeseen. And, well, if Percy would not accept her affection, as was his right, then at the very least, she would be able to give it to their son.

***

He was perfect. By all the gods above, he was absolutely perfect.

Her son. Their son. Little Alexandros.

She had so wanted to name him ‘Perseus,’ not after the slayer of the gorgon, but instead the hero of Olympus. No matter her personal feelings, for all that he had done, Percy deserved to be immortalized with the best of the heroes, for he was the best of the heroes--no, the better of all of them--and he deserved to have his name and his legacy passed on.

But, alas, it was not meant to be. Percy, gentle as could be, rejected the name for their son, and so they had settled on Alexandros.

He had been right, to her great surprise. Alexandros, the name, was perfect.

“The ship’s crew are in a tizzy,” was Nico’s greeting the day after her son’s birth, and nearly three years since they had last seen him.

Glibly, she said, “I had not meant to give birth aboard.”

“That is not the issue,” he said, his eyes locked on Percy. “They have noticed we are, apparently, traveling at a much faster pace than we should be.”

“Do they not wish to reach Venice in a timely manner?” Percy asked, before busying himself with her shawl, though she had assured him she was warm enough.

Nico’s eyes had not left him, piercing. “They are wondering if it is an ill omen.”

“They should be happy that the new mother and her child will be in safety soon,” was her husband’s only response.

“Yes,” Nico nodded, “about that…” He trailed off, eyes boring into her now, brimming with so many questions.

“You promised you would not pester them so soon,” Will scolded, though he had a smile in his voice.

“Well you cannot expect me not to wonder at such extraordinary circumstances.”

Annabeth did not remember Nico and Will being particularly friendly during their days at camp; in fact, she distinctly recalled Nico running away from any sort of friendship at the first chance he could. He had been a surly, combative young man, with his stony glare and frightening aura. That he had attracted a friend as sunny and cheerful as Will was nothing short of a minor miracle, and that they tolerated each other enough for light teasing was quite the achievement.

In her memory, Niccolo di Angelo was still a skinny little thing, carrying an ancient, profane sword too big for his body, following Percy about like a lost puppy. She would confess to not knowing much about the young man, but she was certain she would have remembered if he had been a noble--yet somehow, the revelation that he was a count had completely blindsided her, with a fortune fit for the son of the god of wealth.

“Well, what of your story?” she asked, adjusting her position to better support her sleeping child. “We have not seen you for nearly three years.”

He raised a brow, familiar disdain on his face. “I reside in the city.”

Oh. Well, then. Annabeth had sort of been under the impression that he lived in the Underworld, with his father. “Truly?”

“My mother was a countess,” he said, “many years ago, and, with some light forgeries, I was able to access her estate, as her sole living descendent.”

Many, many years ago, on their very first quest, Percy and Annabeth had sought to take refuge in a large tavern, only to discover it to be the den of the Lotus-Eaters, whose power stole time away from one’s perception, seducing them with food and wine and cards and dice to trap them there completely. Though they had not realized it at the time, Nico and his sister had been trapped in the same establishment, stashed there by an Underworldian associate some seventy or so years prior. How strange it must have been for him, to emerge into a world he could no longer recognize, and all his family long since perished.

But Nico would not be moved. “Our tale is long and tedious by comparison, but yours--now that has piqued my interest. I understand you and your husband were still in the city on the eve of its fall?”

“We fled as the walls were overrun,” she said. “We had thought to make straight for the agoge, but when we arrived, it had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.”

He frowned. “Yes, it had gone by the time we had arrived as well. Afterwards, then, Will and I traveled to Aachen, to speak to the Legion. I would have thought you would have gone as well.” He turned his eyes to Percy. “Iason sends his greetings, by the way.”

Clenching her teeth, she busied herself with something on Alexandro’s blanket, so she would not open her mouth and say something particularly foolish.

“We traveled to Thera, and to Athens, first, to try and contact our divine parents” said Percy. Annabeth did not think she could detect any changes in his voice, any hints of longing or the like, but she heard nothing--though that, in itself, did not necessarily indicate much. “Once we were unable to reach them, we decided to travel to Annabeth’s homeland in the North, to return her to her father.”

“A successful journey, I take it?”

Lightly, Will swatted him.

“After our marriage, then,” Percy went on, “we thought it best to return to the South.”

“And Venice?” he asked. “Have you any family here?”

Percy cast her a sideways glance, one she could not quite parse. “We… wondered if, perhaps, the gods had landed here,” he admitted, in a low voice, “after they fled the city of Constantine.”

“We have not seen hide nor hair of them,” said Will. “Nico has not even been able to contact his father."

Percy’s eyes widened. “Lord Hades has gone, too?”

“It seems so,” Nico said, looking pensive. “The ancient doorways have moved as well: the River Styx, the Door of Orpheus, and others.”

“The only clue we have is a message imparted to us in dreams from our parents,” said Percy, “the city of old soldiers.”

Will straightened in his seat. “I, too, have had such a dream.”

“As well, there also was a vision from my mother. In this city, she said there is a church, green and white with a red dome. Have you ever heard of such a place?”

Nico hummed, thoughtful. “Possibly. I was delivered a different clue, it seems: Zagreus and Thanatos, blood and death, appeared to me in a dream, and bade me to seek the birthplace of fire itself.”

As one, they frowned, turning over their words as though they had been handed one of Rachael’s prophecies. As one, they all came up empty. “Well,” said Will, after some time, “I do not believe we shall divine an answer today. There is another riddle I have in mind, one quite simpler: Percy, Annabeth, have you a place to stay in the city?”

With little persuasion, Nico had been insistent that they stay with him for the time being, in his large palazzo. When Annabeth was feeling better, he swore, Nico would show them all his available properties--for, of course, he had several--and that they would discuss rent at that time. Quickly and expediently on their arrival, he arranged for his staff to move their things, and granted them use of his beautifully appointed rooms, a separate one for each of them, down the hall from each other. In an uncharacteristic stroke of compassion, she thought, he had even located a wet nurse for Alexandros. Though Annabeth was loath to part with him during the day, she found it to be a godsent at night, even after only a week, allowing her the sleep she so desperately needed.

Percy proclaimed the procurement right and good, but it took her several days to realize he wanted to relieve her of her son. “Let Nico handle it,” he said, fussing over her, “you should rest.”

Days turned to months, and he let Nico handle a great many things. He spent hours holed up in Nico’s study, discussing matters of economics, travel, and management, as the Conte di Angelo poured his resources into a new business venture--a shipping company, financed by Nico and overseen by Percy.

The months stretched on into a year, and predictably, Percy had already seen great growth and investment from some other bankers and merchants in the city, what with his ability to not only turn the seas in his favor and outrun any marauding raiders, but also to simply discern the best days to sail, to predict weather patterns and wave directions.

She always knew he’d be superbly successful at this line of work--even without his father’s blessings.

Annabeth, meanwhile, had not been sitting idly by. Once again, with Nico’s assistance, she had entered the expatriate community of Constantinople, rubbing elbows with certain persons who would not have even deigned to look her way, had they known her before, in the fallen city itself. Now that she was moneyed and married to a very important shipping contractor, a whole world of politics had opened itself to her strategic ways, though she largely tried to avoid the thorniest problems. Even now, there were whispers of what to do with the poor princess Zoe, how they might set her up in marriage with a Roman prince or Northern lord, and grow their strength and finances until they had mustered enough of a force to retake the city of Constantine.

Even with all her newfound money and influence, unfortunately the men of the community did not often take her thoughts into consideration--unsurprisingly.

Besides, she was a mother now. She had a child, and a new sympathy for Zoe’s plight. Were it her decision, she would recommend that they leave the young lady alone.

Annabeth could not say that she liked her new friends. They were pleasant enough people, and provided ample stimulating conversation, but many had never known the feel of a weapon in their hands or had tasted their own blood, never mind that they were all, of course, Christian. Oh, there were a few children of the gods here and there, one or two legacies of the Legion, but they were few and far between.

Percy was not always working, but he was not one to be confined to the home. He adored the city, and the city adored him right back, filling him with a kind of life and energy she had not seen since those few, halcyon months after the second Titanomachy. He was thriving in Venice, not just financially, but emotionally--and physically. Somehow, in the year since they had arrived, he had grown even more handsome, merry and always flushed with laughter after he returned from Nico’s residence.

A part of it pained her to see him thrive among the Latins where he had only shriveled up in her own homeland. He had not looked poorly in Svealand, of course--Percy could not ever look poorly--but there he had been so sour and withdrawn and cold, and here he very nearly burst with life. After weighing the differences between there and here, she could only conclude that the greatest changes in his life had been the lack of snow, and the presence of a companion he liked better.

Not her, of course.

When she was feeling less charitable, it seemed to her as though her husband spent every waking moment with the count. They were an odd trio, Percy, Nico, and his doctor friend Will. At the beginning, she had thought Percy was exercising some latent protective tendencies over the count. She knew he still harbored no small amount of guilt over the death of his sister, many years past; the man of noble character that he was, of course he would want to see that Nico was well taken care of. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

Then they became business partners, a sound financial move. Then they began to spend the bulk of their time together. Then, during the Carnival season, Annabeth had heard them stumbling into her house together, no doubt having just come from the raucous festivities which had captured the whole city, tittering like a couple of young girls.

Things began to piece themselves together after that.

“The next time we travel to Aachen, you and Percy should accompany us,” Will said, extending an invitation for which she had a distinct feeling only came from him, at supper one night, while Percy and Nico were out overseeing some new contract or other. “I know Iason and Franko always ask after Percy; I suspect they would be very pleased to meet you.”

Franko, perhaps, she thought to herself, but certainly not Iason. Annabeth very much doubted he would be pleased to make his acquaintance with the woman who had stolen his great love from him, trapping him with a phony marriage and an unplanned child.

The children of the elder gods had a kind of undeniable sway; Annabeth had felt it for herself. How darkly amusing, she thought, that not even Percy was immune to its influence, having attached himself not only to the son of Jupiter, but the son of Hades as well.

“I should be very pleased to meet them as well,” she replied, sipping on a cup of tea.

She would not, but she had no real recourse to refuse.

Annabeth had made her deal with the devil, and now she reaped the rewards: her son’s love, her friends’ affections, her social standing, and her husband’s indifference. If she had to meet another of her romantic rivals, she would do so with all the grace and poise her station required of her.

Even if she would rather die.

***

Venice, 1455

The distance from Conte di Angelo’s residence was a little farther than she would have liked. Most days, she would have taken a gondola all the way from the palazzo to their little house, but today, she needed time to think. What better way to do so, she supposed, than by strolling through the Piasa San Marco.

Annabeth adored the square: the red stone with its straight, white lines, the beautiful arches on the surrounding buildings, and of course, the church which dominated the eastern end. Mammoth and blocky it was, yet it reminded her so strongly of the old St. Sophia, from the golden walls which shone in the morning sun to the grand domes which rose above it. The domes still had their weight borne by expertly decorated pendentives, each surface layered with gold and portraits in the style of Eastern Romans, hideous, of course, yet comforting in its familiarity. Whenever she walked around inside the building, pretending as though she were observing the rites of the Christians and ignoring the scandalous gazes of older women as she went about with her hair only lightly covered, a complex crown of braids piled upon her head, she felt as though she were inside of a great, golden jewelry box, fit for an empress. It was not, she thought, the church of Sarah’s dream, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

She did not enter the church today, but stayed outside of it, settling herself in one of the arches of the surrounding buildings, observing the strange procession of Christian men as they passed, their steps and their songs hypnotic, in their own way. Annabeth was no expert in the rituals of the trinity, but even to her untrained eyes and ears, the differences between such displays of piety on the part of the fathers, and the rituals and regimens of the eastern patriarchs were stark, almost exaggerated.

Some days, she missed Constantinople and the agoge so much it ached. The good St. Mark, despite its Latin trappings, helped her to feel a little less lonely.

And her son, of course.

Even thinking of her son, she could not help but smile. Little Alexandros. Already he took so much after his father, his same dark hair and green eyes and large nose. He would grow up to be very, very handsome, she could already tell. To her great delight, he was just as attached to her as she was to him, eschewing the nursemaids and nannies for Annabeth instead. He was her great comfort while Percy was out conducting business on the water, the little piece of him that he had left with her.

Annabeth loved her son, more than nearly anything else in the world. All of her immediate peers, however, they had large, sprawling, enormous families. Annabeth, with her single child, simply could not compete, and she so hated to lose. Was she merely lonely? Jealous, of the family ideal? Perhaps.

But even besides… she still loved Percy. Even though he had barely so much as looked on her ever since they arrived. He was a decent husband and a magnificent father, and she wanted to give him more. She wanted more for herself.

And selfishly, she wanted him to touch her once again. She could no longer satisfy herself, not when the sense memory of his fingers inside of her still haunted her dreams.

So, she had gone to the count in order to petition him for the use of her husband.

Nico had only stared at her, flabbergasted.

“...Come again?” he had asked.

In her finest dress to prop up her ego, she had once again repeated her request. “I know you and my husband are involved,” she had said, her head raised high, “but one child is not enough for a family of our class. He will need an heir, of course, as well as daughters for dowries and sons to carry on the business. I can provide those for him.”

Yes, Annabeth could--and not Nico. This was the keystone of her strategic brilliance, a body which could bear children.

Still, he had stared at her, more confused than ever. “I… Signora, I do not understand.”

What was so confusing? “Your excellency,” she had said, ready to try again, “I have come to you today to--”

“No, no, I understand that,” he had said. “You have made your request quite clear. My confusion is thus: why do you feel the need to petition me for children, when you could very easily ask your husband?”

“Because…” Was he being deliberately foolish in order to mock her? “Well--because, you two are…”

He had raised an eyebrow. “We are what?”

Gods above, was he going to force her to say it?

“I think, perhaps, you may have misunderstood the nature of our relationship, Anna Elisabetta,” he had said, dryly.

“With respect, sir,” she had replied, “do not mistake me for one of the trinity zealots of this city. I know what heroes do when they keep company with each other.”

He had frowned, befuddled. “You… are you implying that your husband and I--”

“I, too, have kept company with women,” she had said, quickly, suddenly worried he would take her words as an insult, “and I would never seek to cast judgement.”

Then, he had done something she never expected.

He had laughed.

“I beg your pardon?”

He only laughed harder.

So uncivilized, she had thought, her irritation growing by the second.

“I can certainly say,” he finally said, when he regained his wits, though stray chuckles still escaped every now and then, “that this was not what I was expecting.”

It had been odd to see him laugh. Odd, but not unpleasant. Truly, he had a lovely laugh, the dourness falling from his countenance. It was not difficult to see why Percy might be so taken with him.

“Oh, Annabeth,” said the count, “I do not know what mist has deceived you, for it can only be through magical means that you do not recognize just how deeply Percy loves you.”

He had sent her away shortly thereafter, to seek out her husband, and ponder on his words, which was how she found herself at the church of St. Mark, lingering as the day stretched on into evening.

Did… did Percy love her?

She thought he had, once. In their youth she had sought his affections and thought she had been making progress. She had spent several long months waiting for him to ask for her hand.

She had destroyed all hope of them, then, and then he had found the legion, and the beauty of men… or so she thought.

Had he not gone around the world with her? Had he not agreed to marry her, to stay with her and build a family with her? Had they not shared intimate moment after intimate moment, exchanging secret words and heated touches?

But he had also avoided her as best he could, eschewing her companionship for that of his friends. He had only lain with her once, at her insistence. He had had to be convinced into the truth of his marriage, that they were a union, and not two people unhappily bound together. And those same, maddening words, the ones which had haunted her for months, ever since they had made camp in the ruins of Olbia, they rang so clearly in her ears: no mortal woman. The implication there was clear. Whatever interest he may have had, he had not acted on it.

However…

Perhaps she had been… mistaken.

A different sort of fear took over her then. Had she been mistaken? Had she missed such an obvious clue, and thus doomed herself to a life without love, all because of a silly misunderstanding?

She could not think on it for too long, lest she become consumed by the hurricane of her own fears and misgivings.

Rather than take the river road, she chose to walk the rest of the way to their apartments in the eastern end of the city, the neighborhood they called Castello, hoping beyond hope that her heart would have calmed itself by the time she made it back.

It hadn’t.

Entering her home, she was first greeted, as always, by Freya the cat, who had, in the intervening years, grown even softer and furrier than she had been as a kitten, the tiny little puffball. Trotting up to Annabeth, her tail held high, she gave her mistress a perfunctory sniff, and a sweet little bump of her head, before darting off to commit untold amounts of feline mischief, as was her wont. Following her inside, then, her heart already softened, the next thing she saw was him.

Percy must have taken off work early; she had assumed he would still be at the port for another few hours at least. He had Alexandros with him, as well. They made such a wonderful picture together, father and son. When she next had a stretch of uninterrupted time, she would go about having this moment captured in perpetuity in a tapestry, a moment trapped in time and memory, just to make her smile. He had not yet noticed her, so taken with their son was he.

Then she saw what he was doing.

“There you are,” he said, popping another olive into Alexandros’ mouth. “Yes, they are your favorite, are they not?”

In response, Alexandros gurgled, happily. He had spoken a few words already--”mamma” and the like--but he did not need words to express his joy at being given his favorite food.

“Indeed?” he asked, as though he were truly carrying on a conversation with his son. “Another?” He held out another olive to him, but Alexandros would not accept it, clumsily smacking his hand away. “Oh no? You are finished, then?”

He shook his head, indicating Percy with his thick, chubby hand.

“What,” Percy gasped in delight, “you wish me to eat with you? Yes?” he asked, bringing the olive to his mouth in order to test his hypothesis.

Alexandros giggled, clapping.

“Oh, very well,” said Percy, his bright, beautiful smile like the glint of the sun off the water. “Since you insist, and since I love you very very much, I shall share this with you. Not a word of this to your grandfather, however--understand?”

Then he popped it into his mouth, and swallowed. Alexandros giggled again, smacking his hands together.

“And here I thought,” Annabeth said, unable to keep her silence any longer, “you hated the fruit.”

To his credit, he did not jump at her presence. His smile did not fall either. “I think our son is more important than my father’s disdain for olives, no? Say ‘hello’ to mamma!” he bade his son, hoisting him up on one hip.

Alexandros reached for her, his sea green eyes wide and wanting, and she took him into her arms, kissing his forehead. “Hello to you, too, angele mou,” she said, falling in love all over again. “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“It was no trouble,” said her husband. “We were able to keep ourselves entertained well enough.”

She recognized the look on his face well enough. It was the one he wore whenever he was overcome with love for Alexandros, a silly little grin crossing his face, his eyes soft and shining, his whole being exuding warmth and comfort.

But he was not looking at their son. He was looking at her.

She swallowed.

Many months ago, she had asked Percy how he knew that his mother had reached safety, and he had responded thusly: that it was a matter of faith.

Pressing another kiss to Alexandros, enjoying the way his face scrunched up at the odd feeling of her lips, she passed him off to the nanny who had been observing the scene from a respectable distance, whispering, though he could not understand at so young an age, that she would be with him shortly.

Then she turned back to Percy. Still did he look on her with that same expression, softness and affection, care and comfort, home and serenity.

A matter of faith.

Stepping up to him, she slid her arms about his neck, and pressed her mouth to his.

He responded in kind.

His hands immediately went to her hair, tangling his fingers in the free-flowing strands. He tugged on them, just a touch, but enough that as her mouth opened in a gasp, he was able to slide his tongue inside, and there she tasted all of him, felt the firmness of his body as he pressed up against her.

Yes, she thought, her senses full of the sea. Yes.

Pulling back, he chased her lips with his, whining a little as she did not let him continue, and oh, how she wished to continue, but words had to be exchanged first. She could not be wrong again. She refused it.

“I love you, Percy,” she murmured, gazing deep into the waters of the ocean. “I love you, most ardently.”

Those eyes crinkled in the corners, joy crossing his face in thick lines, like the faces of the saints on the walls of St. Mark. “I love you, Anja,” he whispered back, bringing her hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “I have always loved you.”

Then, without further ado, he kissed her again, and she melted into the warm embrace of the waves.

***

The first thing she felt in the morning was soreness.

She felt it everywhere, but she felt it most keenly in her stomach, pulsing out from the core of her into every muscle and sinew and bone.

No, not her stomach--lower.

She flushed.

Ah.

With a groan, she rolled over, only to be met with the smiling face of her husband. “Oh,” she mumbled, still half asleep. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Annabeth,” he said. “How was your rest?”

Deep and fulfilling, for she had been pushed to the very brink of exhaustion by their activities the previous night, a fact which he most certainly already knew. “Well enough,” she replied, with an air of disaffection, and he chuckled. She could feel it against her chest, realizing, belatedly, that he wore no night shirt, cuddled so close together they were. “And yourself?”

“Wonderful,” he said, and he kissed her cheek. “Marvelous.” He kissed her nose. “Absolutely divine.” He kissed her mouth, running one hand gently over the bare skin of her side, and she shivered.

“Mmph, Percy--” The force of his kisses stoked the fire within her, and as much as she desired to give into it, she felt that there were a few things which required a brief discussion. “A moment, please.”

At her request, he pulled back, though he kept a hand loosely curled at the juncture of her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her, as though he could not stop himself from touching her the way he wished to, the way she wished him to. “Yes?”

“We…” By the gods, she could not focus when he looked on her like that, dark and arresting and wanting. “I--”

But she could not help herself, breaking down into giggles and laughter. Percy joined her, until the two of them were as children again, laughing at nothing and everything.

“Oh, perdono, perdono,” she said, breathless with humor. “There were things I wished to say, I swear.”

“There will be time later for discussion,” he replied, a familiar heat overtaking his gaze. “Now there are different sounds I would have you make.”

Rolling her on top of him, he kissed her once again, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, crushing her to his chest, the currents of his hands running through her hair and buffeting her body. With great, great regret, she lifted herself up, pulling herself away from him, even as he rose up after her, eyes gleaming with such affection that she could not even fathom, as boundless as the sea that was his lifeblood and his birthright--she drowned in him, and she would be more than happy to die with him once again.

“Percy, wait,” she said, firmly. She could not let this go on a moment further without saying her piece.

Obedient, attentive, loyal to a fault, he sat up with her on his lap, his fingers curled about her hips, tapping lightly, waiting for her. She touched him in kind, her hands about his shoulders, rocking back and forth on his lap as she tried to settle her nerves.

“I…” She swallowed, raising her eyes heavenward. Old shame caused her cheeks to heat, mistakes long since made rising from the fog of the past, like mountains. “There is… something I must say to you. Please, allow me to say it in totality, and without interruption.”

Frowning slightly, nevertheless, he nodded.

To ground herself, she squeezed his shoulders, focusing on the swell of his bare chest as it rose and fell with each breath, indisputable, irrefutable proof of his life, of his life with her. “What I said to you,” she began, haltingly, “all those years ago--please, you must know I never truly wished you dead.”

“Annabeth--”

She squeezed again, more firmly. “I beg you, allow me my space to speak.”

Mouth twisting, he acquiesced.

“When you disappeared,” she said, casting her mind back to that horrible, terrible time, “I--I thought I had left you to your death. You, the person whom I loved most in the world, I thought I had left you to tender mercies of some monster, and that in my moment of weakness, I had abandoned all that I had been taught by Chiron, Thalia, you, to never leave a friend in peril. For over a year, I lived in my shame and my weakness, and when you did return, miracle of miracles, know that I was happy. I was so happy to know you were safe.” She could not count the hours she had lost to tears and sleeplessness and self-hatred. The year had passed as though in a terrible dream, in bursts of meaningless activity which she could not recall and had only served to render her even more miserable. To see him home once more had felt like the passing of a sea storm, or the healing of a wound, but then--”But when I saw the mark of the Legion upon you, I--I was so angry with myself, to think that I had spent all those months worrying myself sick for nothing, when you were as hale and healthy as one of our kind can reasonably consider to be… but that feeling, in itself, was childish and immature. I should never have thought those things, or treated you thus, yet I let my baser instincts take over until I pushed you away in the most vile manner, and for that, know that I am deeply, deeply sorry. I do not beg your forgiveness, nor do I deserve your love.” Then, taking his hands in hers, she kissed the knuckles there, as he had done to hers many times before, and closed her eyes against his face.

It was not graceful, but it was the truth. She had never been so skilled with words, but she could not let another moment pass her by without her great confession.

Percy was, by nature, not a vengeful person. In that way, his mother’s influence far outweighed his father’s, so she was not surprised when he pulled her forward, and kissed her forehead. Opening her eyes, she saw Percy looking up at her, his beautiful gaze shining like the glass of Murano. “Of course you are forgiven,” he whispered. “Of course you are loved.”

“You forgive too easily, kærasti.”

“I most certainly do not,” he said. “But we were young and misguided in many things, and we deserve a little grace between us.” He kissed one cheek and then the other.

“I do not want there to be anything between us,” Annabeth said. “no ambiguity or animosity. You must understand how much I adore you and always, have.”

“I love you.” Even at such simple words, she felt her face grow hot, felt her mouth curl up in a smile. “I have loved you for so long, certainly since before we arrived at your father’s house, but, truly, for much, much longer than that--ever since I was a child.”

“You have?” she whispered, afraid to even voice the question, lest the fantastical words be ripped from her.

“Do you remember,” he said, twirling a stray curl about his finger, “the night of the Solstice festival upon Olympus? When we danced in the hall of the gods?”

Of course she did. She had been taller than him then, bless him, but they had danced together well into the small hours of the morning, to a song both sorrowful yet bursting with hope.

“That was the moment I realized that I loved you, and I have never, never stopped--not even during my time with the Legion.” His countenance changed, then, frowning lightly. “My only regret is that I did not tell you before I went with them. I should have said something on our way to Aachen, but, you must understand, I had nothing: no money, no employment, no--”

She placed her finger on his lips, silencing the stream of dour truths. “I know,” she said. “Of course I understand.”

“Never did I think that I could have this,” he said, around her finger, kissing the tip of it. “The gods saw fit to bless me with your hand and your child, and I would have been happy with no further.”

“But now you have me, too,” she responded--perhaps a little cheeky.

Percy liked a little cheek, she knew.

He grinned. “Oh yes,” he said, sweeping her close once more. “Now I have you, too.”

And if it were up to him, she knew, he would have her, again and again and again, a series of events to which she was not unopposed. Yet, he had given her so much, his life and his love and his loyalty, and so he deserved something in return. Something she had never done for anything else. Something she never imagined she would do at all.

His arms crossed the bare skin of her back, one high, one dangerously low. It was almost difficult to move, to shimmy herself out of his embrace and down, and not only because Percy was stronger than she. He must have made a valiant effort to control himself during their little heart-to-heart, for she could feel the hard press of his cock up against her, no doubt having been awakened by such a warm, friendly presence, rocking back and forth upon it. As he had done the previous night to her, so she did to him this morning, kissing her way down the planes of his chest, his stomach, his hips--a body worthy of Phidias, of the greatest marble-men and bronze-workers of the ages.

“Where are you going?” he pleaded, petulant. “I have not had my fill of kisses.”

“Worry not--you shall have all the kisses you desire, and more.” Truly, he must have been a man of particular restraint and discipline, to have gone all those years without kissing her, so demandingly, so full of passion. To think that such a romantic had been lurking beneath the surface of the sulky, downtrodden boy who had stumbled into their camp! Certainly, she had never imagined that they two would be in this position, until one day, when she could no longer imagine being in this position with anyone else.

Both in the literal sense and the metaphorical.

Lukas’ betrayal and Percy’s disappearance had made things… somewhat difficult for Annabeth, in the realm of romance, and without Silena, her closest confidant, to help her make sense of her feelings, she was left to the whims of her own imaginations. Though she never acted on any of them, her imagination had provided her with many, many scenarios to dwell upon, most, if not all of them, featuring the man before her--and being pregnant had only made them even more intense. To have known his attentions so intimately, to bear the proof of it so obviously, made her dreams even more vivid and agonizing than usual, particularly since he was so physically close, yet so maddeningly far away.

She had not had a chance to perform this on her wedding night, too burdened with hesitation and dread. Now that she had him as he had her, she would not hesitate.

A student of art and architecture, Annabeth was no stranger to male anatomy--beyond the simple study of marble and body, she had grown up with a number of young men and women in very tight corners, which did not allow for much privacy. She was even no longer unfamiliar with Percy’s anatomy, having studied it quite extensively the previous night.

Upon seeing it again, she could not help but flush, biting her lip.

Percy was a proper man, with a proper man’s cock--small and perfectly sized, unlike the large, boorish, sex-crazed animals in the poems and drinking songs. He wielded it as skillfully as he wielded his sword, bringing her to greater and greater heights with each thrust.

She should thank it for giving her a son, no?

Annabeth then wetted her lips, and kissed the very tip of him. Percy nearly jumped out of his skin, his knees knocking into her shoulders. “Anja!” he gasped, “what--”

But she would not let him answer, taking the whole of him in her mouth.

For some time, she had him prisoner there, hypothesizing and experimenting and committing to memory everything he enjoyed, which twist of the tongue or pull of the lips brought the most broken, wrecked sounds from his mouth. At his sides, his hands flexed and unflexed, hypnotic like the tides, grasping at nothing but air. “Anja, Anja, Anja,” he babbled, breathless and writhing, and Annabeth found she was quite enjoying this. The taste was not so pleasant, but the sight of his head tilted back, his chin pointed to the sky, the strain in his muscles as he struggled not to thrust in her mouth so that she would not be so rudely interrupted, the control and the power--she liked that very, very much.

It was not long before he was pawing, clumsily at her head. “Anja,” he groaned, “I cannot--I cannot--”

Even this, too, was becoming more and more familiar, the state of him as he neared that point. She must have miscalculated, however, for it was not a moment later that she was forced to pull her head away, her mouth suddenly very ill-tasting.

Unable to grasp any sort of control, he spent himself in her hand right there and then, so forceful it even landed on her face, and in her hair.

“Cazzo, cazzo, merda, Anja,” he sighed, twitching and moaning as he fell once more to earth. “Oh, Anja.” His chest heaved as he gasped for his breath, his limbs boneless and lax. On his face was a smile, sleepy and silly, his eyes closed.

She gave him one more lasting caress, and he shuddered, whimpering.

Climbing back up the expanse of his body, she returned much the way she came, kissing each exposed inch, from stomach to chest to shoulders to neck, then meeting him once more at his lips. He groaned, his face twisting quite adorably at the taste of himself in her mouth. “If I must taste it, love,” she said with a smile, “then you must too.”

His eyes popped open, then. “No,” he said, “no, no, you mustn’t do anything which you do not like.” With some effort, he craned his neck to see her, his hands coming up to cup at her face. “Neither something to me, nor with me, nor for me. I will only see you brought perfect pleasure in our bed.”

“You misunderstand me,” she said, raising a brow. “I did not dislike it. I did not dislike it quite a bit.”

A moment, then he blushed, divining her true meaning, and flopping his head back down. “I see.”

She tittered, feeling once more a girl of sixteen years old, in love with a boy and with the funny feeling in her stomach whenever he smiled at her.

“As well, I felt as though I had a debt to pay for all the pleasures you performed upon me last night. I must say,” she said, nestling into the space of his shoulder, drawing her finger up the planes of his chest, “that was very well done for one who has never known a woman.”

He frowned, though she more felt it than saw it. “How do you mean?”

“What you said to me, all those years ago--that you had lain with ‘no mortal woman.’” It had been a phrase which had haunted her waking dreams, ringing in her ears like the bells of the churches on every street corner, frightening her into withholding the truth of her heart for far too long.

An odd smile crossed his face, then, something far more smug and self-confident than she had ever seen him before. Percy lightly stroking the skin of her neck, she shivered, pressing into him. “No mortal woman, yes.”

The implication of emphasis was clear.

She leaned up on an elbow, incredulous. “An… immortal one?”

Strange little smile, he nodded.

Her heart thudded in his chest. An immortal woman. The pool of potential partners had just expanded considerably. “Well,” she said, perhaps a little shakily. “Look at you.”

Look at me, she wished to say. Look at me, so plain and mortal. Look at me, who spurned and rejected you, whose beauty shall fade in time, who will one day leave you, through no will of my own.

Curiosity overcame the greater part of her fear. “With whom?”

But Percy, sensing her turmoil, raised himself up on his elbow to look her in the eyes. “One day,” he said, soft and low, “I shall tell you the truth of it. I shall divulge every moment of that time, and how each one paled in comparison to the long, cold, lonely nights beside the Danapris. For now, however,” he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind the swell of her ear. “Now, let us have peace. There will be time later for talk--a whole life’s worth of it, and one I look forward to sharing with you.”

“A whole life’s worth,” she agreed, settling down beside him. Instantly, he turned his body towards her, his arm coming up once more to pull her close. “I cannot think of anything better.”

“Nothing?” he teased.

“Well,” she said, stretching her neck up towards his face, matching smiles adorning their faces, “not quite nothing.”

In truth, there was nothing more she required of him than this, his body beside hers, their fingers intertwined, and their hearts finally, finally, finally together.

But she would never say no to another kiss.

It took them the better part of the morning, but they did eventually find the strength to pull themselves out of each other’s arms in order to get dressed and rejoin the household. The feel of Percy pulling the laces of her stays made her wonder if perhaps her maidservant would find herself relieved of that duty. When he was done, he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, the feeling of his chapped lips against her skin inspiring yet another surge of heat inside of her which nearly forced her to rip her clothing right back off, but the dual promises of food and her son kept her from pulling him back to her bed.

The bed they would now share, she was sure.

She found one of her veils, a white one detailed in blue that she had hoped her husband would like, and began wrapping it around her head. “Must you torture me so, my love,” he said, face set in an adorable pout.

“How do you mean?”

“Why do you insist on covering even more of yourself?” As he spoke, he reached under it before she pinned it in place, and pulled several of her curls out of it.

She giggled at his expression, strikingly reminiscent of the one which Alexandros wore when he did not wish to eat his sprouts. “You wish everyone to see me?”

“Well, perhaps not all of you,” Percy admitted, his hand curling around her waist. “Some parts of you are mine alone.” He brushed his hand over the space where her feminine center lay, and even through her gown, it was nearly too much. “Yet, if it meant I never had to have it shielded from my view, I would not mind everyone seeing your hair.”

Pausing, she considered his eager, wide-eyed look. It was a little scandalous, but… there was not much work to be done outside of the household today. What was the harm?

She stripped her veil away running a hand through her hair. Unexpectedly, it caught on something hard and crusty resting in her curls. Frowning, she pulled on her hair, confused--then when she realized what it was, she felt her entire face heat.

“If you insist on spending your seed in my hair, love,” she said, dryly, “then I will not be able to walk around with it uncovered.”

He flushed, too, dark and red, turning and retrieving one of her combs from her table. “Allow me then to rectify my mistake.”

“Oh, no, no.” She waved him off. “As your punishment, I am going to keep it this way. But, as I am a respectable, married woman, and respectable married women tend hot to keep their husbands seed in their hair, it will be covered, for now, to teach you a lesson regarding aim and husbandly manners.”

Thoroughly chastised, yet still smiling, he set down the comb. “Might I… plait it, before you cover it, then?”

Once he promised he would not attempt to remove his dried seed, she acquiesced.

It was not her boldest fantasy about the man sitting beside her, but she had long dreamed of the feeling of his hands through her hair. The only time she had experienced the feeling before had been the day he had cut all of it off. It had been quite the experience, certainly, and convenient in many many ways, but given his affection now, she vastly preferred this.

He made quick work, weaving her hair into a rope, not as delicate or intricate as she might have done, but still, the fact that it was Percy doing the weaving, Percy tracing his fingers about the shape of the curls, Percy performing the act, made all the difference.

When he had finished, he tied it off with a leather strap, kissing at her hairline. “Please,” he murmured, “do not ever think that you are not the picture of wifely virtue in my eyes.”

A flattery, for Annabeth could not quite imagine what about her was the picture of wifely virtue--she had just insisted on wearing her husband's seed, for gods’ sake. She was neither deferential nor demure. She had broken his heart, and forced his hand, ripping him away from his life to deliver her halfway across the world, and then once more. Certainly he loved her. She knew that now, and could see it through their long years together. But to see her that way, when she felt so much like she failed as a wife, and could only now make it up to him with the full force of her devotion, was almost more than she could take.

“When I have the best husband in the world,” she said, “to be a good wife is no great difficulty.”

He paused and took her hand in his once again, kissing at her knuckles and then the palm, along a very old, once very deep scar. Then, her hand still in his, he led them out of the bedroom, and into their house.

In some corner of her mind, she had expected just a little bit more of a reaction from the other members of the house. She thought the servants would have given them a suspicious look or two, or, at the very least, for Alexandros’ nurse to raise an eyebrow, yet neither strange word was spoken, nor odd look thrown their way as they walked their apartments, or sat down for their luncheon. In that state of utter normalcy, then, when they were done, they went to visit Alexandros.

Usually, Percy and Annabeth had often spent much of their time with their son alone, without their partner, as Percy was often at sea, and on his return, Annabeth rather felt she needed to leave them be, so that they could bond without any external influence on her part. Today, Alexandros sat between them, trading smiles with his father. They looked so alike, it warmed her heart.

It always had, from his first moments, and even before, as she had been eager for her son to look like his papa, yet for the past year, there had been something of a painful edge to it, to the heavy knowledge that, while she had the love of her son, she did not have that of his father. It had been sweet and pure and perfect, yet bitter and cold as well. Now, however, as a family, real and whole and complete, she could not help but be overwhelmed with them both, with how much she loved them, and with the knowledge that they loved her in return.

After an hour or so, in which Percy entertained her son with his menagerie of little animal toys, Alexandros turned to her, wide-eyed and innocent. “Mamma,” he said, grasping at her breast. “Mamma.”

“Are you hungry, my darling?” she asked, picking him up and taking him onto her lap, as she had dismissed his nurse when they’d come into the nursery. Now that he was on solid foods, he required less nursing on the whole, but his nursemaid also knew that Annabeth vastly preferred to do the deed herself, in something of a break with convention. She had not done so in the presence of Percy since Alexandros had been the smallest of newborns, on that ship, in the tightest, most unavoidable of quarters, and when they had reached Venice, and Nico had set them up at his house while they waited to find their own, Percy had left her alone to it. No longer bashful, she undid her lacings, and pulled down her chemise, and with very little effort, began to feed her son.

Percy swept several of the toys aside, and came and sat with her on the little bench she held him on.

“I am so happy,” he said, in a quiet voice, “that you have such a wonderful mamma, Alexandros. You deserve only the best--and you have received it.”

She looked at him, and there were tears forming in his eyes. One like a crystal rolled down his cheek, and he made no move to hide it, or pretend it was not there. Percy was not usually one to weep--that was more her own purview, to her great chagrin--but she was pleased to see how he presented no shame at the thought of revealing his emotions. Good, bad, towering, subtle, a crashing wave or a gentle tide, after years of being deprived of his feelings through her own foolish actions, at last, she had them once again.

“I love you,” she said again, unthinkingly, though she must have repeated the sentiment a thousand times before in the last few hours. She had wasted many a year by denying them both the truth, and so, she vowed, she would never withhold it again.

He smiled, face wet like the morning mist off the shore, moving closer, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, kiss to her brow. “And I, you.”

The day proceeded as naturally as possible from there, though they did not return Alexandros to the care of his nanny until the hour had grown quite late. Watching Percy hold him, as their little boy drifted to sleep in his arms, she was loath to part with such a wonderful picture.

They laid him in his bed together, then, as soon as they had closed the door behind them, Percy picked her up, clear off the ground. She shrieked as she suddenly found herself in his clutches, though she knew it to be the safest of all possible places. “What are you doing?” she gasped, breathless with laughter.

“Holding what I cherish as close as I can,” he said, a touch dramatic, and swept her off to her bedroom.

“You lovesick fool!” she cried, giggling as he practically bounded through the halls.

The moment the door had closed behind him, he dropped her on their bed, nearly ripping her veil right off of her head.

“Please, take care--I happen to quite like the stitching on that one,” but he stopped her chiding in its tracks as he wound his fingers through her hair, dislodging handfuls of it from its braid, and pulling her mouth to his.

“You have punished me long enough, I think,” he smirked, “and now I shall have my revenge.”

His revenge was the sweetest kind.

With a gentle hand, much lighter than she had expected, he unwound her hair, and, picking up her comb from where he had set it down earlier, went about brushing it out, the slow, sweet process of removing his leavings from their earlier intimacies.

She winced as he pulled on a particularly knotty section. Of the many pains and indignities she’d suffered, her hair being tugged by her husband was not terribly high on any sort of list, though she was a bit theatrical about it.

“A thousand pardons, my love,” Percy said.

Oh, Annabeth could hear him say it a hundred times, and she did not think she would ever tire of those words. She had no wish to abandon their old, childish names for each other, but adorations such as these filled her with a lightness she had never known.

“I shall need a thousand more” she said, “as you should not have spread your seed so liberally. Going forward, we shall have to clean it more quickly.”

“I will endeavor not to pain you so,” he replied as he moved all her hair aside, planting a hot string of kisses along her neck that caused her to question the sincerity of such statements. Then, taking up a jug, he poured a bit more water on the hardened curls, reapplying the comb.

“See that you do,” she said, “and that, in the future, you shall place your seed where it belongs.”

“And where, pray tell, would that be?”

He leaned in again to suck at the junction of her neck and shoulder and she moaned at the feeling, bringing her own hand to her center, rubbing lightly, before it grew to be too much, and she pulled away from him turning around to face him properly.

Lifting her skirts to sit astride his lap, she said, “It belongs inside of me.”

Wrapping one hand around the curve of his shoulder, she snaked the other between them, down to his breeches. And squeezed.

“Yes.” he breathed, hot and heavy.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed, short and clipped, trying to force her own breathless desire down for just a moment longer, “for if you do not spill inside of me, how am I to give you more sons?”

She leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled back.

Not far, not out of her arms, but away. All lust faded from her, replaced with concern.

“You do not have to give me a single thing,” he said earnestly, raising a hand, and tracing her cheek with a sword-callused finger.

“What?”

Sincerely, far more sincerely than his earlier promise of decorum, he brushed a stray curl from her face. “You have given me more than any man deserves--yourself, and our son. Please, please, my love, my dearest dearest Ana Zabeta, do not ever think I would ask any more of you.”

His words took a moment to sink in, but when they did, they strung with the bitter bite of a poison dagger. “You… do not want any other children, then?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice level, her face calm, her pulse slow.

“Do not think me to be so greedy,” he said. “My love, do not think I would put you through such pain and fear again. I have our son, and I have you. My only desire is for your health and happiness.”

“But…” She knew not what to say, how to argue against this. If he truly wanted no more children, if Alexandros was to be their only one--

He went on, beseeching. “Yet do not despair, for I can love and pleasure you in a hundred ways which shall carry no risk. I can give you everything you desire, and you shall never want for my affection and my care.”

“But I do desire more children.” It sounded petulant to her own ears, but, there was no other way to express the force of her wants. “Alexandros is perfect, his father is perfect--how can I not wish for more? Faced with such perfection, how can I not dream of growing our family, our home, our love?”

He looked at her, his handsome features marred by hesitation and fear. “I… could not bear to lose you, Anja,” he said, softly, achingly gentle. “I only just got you. I almost lost you so many times before, either to monsters or to years of silly arguments and pointless squabbling. I almost lost you to pregnancy last time.” His voice shook as he spoke. “I, too, would love more children, but not if it carries any risk to you. You are too precious to me,” he breathed, tracing his fingers over her skin, so careful. So wonderful. “I could not bear it if anything happened to you.”

She leaned over, kissing his cheek, small, quiet tears at the corner of her vision. His pains were so clearly evident, for her and caused by her, all at once. “It will not be so dangerous as you imagine,” she said, hoping to put him at some kind of ease. “By some great fortune, Will is here. Not only is he the greatest healer in the world, he has magic: ambrosia and nectar and all sorts of potions and pastes.”

But she could not dismiss his concerns entirely. Bringing Alexandros into this world had been a frightening experience, her fear and terror lingering even for months afterwards, slow to fade.

“I will freely admit it is not without any risk,” she said, after a moment, “but we have taken so many risks together, for us and for others. We have faced only the greatest of dangers, dangers that our mortal peers could never even dream of in their darkest, most terrible thoughts. Let us face this smaller danger together, with all the comfort of our house, and all the safety of the good doctor. And,” she grasped the hand that still rested on her face, and pulled it away, bringing it to rest on her belly, “think of the reward.”

He swallowed, casting his gaze downward. “It would be great,” he murmured, reverent, speaking before an altar.

“The greatest,” she promised. “I can give you more sons, each one greater than the last.”

“And daughters?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I--” He flushed. “Well--if I am permitted, then, to indulge in greed…” He pulled his hand off her belly, taking hers and bringing it to his lips, kissing it, just as he had over two years ago in Athens, when they had sworn an end to their hostilities, speaking faster, and with greater intent. “Whenever I thought of a family for us, I always dreamt of a daughter, of your daughter, a little girl with all of her mother’s spirit, intelligence, and cunning, her strength of heart and her wickedness with a dagger.”

“I see.” It had not even occurred to her. A daughter, yes, in passing, those things happened, but that Percy might wish it so strongly… “Yes,” she nodded. “We can work towards that, as well.”

He slid a hand around her back, bringing her even closer, her chest flush against his clavicle, desire and worship in equal measure in the heat of his eyes. “Then let me give you as many sons and daughters as you wish, my love,” he whispered, a rumble in his chest she could better feel, rather than hear. “Let me see as many legacies of Athena as I can provide take Venice by storm.”

And with that, he pulled her down onto the bed with him.

***

“I hate the lost years,” he whispered into her skin, “but the truth of the matter is that I could not have made you a good husband when we were young.”

“Of course you would have,” she said, breathless, her mind mostly on his hands as they combed up her flanks. His skill with his tongue, his hands, his cock, it all had to be innate.

Still stroking her tender, he said, apologetic. “I had no means to support a wife. I still have no means to support a wife. It is only due to a sheer stroke of luck that you possess enough means for the both of us.”

“I have looked at the accounts,” she pointed out. “In just two voyages you have earned back nearly all of our investment. Within a year, you and Nico will be clear and settled. You support your wife and your child quite well.”

She’d almost said ‘children,’ but she did not wish to curry his excitement just yet. The midwife had not been so sure, and given Annabeth a whole host of other potential maladies.

Will had said it was not any of those things, but told her to feel for the quickening, and then they might all know for sure.

"You support us,” Percy said, “I merely work to make sure your money goes far. I do not mind,” he sat up, assuring, “It is not a question of some manly pride on my part. I am so very happy that you and Alexandros are so well cared for, and that you care for me, as well. That it must all fall to you, however, and that without our journey to Svealand, I would not be able to see you taken care of as you deserve, is what irks me so.”

“But I am,” she said, “I am well taken care of by you.”

His smile was too small and sad for such a happy conversation. “I love you with more passion than I believe some know to be possible,” he said, simply, “and I hope I take care of you in many ways. I pray that I am a worthy steward of your money, and that I represent you well when I use it on both of our behalf. Yet I must never forget it was you who brought such an asset into our marriage. We would have had nothing after the war with the titans, and I would have hated that.”

"I would have had you,” she told him, equally as simply.

What a sweet thought! How they might have grown together in that time! How many children mind they have, now, if they had not gotten in their own way!

“I would have worked my hardest to be worthy of you,” he said, all the earnestness of youth clear on his face, “but I fear you would have only ended up with the least eligible man in all of Constantinople.”

She laughed at his little jest.

He did not laugh with her.

Her laughter trailed off at his confused look.

By the gods, he was serious.

“Need I remind you,” she said, “that you were the most eligible man in all of the agoge.”

“I was no such thing,” he said. “When my lack of any kind of material advantages showed, all women but you were rightfully scared away.”

Annabeth stared at him. This man. Her husband, father of her son, love of her life. A great hero, a brilliant strategist, the person she’d want with her in battle over all else.

And, she sometimes remembered, the occasional fool.

“Do you know how much effort I spent, Percy, seducing women away from you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Oh yes.” And what a time that had been. “Most of the girls of our little village had their own money, you know. Katya had some truly wonderful land, I was told, and Tora’s father was simply dripping in silks and spices.”

“You… seduced them?”

“I did indeed,” Annabeth said, easy and straightforward. “I distracted them, made them think that a man would not be worth their troubles compared to the passion I could provide.”

It had not, precisely, been much of a chore. They had been beautiful women, all, vivacious and full of life. Clarice and Silena had been her own choices, of course, sweet childhood romances while she’d mulled over her feelings for Percy, but the women whom she’d engaged so they might direct their attentions away from the man she loved had proven to be sweetly entertaining nonetheless.

“You romanced Katya and Tora to get them away from me?” His eyes were wide, the blush in his cheeks winding its way down his chest, roses in bloom.

“Not just them,” she said. “Between our journey through the labyrinth and the great war, I must have bedded… oh, half the children of Aphrodite--save Silena, of course, who was too enraptured by Carlo by then. And then a few others.” It was truly a wonder she had not garnered something of a terrible reputation. Truly, the children of the gods were an enlightened few, unburdened by arbitrary rules. “You were quite the catch.”

He blinked again, his gaze very far off. “You must have been… very distracting.”

His voice hitched, and she realized he might have been picturing it.

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “I was quite the distraction.” Leaning in close, she trailed a line of kisses from his jaw up to his ear. She liked the rough stubble against her lips, a feeling she’d only ever known from Percy. She’d long loved women, their smooth skin and sweet faces and musical voices, as friends and partners both, but she loved Percy, too. “Would you like to hear about it, my love? Would you like the stories of the women I seduced, so I could have you all to myself?” she whispered into his ear.

He whined, marvelously, his breath shuddering in his chest.

She would not give him all the stories today, as she had many to share. Before he went back out to sea, however, she would give him a few.

***

“Do not think,” Annabeth said, attempting crossness even as she lounged on their bed, “that I shall allow you to continue to put off your voyage this way.”

“Think you so little of me?” She could sense him attempting crossness as well, though he was far less accomplished at it than she was. “Which one of us can control the waves, again?”

“And which one of us has put off the extraordinarily lucrative Genoese shipment for the last two months?” she countered.

Percy shrugged one shoulder, jostling the bowl of olives awkwardly held in the crook of his arm, though he had remained in that position for at least an hour, now. “Giovanni does not require my assistance to move a few silks and spices ‘round the country. L’Imperatrice is in good hands, I promise you,” he said, plucking a fruit from the bowl and feeding it to her.

L’Imperatrice--the Empress. That he had named his flagship after the little canoe which had carried them together through to the ends of the earth, which had taken her name from Percy’s private little fantasy, it sent her heart on a strange little dance.

Annabeth should have been cross with him, truly. In all considerations of the situation, to defer and delegate such an important shipment to his mortal second-in-command who did not possess even a tenth of Percy’s skill with the waves in order to spend time with his pregnant wife, rubbing her feet and hand-feeding her olives, was a poor business decision. She should have been cross, yet, doted upon and loved and with a belly full of his children, she simply could not bring herself to feel anything less than perfect bliss, neither anger, nor irritation, nor even a passing annoyance.

Yes, children. Will, the poor man whom they kept poaching away from the Conte di Angelo, suspected it to be two. Her treasures were many, and multiplying.

She moved her body, just a little, repositioning herself on the soft bed. Though her pregnancy had been rather a dull affair, all things considered, as compared to the previous one, some things, unfortunately, had remained constant.

“Still,” she said, as she refused to give up quite so easily, “please do promise me that you shall go down to the docks to at least speak with the man before he departs.”

“I suppose I could,” he tilted his head, considering.

She narrowed her eyes. Having seen and catalogued all possible configurations of his handsome face by now, there was virtually no possible way to construe this one as sincere.

“Or,” he said, a lascivious grin crossing his face, his free slowly, agonizingly slowly, tracing random patterns on her shift and her skin, sauntering ever so vaguely downwards. “Or, I could spend the afternoon doing something infinitely more… appetizing, shall we say, than speaking to Giovanni.”

Percy, the absolute rapscallion, even had the audacity to lick his lips.

Damn him. Her sense memory was far too strong to resist.

It was only a matter of time before she gave in. She knew it, he knew it--to argue otherwise would only be prolonging the inevitable, driving their lusts higher and higher with impatience and anticipation.

So, then, she decided to prolong it a little.

She hummed, tapping her chin with a finger. “Allow me to think on it for a moment or two.”

“Of course, my love,” he murmured, his voice already deep and warm, the quality it only took on during activities such as these. His fingers had transported themselves from her collarbone and clavicle to the skin of her shin, dancing and tapping at the edge of her shift, occasionally crossing underneath the hem. “You shall have all the time you require.”

Tap, tap, tap, a maddening little dance he played on the bumps and ridges of her knee, so distracting she could not even focus on pretending to be uninterested, her hips moving of their own accord, ever so slightly.

As it happened, she did not require nearly as much time to decide as she had thought she would.

And she did not even mind terribly when the bowl of olives, overturned and spilled in haste, ended up on the floor.

***

For weeks, Annabeth had been dreading the birth. Twice the children, twice the trouble, she had thought, and given just how dangerous the last one had been, she had been wracked with nerves for days. Not even Percy’s presence, warm and soothing and solid, could chase away her fears.

Though, at the very least, there was no danger of Percy accidentally raising another typhoon.

“Much simpler than last time, no?” Will had commented in Greek, attending to Annabeth while he had his assistant wrap the babies. “I was, at the very least, expecting some sort of earthquake to send the city plunging into the lagoon.”

Percy chuckled at the good-natured jest, far past the point of chagrin. “To have you here the whole time has put me much at ease, Dottore,” he said. “If you are certain there is nothing more I can do for you as repayment--”

But he waved Percy off, wiping down an instrument. “Think nothing of it. I am always glad to assist old friends.”

“Scusatemi, signora,” said his assistant, timidly, holding the newest members of their family in her arms. She had been somewhat scandalized when Percy had not made himself scarce during the birthing process, as was customary for menfolk, and though she had not been outwardly cold to him, or anything less than professional, Annabeth could sense she was still in something of a state of shock. “I tuoi infanti--un bambinetto e una bambinetta.”

Having already assisted Annabeth into a sitting position, Percy relieved her of one child, passing it to his wife, then took for himself the other. She had received the bambinetto, the little boy, curly wisps of blond hair nearly invisible against his skin. Just as Alexandros had been, he was beautiful, tiny and wrinkled, yet sublime in his smallness, in the little hands which curled into fists, in the slow, sleepy blink of his gray eyes as he first ever beheld the light, beheld his mother’s face.

Loving Percy had been an unexpected surprise, something for which she had neither predicted nor planned. Loving Alexandros had been something of a foregone conclusion, a soothing balm to her then-broken heart, and she had feared she would not have enough room in her soul for her son, so taken was she with his father, unwilling to exchange one for the other. Loving this little boy, however, and his sister, would be the simplest thing in the world.

She turned to her husband, pleased to see the look of awe and delight on his face. “Well, kærasti? How fares you now, now that I have given you a daughter?”

So enraptured, it was as if he had not heard her.

The door opened then, with a creak, a small, dark-haired shape toddling his way in, past the reaching hand of his caretaker. “Mamma!” he cried. “Mamma!”

“Accidenti,” muttered the Conte di Angelo, standing in the doorway. “A thousand apologies, Annabeth, but your little… child… could not be contained.”

She laughed. “Worry not--I have heard more than a few similar such sentiments from his nanny.”

Clumsily, lacking all grace, Alexandros clambered up onto the bed, making to crawl towards his mother, until he was stopped by the nigh impassable barrier of Percy’s outstretched leg. “Careful, careful,” Percy said, sweetly. “Your mamma is resting.”

All wide eyes and curiosity, he crept even closer, his mouth hanging open in a child’s confusion, as doctor, midwife, and count exited the room, in the periphery of her vision.

“Angele mou,” she murmured, “would you like to meet your brother?”

He did not respond, not so old yet that he possessed the gift of uninhibited communication, but he did peer, curiously, at the small thing in his mother’s arms.

If she cast her mind back, Annabeth could not quite recall the first time she had ever met her brothers. Buried beneath the dirt and rubble of time and more pressing matters, she tried to remember if she had been excited to become an older sibling, to have some sort of sororal responsibility for her father’s new wife. Her situation had been quite different, of course; she had been old enough to comprehend what was taking place, and too clever by far for her to not feel some resentment, and in a fit of terror and rage, had taken flight into the unknown.

Alexandros, perhaps, did not yet understand the matter, could not quite understand that these two little things were now his family, that his mama’s love and his papa’s attention would no longer be solely focused upon him.

“This is your brother, Lukas,” she told him, the name she and Percy had agreed upon, a bygone memory of a friend and brother who had taken care of them both, and risen above all his failures in the end. “Can you say hello?”

“Loo-kas,” he said, reaching out a pudgy hand.

“Very good!” She was charmed far too easily by her children, but she simply could not help herself--it was far too sweet an image. “And that,” she said, indicating her husband beside her, “is your sister.”

If Percy could even conceive of a world outside of his daughter, now, he showed no indication of it, barely even moving when Alexandros made his way over to him, grasping onto his shoulder for balance.

Hushed, she asked him, “Percy? Have you chosen a name for her?”

They had spent weeks agonizing over names for their newborns. Names had power, they knew intimately, and had to be chosen with great care. When it was determined she would be having twins, they had each agreed to choose one child’s name, to be shared with their partner, or kept a surprise. Percy knew the names for which she had a distinct distaste, and so she was not concerned he would choose something she truly hated, but she was quite curious.

His gaze, green and glassy, was fixed on his daughter, a single tear falling down his cheek, his throat working as he summoned the will to speak. “Anja,” he murmured.

“Yes, my love?”

He turned to her then, his mouth trembling, the sunrise of his joy breaking on his face, warm and brilliant. “Her name is Anja.”

If her heart were any more full, it would burst right out of her chest.

“Then, if you are able to part with her, I believe Anja,” her voice hitched as she spoke the name aloud, the name of the little girl with blonde hair and gray eyes and all of her father’s love, “is in need of a little food.”

Percy nodded, bringing his little Anja to his lips, and laying a soft kiss on her blonde head.

Carefully, then, he passed her to Annabeth, making sure she was well situated in her mother’s arms, then he brushed a hand over Lukas’s head, as softly and tenderly as he could. This man could fight and kill, lead armies and win wars. His blood was that of the earth-shaker, the vengeful, the violent, who cursed and doomed any who would harm his children. Yet here he was, the absolute gentlest of fathers.

Little Alexandros, sweet thing, was drooping, sleepiness over taking his frame. Plucking him up, Percy transferred him to his other arm, so that he could be even closer to her, tucking Alexandros beneath one arm, and Annabeth beneath the other, his fingers playing with the ends of a curl or two.

The lord of the sea could never be so soft, cradling Sarah and a baby Percy, nor the lady of war so affectionate, cuddling with Fredrik while they looked on their little Anja. All children of the gods emulated their parents, in ways both great and small, proliferated year after year, generation after generation, all their mistakes reborn alongside the heroes and the monsters and the stories. Yet, sometimes, they could break free of it. A daughter of Athena and a son of Poseidon could learn to trust each other, to love each other, to end the mighty rivalry of the heavens--and thus, in this way, they were already better than their parents, like the words of the old poet.

Yes, she thought, as Anja and Lukas took their food, as Alexandros fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm, as Percy stroked her hair, the thump of his heartbeat beneath her shoulder, beautifully, breathlessly mortal. Yes, they were better, by far.

#this is a very very long one #the marble king #darkmagk #perseannabeth #pataytayo #my fic #pjo #percabeth #IT'S DONE WTF #ao3 chapter will be posted tomorrow but i am posting it tonight bc it is DONE #🎺🎺🎺🎺🎺 WOOO WTF

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Silly prompt Idea for if you feel like it: BATIM but the monsters are chill to humans but are still unnerving; Sammy doesn't care about sacrificing people and is instead constantly trying to commit theophagy, Alice just covers the ruined half of her face with a mask instead of seeking perfection but sings songs about dismembering people anyway, the projectionist is tame and comes when you 'Pspspspspsps' at him but he also plays with corpses. etc.

Summary: Sometimes Joey liked to shake things up a bit to keep Henry on his toes, but this particular loop was probably the weirdest of them all...

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[[MORE]]

Joey Drew was a creature of positively maddening habit. He'd demonstrated this since he was but a little child, eager to run from the church service and get grass stains on his Sunday best, ready to go on imaginary adventures with his one best friend in the whole wide world. Indeed, a day could not go by where Joey and Henry didn't play pretend in the latter's backyard.

Now as an old and bitter man in a wheelchair, the same still proved to be unfortunately true, although the setting was much different. He'd drag himself out of bed every day, completed his routine, then off he went to put his "toys" and supposed best friend through the same nightmare over and over again.

Surely doing the same old charade had to grow stale even for him, right? Well... That's why once in a blue moon, Joey tried to get a little... Creative.

Henry found that he hated those times more than being a prisoner to a never-ending loop, because the unpredictable nature of Joey's creativity was truly something out of his nightmares. Such was his dilemma now.

The first sign that all was not as it should be was the fact the pedestals that allowed the Ink Machine to be turned on, were already prepared and ready to go. Items placed in their rightful positions awaiting the flick of a switch. The second sign was the apprehensive behaviour of the demon, upon Henry triggering its first appearence in this loop. It didn't jump out at him, instead merely pulled itself out of the ink with something akin to frustration.

"You too uh?" Henry felt for the wretched creature, knowing that it was as unwilling a participant in this show as he was. He also knew that it disliked when Joey shook up the plot a bit because it often ended with it finding a more painful demise.

The Ink Demon said nothing in return, but motioned for him to go with it's uneven limbs. Different or not, the path was a linear one and Henry had to go about everything as if it were a normal run... Except it was anything but. The Music Department was proof enough of that.

He fell through the floor, had the usual visions, acquired a fire axe, and was ready to find the music director creeping about as usual. Instead, the old veteran came face to face with a religious service in full swing.

Searchers and Lost Ones, gurgling and reciting along to whatever "words of god" Sammy Lawrence was currently preaching, were sitting in makeshift booths.

Several alters set up for the Ink Demon were brimming with offerings of dolls, trinkets and cans of bacon soup. So many, many, cans of bacon soup. Brought in by the members in attendance.

Henry paused, completely taken by surprise by this... Arrangement. If anyone noticed his presence, no one seemed bothered about it. If anything, Sammy glanced once at him and merely continued his sermons, giving Henry ample time to accomplish his tasks in the music department.

As he collected the abandoned pressure valve (because Jack had apparently also gone to the "Sunday service"), Henry wondered if the mad maestro would just let him leave peacefully.

When no blow came from behind, he felt pretty satisfied with the outcome. Until he had to pass by the large gathering of ink people again, that is...

The sermons had apparently come to a close, and it was about the time church goers were to perform their theophagy ritual. Henry expected them to just eat the soup as their "body and blood of god", but of course why would any sane man think that these people who followed the ramblings of a mad Prophet, would do so much as dare a glance at an offering to their Lord?

No, Henry should have honestly known better, and he came to a complete stop as he watched the once-respectable composer push a cage full of live rats, and a bowl full of ink, into the center of the room.

"Feast now brothers and sisters, for one day this flesh will allow us to regain our own physical bodies. But let us not forget our Lord's blessings. May drinking his blood infuse us with the courage we need to commit to such ritualistic prayer."

Henry didn't stick around to watch the "feasting", but the shrill screeching of rats and wet crunching of bones followed him all the way to Buddy's safehouse, where the poor cartoon wolf looked just as disgusted and horrified as him. Fur standing on end just as Henry's own skin got goosebumps.

Thoroughly disturbed by what he'd witnessed, the old cartoonist knew to be on guard for whatever came next. While the Ink Demon seemed to just linger and let them pass, Alice Angel was still a supposed threat he needed to contend with. Joey didn't do much with her, as far as petty resentment towards Susie went, so he expected a struggle. He didn't expect a cabaret show.

There, in a room fixed up to look like a stage with Butcher Gang clones working as some sort of bar staff, stood the malicious lady herself, performing with a mask fashioned from an Alice Angel cutout's head.

The left side serving to hide her deformities, while she seductively swung her hips to the beat of a song that was certainly less cartoony and more sensual. A tango of some sort, or perhaps even jazz. Henry had a bit of a tin ear, so he couldn't really tell...

She was pretty content just singing and dancing, although her words were ones that put both he and Buddy on edge.

Sweet words that romanticized death and dismemberment, because nothing spelled angelic mercy like hearing about your innards getting torn out and used in ways he dare not speak of.

At least the whiskey was nice, likely pillaged from a couple of employees's offices.

Wherever Henry went, he found no real danger. This loop was just weird. Of course before moving onto Bendyhell to see what in God's name Joey might have done to subdue Bertrum, Alice did ask him to check up on Norman.

He'd at least hoped the Projectionist was behaving as intended... Except he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Henry nearly backed off into the lift as soon as he realized the hulking beast was playing with the remains of its dead prey, and then nearly straight up pissed himself when that blazing light fell upon him and his lupine companion.

But then the large beast did something unexpected. It lumbered slowly towards them rather than rushing them, and then gently head-butted Henry's arm, purring like a big twisted cat of some kind.

Buddy shrugged at him when he looked over with a raised brow, before the old cartoonist sighed and gave the object-headed beast a few scratches on the "chin" and left it to its... Morbid activities. Playing with its mangled food like an actual cat...

Bendyhell in contrast, was quite pleasant. Abuzz with the cheers of Lost Ones having fun with the games and rides. Bertrum looked annoyed, but entertained his guests nonetheless. Henry Eve caught sight and waved at the dancing animatronic that ran about checking in on the Lost Ones that were having a blast. Hopefully none belonged to Sammy's church, lest poor Bertrum ended up dealing with upchucked rat remains... Best not think of that.

The encounter with Allison and Tom was postponed to the giant Ink Machine itself. They were in the Ink Demon's throne room, playing card games with it. The absolute look of boredom twisting its grin into a grimace.

"You know what, I don't even care enough to ask..." He threw up his hands in surrender and simply say down with them. "What are we playing?"

"Go fish. At the best of three, then you can end this nightmare..." Allison sighed.

"Amen to that..." He took the hand the Ink Demon shuffled for him, then joined in their game, allowing Buddy to sit down besides him to doodle away in his notebook.

If Joey was going to weird him out with his freaky jokes, at least Henry would get back at him by leaving him waiting in his stuffy old apartment.

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim

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mauserfrau · 4 years

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Mau's Very Silly Headcanon Post

Since I have two pieces of fiction going live this weekend and they’re both going to be late due to butting into each other XD.

I did another one here and there’s going to be some overlap, but less bodily function stuff in this one (mostly spit) (also some vague references to medical trauma).

A lot of this is small potatoes because I didn’t want to spoil anything. How Phaseleech actually works ends up being a plot point in what I have pending, so I actually can’t just come out and say what’s going on. That said, I’m sure there are people here who want to know what’s on my mind, but who don’t want to sit through 50K words with half a dozen squick warnings.

That said: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mauser_Frau

Questions welcome, about this, anything else I think about Borderlands, what exactly is in Chapter 13 of Satellite, if it’s true the one flashback actually happened to Mom...

Both

-Look, the only thing I did that’s appreciably off-canon is let them have emotions. Maybe I drove into left field with what those emotions were, but that’s really all anybody’s got to do to fix this situation. Go with the deity of your choice.

-If I was headed for a Gearbox ending, it would be for the scrapped one, not the one we got. See this and this other thing.

>>>I would still have written the twins as having something resembling a meaningful relationship regardless of whether that turned out romantic or not. As things went and are, them as a couple was something I knew how to write and my mom shipped them (no, I’m not kidding).

-I’m not going for a canon ending. Mercy, did I find a thread I could snap and take the whole sweater out.

-Both had blue siren markings when they were born; Troy’s turned red after they were separated.

--Which was a complicated mess-- they were upside-down verses each other and had several secondary adhesions, the most notable of which was Tyreen’s face to Troy’s thigh.

---Leda never 100% recovered from the emotional or physical trauma, but she put on a brave face for the last sevenish years of her life.

---Troy’s tissue loss was severe and left him with a notable pit in his upper right side.

---Tyreen also has heavy scarring running from her right armpit to her right hip. It’s not as complex, but it is very visible. Missing a fair amount of intestine compared to the average human, but this has apparently never bothered her beyond the fact that visiting the toilet when you don’t eat is not fun.

-Semi-identical twins. Have 82.5% of their genes in common. LSS, neither one is a parasite. They’re two sperm plus one egg and they didn’t divide right.

--Ms. Phaseleech* didn’t know any better. #oops

--If you get them relaxed enough, they will indeed curl up together in their “fish” position.

-Tyreen is the one who would wail first if separated from her brother when they were very small, but they don’t like being apart even as adults.

-Both very well-read, used to recite The Odyssey to congregants instead of scripture (‘cause they didn’t have any scripture).

-Good to excellent hunters. Depends what they’re hunting and if they’re together. Prefer to go barefoot if there’s no one else around.

-The circumstances surrounding Leda’s death are appreciably worse than fanon baseline to the point I don’t think I ought to leave them lying around in a Tumblr post.

-Both have wavy hair if they don’t iron the daylights out of it.

-Prefer to be on the road and around people, even if a fair amount of those people are going to end up dinner.

-Get weirdly soft-hearted around kids, especially little boys with a similar complexion to their own.

-Do they have any concept that they’re horrible people? Yes, but it’s very academic and not something that motivates them. You’d be way more likely to hear them frame themselves as hedonists, which also explains their worldview to a certain extent.

~*~

Troy

-Skinnier than most other Troys. You could put him in a room with every fandom Troy and sort them by muscle mass, you’d find him at the bottom end, partying like this was an accomplishment.

-Has an X-linked connective tissue disorder which is more extensive than he lets on. He really should not do about 90% of the stunts he does because of the vascular involvement.

-Made a categorical decision to treat the associated pain with a lot of cannabis and massage. Has a distinct resin and honey body butter smell because of this.

--Also, if you get him off-hours, there’s going to be a fair amount of “but why are we here, man?” discussion.

-Has a kink in his upper back. His spine tilts to his right. Not super noticeable, but if you were on massage duty, you’d realize something felt out of place.

-Used to get catastrophic nosebleeds, though these have lessened in frequency and severity over the years.

-After a certain point, has a permanent latching socket port installed on his right side, allowing him to switch arms out as he likes.

--Because he has a selection of eccentric ones. What? It’s a challenge to learn to use non-human aspects like claws or feathers or forty joints in a tentacle.

--Still flounces around without one if nobody of consequence is watching and generally won’t sleep with one in.

-The insides of his ear gauges are messy and don’t even get him started on changing the jewelry on any, erm, other piercings he might have. (Nipples and one off-center PA. That was QUITE enough after what it took for his tattoos to cooperate.)

-Will frame any illness or off-day as a migraine, which he does get.

-Had really bad teeth before his mouth mods. After that, has none of his natural teeth remaining. Primarily uses his exceptional bite radius to annoy others, show off, eat sandwiches in a disturbing fashion and do unspeakable things in bed. They’re for show. They’re not functional in any serious way.

-Doesn’t have great control of said mouth mods in the heat of passion or if you get him laughing hard enough. Hope you like spit!

-Still has rather heinous-looking feet, but he’s concerned about losing his calluses if he has them fixed. You’d be more likely to see him open on an operating table than barefoot in public.

-Always wants to be the little spoon. You’re a tink? You’re a third his size? So what. He wants to be the little spoon. Just give in.

-Genuinely likes tea, especially flower-based tea. Favorite foods include grits, polenta, tamales, campfire beefy rice, beef and broccoli layered onto somebody else’s leftover noodles, beef curry, beef sandwiches soaked in jus, steak tips on day-old fries and look just give him a sloppy plate of starch and dead cow if you need him to shut up.

-Drinks vodka so cold and over-filtered it tastes like water, then follows it up with extra greasy, burnt-to-hell texas toast while talking about his mother.

-Lactose intolerant. Please do not feed the rat child pizza. Or chipped beef on toast. No, not even if he begs.

~*~

Tyreen

-Abnormally acute senses, especially hearing/smell and including a form of intuition which targets where things she can leech exist nearby. She’s only aware of any of this in the context of it being different from how Troy’s senses work. She knows where to get food. Don’t most people?

-Doesn’t perceive herself as 100% human. The Leech is part of her and she likes herself. Mama said she was perfect. The details are whatever. You got a problem here? Well, that’s easy to fix…

-Would have been sorted as a tomboy growing up, but had no companions to do so. As is, prefers the company of masculine individuals, loves showing people up in a boyish fashion and is absolutely going to tune you out if you start talking to her about the topic.

-Reeks. You might smell something “off” with her around in a meeting room, but get her sweaty or worked up and forget it. It’s not even a human smell. Petrichor and spray paint, menstrual blood and chlorine, dead leaves and solvent. It’s chemical, it’s uncannily biological. It’s really not OK. She can’t smell it and Troy’s used to it.

-Doesn’t shave. Has fluffy armpits that don’t match her dye job and a rather spectacular bush that extends onto her upper thighs. Does pluck here brows and the witch hairs on her chin, but otherwise, you know what, nah.

-Heavily tattooed, but this is limited to her torso. The viewing of said tattoos, as well as her scars, is a ritual in her particular CoV.

--Not that she cares about being naked. A body is a body. You people are so uptight.

-Will reflexively guard her lower stomach before anything else and sometimes in error. Do not call her on this. You will piss her off.

-Has an eye-shaped siren marking, but it’s on her left shoulder blade and she tends to forget it’s there. More aware of the “pointer mark” underneath her navel.

-Poor tolerance for any drugs.

-Can only ingest salt, sucrose and 80 proof or better clear alcohol without retching.

--Which is to say she doesn’t eat “people food”.

--Fatty or high-fiber foods tend to make her ill faster. She could possibly keep tofu or chicken breast down for an hour or more, but it’s still not going to end well.

--Can and does eat cinder toffee because it’s one of the few things she can chew and digest. Konpeito is nice too, but sometimes the dye upsets her stomach.

--Milk, maybe. Human works better.

-Enjoys swimming or long baths.

-Ambidextrous. Was either born that way or picked up doing certain things left-handed because that’s what her brother had to work with and she had to show him how to do stuff somehow.

-Good with a forearm-mounted crossbow. Either hand is fine.

-Used to drool precipitously when she leeched something “good”. Mostly has a handle on this by the time the CoV gets to be a thing. Mostly.

-Deeply immature love language which might include her actually asking to play with her prospective partner and a good bit of bullying.

-SHE IS NOT SHY ABOUT HER NEEDS AND KINKS. THE HELL WITH YOU. YOU’RE MAKING SOMETHING OUT OF NOTHING. HOW DARE YOU. DO YOU WANT TO BE SKAG BAIT ON THE NEXT LIVESCREAM. UGH. #nottsundereatall

~*~

* The Leech IDed herself as, erm, herself in some stuff I’m not sure I’ll ever post but ANYWAY.

#borderlands 3 #headcanon post #calypso twins #troy calypso #tyreen calypso

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xmagicxshopx · 5 years

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Moon Monsters - Chapter 6

Genre: Fantasy Adventure, Romance (smut later), Comedy Rating: PG-13 Warnings: none at this time Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Jimin x oc, Taehyung x oc Notes: werewolf!bts au. Not idol!bts. Same goes for GOT7. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: I was the dork who Googled and made sure there were actually McDonald’s in Seoul before writing this. XD And I actually proof read most of this~

Tagging: @och-ako @jiminnies-baby @kfictionstories @justbangtanandjams @lizardsocial @breadcaaat

Summary: You’re the CEO’s new personal assistant. But there’s something strange about him and the company you work for.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jungkook was normally a pretty light sleeper thanks to his sensitive canine ears. Always being on the alert and whatnot. But with the events having taken place in the last 24 hours, it was to be expected that he’d sleep in a little. He had the super human strength, hearing, anything you could think of, but this morning he slept like a rock.

What helped the most was you. The fact that you, his precious mate, was right under his nose; filling his senses with your delicious scent. Doe eyes fluttering open, he let out a subconscious yip of happiness in his groggy state and finally looked down to see that you were still comfortable as could be sleeping on his chest.

Dear god he was in heaven.

He could get used to mornings like these. Speaking of, it looked to be about mid-morning. Perhaps 9:30 ish? The sun was pouring its natural light in through the slated blinds and curtains both. The way the light fell on you made you look like an angel from heaven itself. Your hair was messy in the cutest way. And your face without makeup was his favorite. He was pretty sure you could be covered in mud and still look absolutely gorgeous.

Yep. He was whipped.

But he could care less. Because he was the happiest guy alive right now.

Just then, you started to stir, looking beautiful as ever while you did so. Your face scrunched up cutely in confusion despite your eyes still being closed; clearly already knowing something wasn’t right. Or rather that something was different. It only took you a millisecond of movement for you to pop your eyes wide open. Within a heartbeat, you were looking up at him and wow you were adorable.

“Jungkook?”

“Morning, beautiful. How’d you sleep?”

He didn’t seem the least bit phased by the fact that they were sleeping on the couch together. That there was so much physical contact right now. You were laying on top of him for goodness sake. Heat rushed to your face and you could practically feel it rolling off in waves, so you knew he had to feel it too. But he just laid there looking perfectly content.

“I um-----Yeah? I think?”

“Aigoo. You’re too cute. You ready for our big day today?”

It was more than obvious that you were flustered. Especially since you didn’t answer his original question. But at least he got the answer he was hoping for. It eased some of his worry and concern knowing that you got some decent sleep. With any luck, that was all because of him. His chest wanted to swell with pride at the idea of it all. Him, protecting his mate.

You knew you should have asked him how well he slept too but you were just in awe over how.....comfortable he was with this. They were coworkers. Sure they hung out after work from time to time but still. This was so......intimate? At least for you it was. Trying to gain focus and answer his question, you nodded a bit and said timidly in a small voice,

“Yeah. I think. But on one condition.”

Those last few words left your mouth and it surprised you both. You for your sudden burst of courage and him because he watched you go from timid and nervous to determined and firm. Watching him nod a bit in understanding, you then sat up and moved to where you were sitting next to him on the opposite end of the couch while he was still laying down.

“I get to pay for my meals today. If you’re going to buy all my stuff for me, then I’m at least paying for my meals. Or we have no deal.”

You knew you didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. You needed things. And a lot of them. Especially your toiletries. So you weren’t really in a position to make deals but you could only hope that he’d bite and show you mercy by accepting your conditions. It was the least you could afford at this point and you felt guilty beyond belief.

Jungkook was now sitting up as well as he sat there across from you; staring at you in thought and concentration. He was considering it. Playing it over in his mind.

On one hand, he wanted to refuse and insist on paying for everything. Then again, he knew you were pretty upset in the guilty sense from everyone paying your way through all of this. And he would rather see you happy. So if paying for your meals today would make you happy, then that’s what would happen. Smiling a warm smile, he nodded and held out his hand for you to shake.

“Deal.”

His hand was warm as it fit around yours perfectly. There was something there......a connection? Something about having your hand in his. There was this soft and warm tingling sensation that went up your whole arm and you wondered if he noticed it too. It actually caused you to let your hand linger in his. It was a lot similar to how you felt in Namjoon’s office when he announced that you’d be working together with Kook.

He knew you could feel it. The connection. The special connection that every wolf has with their mate. Oh how he wanted to just tell you now. Tell you everything. The fact that he was a werewolf and you were his mate. His mate picked by the Moon Goddess and Mother Nature themselves. Speaking of, man you smelled amazing. Your approaching ovulation was killing him.

“Okay! So let’s get our showers and we can have a nice early lunch. Your pick because I’ll eat anything. I’m like a garbage disposal.”

“Aigoo, Kook. You’re too skinny to be a garbage disposal.”

The two of you laughed as you playfully tried to shove him but of course he went absolutely nowhere and it only caused you to lean against him instead. To you this moment probably didn’t seem like much. However, to Jungkook it meant the whole world. Here he was, enjoying his best life. He had a great job, a great roof over his head, a nice car that gets him from point A to point B, and most of all, he had you.

“Alright, ladies first. Surprise me with a cute outfit too.”

Even though you yelped from surprise, the soft and gentle pats to your bum didn’t feel raunchy or inappropriate. In fact, it almost felt endearing. Did you really just admit to yourself that you liked your coworker patting your bum? Yeah. You’re pretty sure that’s what just happened. Good gravy your emotions were all over the place. What was wrong with you? Hopefully this shower would help clear your head.

Wrong. Very wrong.

You ended up smelling just like him. Well not exactly. For you had your own natural scent but this was the shampoo you could smell in his hair and the body wash mixed with his natural scent was intoxicating and here you were literally bathing in it. Yeah. So much for clearing your head. Boy today was going to be a long day. Were you ready for this? Probably not. The only thing you could really do was just take it one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Jungkook or repulsed by him. Surprisingly enough, it was beginning to be quite the opposite. But you supposed that’s what was bothering you. Shouldn’t you be a little more skeptical of living with a coworker? Why did taking a shower in his bathroom seem so......natural? Things weren’t adding up and it was like you were fighting a brick wall. An invisible force of nature. That was silly, right?......Right?

You allowed the water to cascade down your body and over your face; the steam soothing to you. Perhaps you should just....let go? Stop pushing against this odd feeling of comfort. Stop questioning this sensation of tranquility and just.....let it be. Hell, maybe embrace it? You had no doubt in your mind that Jungkook would never harm you in any way. So why not just.....enjoy your stay with him till you find a place of your own again.

Meanwhile, said male was bustling about and getting ready for his day. He had already transferred some more money and picked out a pretty simple outfit for the day. He really needed to shave too. Ugh. For a wolf, he actually hated facial hair. So naturally the stubble he had was driving him nuts. Although he couldn’t help but wonder if you would like him better with a beard of some kind. Hmm....Hopefully one day he’d get to ask you that and it not seem weird or random.

Hearing the hairdryer, he smiled to himself. This was the life. Sitting at home, in his den, his nest, and just enjoying the peace and tranquility of it all. His beautiful and gorgeous mate grooming herself to perfection in the other room. God. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to hear, he let out a happy yip as his leg tried to bounce. His inner wolf was rolling around with happiness too. Man. Was this how Jimin and Taehyung felt all the time? Did their mates make them giddy like this?

“The bathroom is all yours, Kookie.”

Good gravy he just about got caught. There he sat on the couch nearly about to shift from pure happiness when you walked in looking like a goddess yourself. The smell of his body wash mixed well with your natural scent. He could feel drool trying to form around his tongue. Swallowing hard, he soaked up your attire for the day. Man he was going to lose it before the day was over.

You picked out a pretty sundress that was modest and conservative but it still hugged your body in all the right places. You had these really cute matching earrings and he couldn’t help but smile a bright eye smile as he stood up. Surely he must be so obvious. It was amazing that you hadn’t called him out on how much he was staring. Or perhaps you were just that adorably clueless. Walking over to you, he noticed how you looked a bit uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“I smell like a man.”

“Ouch. I thought I smelled pretty good, thank you very much.”

“Yah. You know that’s not what I meant.”

This time when you tried to shove him, he let you win a bit and took a small step back from your outstretched arms. Laughing softly at your adorable pout, he stepped back into place as his hands gently found purchase on your shoulders. Smiling warmly as he faced your pouting lips, he said soothingly with sincerity,

“You smell fine, princess. And after today, you’ll smell like a beautiful rose instead of a pine tree.”

“Aigoo, you’re unbelievable. Shut up.”

Okay so he had to get that last little jab in there. But he just couldn’t help it. Teasing you and watching your face burn red and getting all flustered was one of his favorite things. Laughing and catching your hand when it tried to swat at him, he did what absolutely came natural to him and kissed the back of it.

And that was when you both froze. For different reasons. One in confusion and the other in panic.

Even though it surprised you, the action of Jungkook kissing the back of your hand didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have. In fact, the only thing that was bothering you was.....why did it not bother you? In all actuality, it felt quite.....normal? Why? How? The two of you barely knew each other till you started working on the same floor as him. This made no sense at all.

‘Way to go, genius.’

Kook wanted to snap at his inner wolf but really.....his wolf was right. Way to go, genius. His knee jerk reaction was to let go of your hand like it was fire but he managed to keep what little cool he had and instead gently let go and cleared his throat. With a soft sheepish laugh and a rub to the back of his head, he said a bit nervously,

“Well I’m gonna go and wash in pine trees too. I won’t be long and then we can head out and get some food. I’m starved.”

And just like that he was gone; nearly speed walking his way to the bathroom. Letting out a puff of air you didn’t realize you had been holding, you took a couple deep breaths before immediately going into your new room and finding your phone. Your mind was swimming as you dialed the desired number. Pressing the phone to your ear, you subconsciously started to chew on the skin of your lips; a bad habit of nervousness.

“Hello?”

“Mama Bird? It’s me.”

“Oh! Yes yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t even bother looking at the caller ID. What’s up, sweet pea?”

“It’s.......I......I dunno.”

You sighed heavily and flopped onto your super comfy bed and stared at the canopy above you. It truly was a beautiful set-up, your bed was. Blinking in confusion and wonder, you finally managed to speak up again.

“It’s Jungkook.”

“Are you okay? Has he done something to you?”

“No no! It’s not that. It’s just......I can’t explain it. He......We were just talking and joking and laughing and then he-----He kissed the back of my hand. Am I reading too much into this? I’m so confused, Mama. I don’t know what to do or how to feel. I feel like I’m gonna----”

“Sweet pea. Breathe. Just breathe for me, okay?”

Listening to you take deep breaths, the petite female was smiling in sympathy. Jimin sat next to her on the couch and could hear everything thanks to his amazing hearing. They both felt for you; knowing what you’re going through. It was tough for the both of them when they first found each other. Jimin had no idea how to act around his mate without coming off as some kind of freaky stalker or something. And Mama Bird couldn’t understand this odd and powerful attraction to the male. It would seem you were suffering the same confusion.

“Did you like it when Kookie kissed the back of your hand?”

“Well.....I mean.....It was nice? I dunno! I shouldn’t though right? We’re coworkers! We’re just friends!”

“Do you want to be more than just friends and coworkers?”

“I------I dunno.”

The two laughed softly in endearment when they heard you whining on the other end of the line. You were just too adorable. Their adorable clueless cutie. But despite it all, they both knew Jungkook was going to have to tell you the truth eventually. With a knowing and warm smile that Mama Bird knew you’d never see, she spoke softly and in a motherly tone,

“Just go with the flow, sweetheart. Trust me on this one. Just let it flow.”

“Mama that’s not very helpful.”

“Just trust me. Now I gotta go. My cookies are going to burn if I don’t.”

“But I----”

But you never got a chance to finish your sentence and the line was already dead. Sighing and not feeling any more clarity than you did before, you let your phone fall next to you on the bed and stared at the ceiling in utter confusion; your heart beating a little faster than usual and your mind a blender.

Sitting up, you decided to grab your purse and make sure you had everything you needed before heading back into the living room to wait for your......whatever he was. You honestly had no idea anymore. Mama Bird’s words swirled in your head. Just go with the flow? Just let it flow? What did that even mean? Ugh. So confusing.

“Okay. I’m ready! Let’s hit the road.”

“Cookies are gonna burn, huh? Nice one, babe.”

“Oh hush. You know I don’t like fibbing. But I didn’t want to risk telling her too much because I don’t like fibbing. I didn’t want to blow your guys’ cover before it was time. Besides, it should be Jungkook that tells her. Not me.”

Mama Bird pouted cutely as she laid there in Jimin’s arms on the couch. It was just a relaxing Sunday day after the events of yesterday. Both were exhausted but being in each other’s arms helped tremendously. Jimin moved them to where they were once again laying down on the couch with her on top of him. Running his fingers through his mate’s hair, he spoke softly in his warm loving tone,

“You did the right thing. Hopefully she takes your advice.”

“I hope so too. She sounds like she’s really struggling right now.”

Suddenly, there was a squawk that shattered the peaceful silence of the living room that followed up with a,

“Jimin’s a pussy! Jimin’s a pussy!”

“I’m gonna skin Taehyung alive the next time I see him.”

Soon enough, you were climbing into the driver’s seat of your brand new Hyundai. It still felt so surreal but at least it got your mind off of your confused feelings for awhile. With both hands on the steering wheel, you were trying to get used to the fact that you no longer needed to insert a key to turn the engine on. Just the press of a button and done; car started. It was like stepping into the future or something.

“So where are we eating?”

“I just figured we could eat wherever was closest to the stores.”

“Works for me. Like I said before, I’ll eat anything.”

The longer you drove, the more Jungkook realized you were shopping on the cheaper end of town. Granted it broke his heart a bit and made him sad, but he understood your reasoning. It was plain to see that you had been forced to live cheap your whole life. Living from paycheck to paycheck. He wasn’t going to scold you for it, but he also had plans to.....broaden your horizons as he liked to think of it.

“Is this okay?”

You had parked them in a McDonald’s and honestly he couldn’t be happier. There was a nice juicy cheeseburger that had his name written all over it. Nodding vigorously with a bright bunny smile, he replied in a little more enthusiasm than he probably should have,

“Absolutely! Let’s go!”

At first, you thought he might just be putting on a show to make you feel better about your pick of cheap food. But upon seeing how his eyes lit up while staring at the menu board, you were beginning to think his eagerness was genuine and real. You watched him place his order and pay for it before taking his assigned number and stepping to the side so that you could do the same.

Your initial instinct was to pick a salad. You didn’t want to look like a fatty in front of him. But then again, that burger looked amazing. And so did everything else. You really didn’t want rabbit food today. It was then that Mama Bird’s words once again floated through your mind. And so the words that came flying out of your mouth ended up being,

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

Not too long into the meal, things were starting to get messy. Literally. Laughing behind his hand as he chewed on a particularly large bite of burger, Jungook tried to say between the chewing and the laughing,

“You’ve got it all over your face.”

“Shut up. So do you.”

But despite your grumpy reply, you could feel your lips trying to curl into a smile of amusement. So much for trying to not look like a fat kid. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were till you had completely cleaned off your tray of food. The cheeseburger had been absolutely delicious and everything else was just as good. You felt full and warm and.....happy.

Perhaps Mama Bird was right. You just needed to go with the flow. Let it flow.

“What are you thinking about?”

You blinked a couple times and noticed that the man sitting across from you was casually sipping on his drink; his face now free of sauce and sesame seeds. Around all of that were his eyes. Those doe, almond shaped eyes that were currently full of curiosity. Trying not to gulp in nervousness, you shrugged as casually as you could and replied as much,

“Dunno. Just......everything. I’m still really overwhelmed with the last forty-eight hours.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how that must feel. But don’t worry.”

He reached across the table and gently took your hand in his; his thumb rubbing your skin soothingly. Your heart fluttered and you couldn’t fight off the blush that formed in your cheeks as you found yourself lost in his eyes.

“You won’t go through this alone. I’m always here for you.”

“Th---Thank you, Jungkookie.”

And to both your surprise, you gripped his hand back tightly.

As much as he wanted to sit there and chat and get to know his mate better, Jungkook knew the day was half over and they had a lot of ground to cover if they were going to make it back home in time to get any kind of rest for work tomorrow. Work.....Yes they would be working together soon. Which reminded him of one thing on his list. Boots. You had absolutely no nature gear. Like rubber boots. But they could do the clothes shopping later once you had gotten all your toiletries and other necessities.

“So let’s get out of here and get your stuff. Where to first?”

“I was going to head across the street here and stop in the store where my pharmacy is. All my medicine got lost in the fire. Plus this store is where I get all my beauty products and stuff.”

“Cool cool. Let’s head out, then.”

After safely crossing the bustling streets, you made your way into the store and headed straight back towards the pharmacy. Jungkook followed behind you and couldn’t help but want to drool over your backside. Gosh you looked gorgeous all the way around. It was so hard for him to focus when you looked this radiant.

“Well look who’s out and about. What are you two doing here?”

It was Taehyung and his mate, Black Widow. It appeared she must get her medicine from this pharmacy too. After having paid the necessary amount, the black haired female turned around to face you and Kook as well. Both her and Tae were sporting warm smiles and it made you feel a bit bashful. Why? You couldn’t explain but it made you blush shyly all the same. With a small wave of greeting, you replied timidly,

“I’m here to pick up medicine. They didn’t survive the fire.”

“Oh my. Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. It never even occurred to me. It was insensitive of me to ask.”

“Ani ani, Tae. It wasn’t. I promise you. Don’t feel bad.”

With him still flashing you an apologetic smile, Taehyung nodded all the same and then politely stepped aside with his arm around his mate’s waist so that you could do your thing at the pharmacy window. With a glance to his younger wolf brother, the suave looking male whispered into his mate’s ear,

“I’m gonna take Kook to one of the aisles for a talk, keep her company, will you?”

“Of course, TaeTae.”

With a swift peck to the lips, the older male let go of his mate only to drag a clueless and confused looking Jungkook down a random aisle. Of course it would be the liquor aisle. Just as the youngest was about to ask what the deal was, it was Tae who spoke up first.

“You imprinted on her?”

“It was an accident?”

“Kook......”

The younger of the two winced a little at the warning tone that was held in his older brother’s voice. Yeah. He was in trouble. But it truly was an accident....At least in his mind. It just happened so sudden. It came so naturally. Gulping, Jungkook tried to explain exactly that as he lifted his hands in defense.

“Look. Listen. It was so sudden and hyung it felt so natural. I couldn’t stop it.”

“Does she know you’ve imprinted on her?”

“No. Of course not.”

“So then you’ve imprinted on her without her consent?”

“Yeah.......Oops?”

“Yeah. A very big oops. Jungkook. This could have dire consequences for you. She will be fine but if she doesn’t return your affections......we could lose you, Kook.”

The youngest knew his older brother was just looking out for him and that this grumpiness and scolding session was all coming from love. But still. Jungkook never did well when being scolded. It was just the nature of being the youngest, he supposed. With his head slightly bowed in shame and his doe eyes glancing anywhere but at his hyung, he spoke softly,

“She’s worth the risk, Tae. I love her so much.”

“I know you do, buddy. Trust me. I’ve been there. But.....lucky for you....”

Taehyung waited for his younger brother to look back up at him before he added with a bit of a boxy smile,

“I can tell she’s got a thing for you too. She’s just fighting it, is all. It confuses her. Naturally so. That’s why I’m hoping Widow can maybe talk to her and kind of push her in the right direction. Your direction, pal.”

“Thanks, hyung. You’re the best.”

“So how’s things living with Jungkookie?”

You sat there in the small waiting area as you waited for your emergency refills of your medicine. Perhaps the fact that you had missed what was now two days worth of birth control was what was messing you up emotionally? You had always been super sensitive to your birth control; especially if you missed a dose. Looking over at Black Widow, you decided to tell her what had happened earlier this morning.

“Awe! That’s so sweet of him! How romantic! I ship you two, you know.”

“Yah. Widow! You’re not helping here.”

“I can’t help it. You guys are cute together.”

“But we hardly know each other. And we’re just friends. And coworkers. We’re coworkers!”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

You pouted when you realized that you didn’t really have a solid or legitimate answer for that one. Squinting your eyes playfully at your friend, you watched her giggle and raise her hands in front of her in defense.

“Look. I’m just saying, Jungkook likes you. In fact, I think he has a crush on you.”

“Widow that’s ridiculous. Why would he have a crush on me?”

“Well for one, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. All heart eyes all the time. And not just anyone would do what he’s done for you in the last twenty-four hours. He moved Heaven and Earth for you, girlfriend. I don’t think he would have done that if he didn’t have some kind of feelings for you.”

You stared down at your hands in your lap. Maybe she was right. Maybe that’s why Jungkook had so easily kissed the back of your hand the way he had. Perhaps that’s why he was so comfortable with you sleeping on top of him on the couch? It made sense. As much as your heart confused you, what Widow was saying made sense.

“Just go with the flow.”

“You sound like Mama Bird.”

“That’s two against one. So just trust us and let things flow.”

Soon enough, your medicine was ready and it was time to part ways with Widow and Taehyung. They both gave you and Jungkook hugs before taking off for home. As they walked out of the store, Widow asked with a hint of concern,

“You think they’ll be okay? I did my best with her.”

“I think they’ll be fine. She just needs a little push is all. I have no doubt you worked wonders, baby girl. You always do.”

The young woman smiled with her eyes briefly shut so she could enjoy the sweet kiss to her temple as she walked to the car with her beloved. Once upon a time, she was in the same position as you were. It was Mama Bird who had helped her through it all. So she could only hope that she could help you through your journey down this fated path.

“Medicine? Check. What next, princess?”

“Shampoo, body wash, deodorant, face masks, founda----”

“Aigoo aigoo. One item at a time, love. Come on. Let’s head down the hair care aisle first.”

The pet name didn’t go by unnoticed as your heart fluttered a bit and heat threatened to rise up your neck and to the tips of your ears. However, you managed to squash the urges and focused on the rows upon rows of hair care products. Shampoo. Shampoo. You were looking for your usual when you watched a veiny arm move up to pick out a bottle of shampoo as you were asked,

“What about this one? It’s supposed to help keep your hair shiny and healthy.”

As he popped the cap up to take an experimental sniff, you turned your eyes to what mattered most to you; the price. You couldn’t help but notice it was a bit more expensive than your usual but it also wasn’t the most expensive either. Chewing your bottom lip nervously, you didn’t take long to cave before muttering shyly,

“Yeah. That one doesn’t look too bad. And the price isn’t terrible. It’s on sale.”

“Right? It’s like getting the best of both worlds. It smells really nice too.”

The shopping went on like this for the next half hour or so. You couldn’t help but notice the items in the basket that Jungkook was carrying had none of your usual items in it. You were going to walk out of here with brand new everything and you were pretty sure that’s how your new roommate intended it to be. And yet.....you didn’t fight it. You just went with it.

You went with the flow.

“Well this was a pretty successful shopping trip. You’re no longer going to smell like pine trees either. I call this trip a victory.”

“You’re such a dork. You basically picked everything out.”

“True, but you didn’t dispute any of them, did you?”

He laughed as your reply was to simply glare at him. Of course it was mild and only halfheartedly but still. You looked more adorable rather than threatening or scary. Facing your glare with puckered lips as if to smooch you, the both of you piled the bags into the trunk and had started to climb in the front.

However, something across the street caught your eye.

It was your old car. The one that went missing so randomly.

“That’s-----That’s my car! Jungkook there it is! What’s it doing there?”

“Hey---Wait----What---”

But you weren’t listening to him. All you could focus on was the sight of your car as it was parallel parked next to the sidewalk of the local park. It was an absolute mess. Someone had spray painted all over it. Graffiti of all kinds. All four tires were blown. The hood was popped open. A mess. An absolute mess.

Jungkook watched on and thank god you looked both ways before crossing the street. However, as he followed suit, his sensitive ears picked up on something. A ticking. A beeping. With wide eyes, he watch you get closer and closer to the car.

“NO! GET BACK! IT’S A B----”

He managed to grab you from behind as you approached the exposed engine. Not bothering to hide his super human strength and speed, he tried to get you as far away from the vehicle as possible. But he wasn’t quite swift enough.

The blast. It was numbing. Mind numbing. Especially for his hyper canine senses. Jungkook’s ears were ringing and everything swam in front of him. The sky, the trees from the park right next to him. Car alarms were going off and he could hear police and fire truck sirens going off. God. So much noise. He couldn’t think straight as he laid there sprawled on the sidewalk. He could only imagine how you felt.

Wait.......You.........YOU?!?!

What happened to you???

#werewolf!bts #werewolf!jungkook #bts #jungkook x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #s;moonmonsters #jimin x oc #taehyung x oc

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tonyparkerstark · 5 years

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after the snap and both peter and may get dusted their apartment gets put up for rent and their stuff is almost thrown out/sold. tony or pep stepped in last minute and saved their things. tony doesnt have the heart to throw out the majority of it or even look at it so he has happy move it into storage. some of it goes in the new lakehouse in a spare bedroom he totally doesn’t subconsciously think of as peter’s bedroom. it sits there for years, useless but safe, and being the only physical proof left of pete’s existence he feels a tiny bit closer to the kid he once lost. despite the tiny comforts, never once is he able to go into the room.

morgan is raised on stories of spiderman. its painful for tony to talk about but not doing so would be like forgetting peter, something he couldn’t do even if he wanted to. morgan deserved to know he exsisted.

morgan knows that spiderman was a hero, someone her dad mentored, knows he was her big brother, but doesn’t know much about who peter the person was. not by fault of either morgan or tony, but sometimes when the stories get more personal or her questions go a little too far tony just clams up, has a far away gaze and after taking a moment to collect himself, gracefully changes the subject time and time again. eventually she comes to understand that her brother is gone, and left in a way to make her dad incredibly sad. she knows it hurts him when she asks about pete, but she wants to know more about the brother her dad loved so much. she knows tony gets the same look about the bedroom as he does when she asks about peter and makes the connection. one day she takes things into her own hands and when her parents are distracted she enters the bedroom. [warning: long post]

tony starts to notice morgan playing with toys he doesn’t remember buying her. sometimes he finds her building cities in her bedroom with an assortment of legos. sometimes with mismatching figurines and prebuilt structures maybe a bit too complex for a 4/5ish year old. he doesn’t pay too much mind to it. pepper and tony spoil the kid and shower her with gifts, it isn’t too suprising that he can’t keep up with the things they keep getting her. he doesn’t ask morgan about it until one day when playing around in her makeshift hideout outside she jumps out wearing a red glove, clearly intended to be a prop iron man gauntlet, with an old looking and worn iron man helmet does he ask her where she keeps getting these toys.

morgan gets quiet and after some gentle prodding she finally admits that she got it from the spare bedroom, knowing it was peter’s. tony looks stricken and asks her why would she go into the bedroom and take peter’s things. she admits that she wanted to get to know her brother.

tony pauses and then brings his daughter in for a hug. she clearly thought he was going to get mad at her for entering the bedroom despite never being told not to do so. she knew it would hurt her dad, but she only wanted to know about peter. her curiosity was something tony could never blame her for, it was her brother for pete’s sake, she deserved to have her questions answered long ago, and tony now realizes how much hes been hurting his daughter trying to protect himself.

after many reassurances that no, he was not mad, yes, its ok and that she’s allowed to be curious and ask questions, tony picks her up and together they go inside and up the stairs to peter’s room. tony stands in front of the door for a bit too long, but if it bothered by it morgan doesn’t mention it. after a deep sigh tony finally reaches for the doorknob and opens the door for the first in many years.

it’s clear that morgan had made herself familiar with peter’s things. boxes upon boxes have been torn open with a large assortment of toys, papers, and variety of electronics from peter’s dumpster diving days were strewn across the floor. some boxes have been tipped over and contents hazardously emptied for a closer look. some were only opened and then pushed to the side, clothes obviously being less exciting than the rest of the oddities that her strange and fun brother happened to amass for himself in his short lifetime. it’s a shocking sight to see for tony, yet despite the pain from the familiarity, his first thought was that it was a miracle he hadn’t noticed morgan in this bedroom sooner. she must have caused a racket tipping over box after box, not being big enough or strong enough just to pick them up herself.

he’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice morgan slipping out of his arms and into the room, picking up items from the piles to bring to him and ask questions about what this was or why peter had that. eventually tony sits down with her and starts answering questions. sometimes he doesn’t have an answer for her, learning a bit more about peter every additional minute he sits there with his daughter, looking through peter’s things.

she brings him a notebook full of drawings. tony knows its not peters from the handwriting but recognizes peter in some of the illustrations, most of the time with a sad or silly face. tony doesn’t realize he’s forgotten until that moment that peter had a friend who drew- mj or something, and tells morgan that. she asks why he has her notebook. that he cant answer.

there are lots of photos too, some tony recognizes as peters own photography. right, the kid took a lot of pictures before. how could he forget that? pictures of may and another man. was that uncle ben? a photo of them together with a tiny figure wearing the one and only red glove and toy helmet who could only be peter. it looks like they’re maybe on vacation somewhere,huge smiles on their faces.

they learn about peter there for many hours, tony guiltily relearning more things then he thought he would. at times tony gets quiet and needs to take a breather, but for the most part they have a nice time talking in pete’s bedroom. it’s a healing experience for the both of them, and when pepper calls them down later they leave hand by hand, talking animatedly about the new figurine she found in one of the boxes she had somehow had yet to open.

tony decides then and there that this was ok. great even. he can’t remember the last time he felt so happy talking about his kid, and he got to do it with his other kid! and he is 100% positive peter would love to have shared his things with morgan. he’d spent many a afternoons helping peter build some new lego build or another many years ago to know he’d pull in anyone who’d be willing to listen. had he known how excited morgan was to know him and his interests she’d just might’ve competed as peter’s favorite person ever. he’s sure of it.

and if tony has to sit down the family (friday included) to ensure everyone is careful and vigilant in making sure none of these treasured items go missing or accidentally thrown away, well, that’s something morgan doesn’t have to know.

#my posts #irondad #iron dad #long posts #au?? might be cannon

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synchronysymphony · 5 years

Text

Hi anon!! ☀️ it’s so nice to hear from you!! And how flattering that you came to me to vent 😊

I know how you feel, because Enjolras is my very favorite character ever, and I absolutely love him with all my heart. Once, I was feeling sick at a gig, and I pulled up a drawing of him to look at, and I actually immediately felt better 😂 So it makes me so sad when people are mean to him! I get that he’s a fictional character, and people can write whatever they want— that’s totally fair. I would never speak to anyone about this or tell them to stop, because they have the right to do what they want! Fiction is for fun (among other things), and if someone wants to thoroughly misrepresent this good, loving character? They can be my guest! But I’m still going to be umami about it.

I agree that it’s sad when people represent him so poorly. I made a post about him awhile ago detailing some of the things he does that I love, and I could honestly go on for ages about why he represents hope just as much as Cosette does, and why all the light imagery is so fitting because he’s a light in the world, and blah blah blah. He’s incredibly wonderful, and he’s soft and loving and good just as much as he’s fierce and terrifying. He makes me happy even on my very saddest and darkest days, and because of his message of radical goodness, I’ve become a better person (I know it sounds corny, but I really do think that’s the case).

Now, I know that a lot of people who write these fics may find Grantaire to be relatable. That’s fair! I do too! But you hit the nail right on the head: in order to make him be sympathetic, they have to make his foil be even more of a dick than he is, which means he has to be, as you said, a borderline abusive monster. Because the thing is, Grantaire is a dick! He’s such an asshole, my gosh. And in this strange new push for moral purity, people don’t want to relate to a character whom they deem Bad, so they have to defang him in order to make him palatable. They victimize him so that none of his bad behavior is his fault, and he can be absolved of blame. Then, he’s just a poor little sad shy baby who suffers from so many problems, not the least of them being an uptight, self-righteous, awful boyfriend who says mean things for no reason and has really bad takes on literally everything because he’s so naive.

I think, too, that people who write these fics suffer from what I call the DC-Comic Syndrome. That is, everything has to be dark and cynical and chock-full of gritty realism (though really, DC is getting a lot better about that now, so I may have to rename that). Problem is, they don’t really think it through, so their arguments do come down to criticizing Enjolras for having hope. It’s cool to be cynical and jaded, because it’s more intellectual, and smarter, and wanting to change the world is silly and childish, and Grantaire is obviously therefore the epitome of cool. He’s smart and cultured and well-read, yes. But that doesn’t mean that he’s anything more than the 19th century equivalent of that annoying guy in your philosophy class who “just wants to play devil’s advocate” every time someone opens their mouth.

Then, too, there’s the poor characterization. I’ve seen people say things like “oh Grantaire is better than Enjolras because he actually cares about people” like wow, did we read the same book? Grantaire is awful to people, including his friends, may I add! They tolerate him because of his good humor-- I don’t have my book on me, so I don’t have a page number, but it’s in there-- not because he has anything salient to say, or even because he’s particularly nice to be around. When Bossuet mentions that he’s drinking an awful lot, he immediately shoots back by criticizing the hole in his clothing. Sure, it’s funny, but it’s not very good proof that he’s a warm and cuddly friend. Enjolras, on the other hand, canonically stands around thinking about how great his friends are. He gives Grantaire a chance, even though they both know that he doesn’t believe in the cause, and when Grantaire flubs it, he still happily shares a death with him, he’s ready to exchange Javert for Jehan, and he feels such empathy for the artillery sergeant that he claims him as his brother, and cries when shooting him. He’s a very loving person! I think a big problem is that he isn’t so nice to Grantaire, and this makes people think of him in a poor light. But we have to remember how much Grantaire antagonizes, and yes, endangers him. If we look at the facts, we see that Enjolras is very tolerant of him, all things considered. I think one of his blind spots is his love for his friends, putting that even above the cause, and that extends to Grantaire as well.

I’ve also seen so many fics wherein les amis threaten to abandon Enjolras, or threaten him with harm, or don’t listen to his side of the story, or yes, physically assault him, and it’s framed as good. It drives me up the wall! Les amis love Enjolras just as much as he loves them! They mess with him, sure, but they obviously love him a lot, and they would never treat him that way. If he was actually cruel or abusive, yes, I could see them being harsher with him, but that’s a moot point, because he would never. In the original French, he shows his anger with Javert by switching from “vous” to “tu.” He cries, he sits around quietly and listens to his friends talk, he even goes so far as to give the title of leader to Marius. He’s an angel, that’s what he is, and he would never act in the ways that these fics portray. And his friends know that, and it’s obvious that they do, because they feel comfortable following him even to the death. He’s not the conditional member; Grantaire is. Grantaire is the one whose beliefs don’t mesh with theirs; whose ideology can be summarized as “belligerently contrarian”; whose very personality is abrasive and crude. He’s the one who’s only tolerated because of his good humor; Enjolras is there because they adore him, and share the same beliefs that he does. I think it’s a disservice to les amis to see them as any less passionate and earnest as Enjolras, and to portray them as anything less than loving towards one of their dear friends. Think of the controversy if they all were written to turn on Jehan or Joly. There would be a public outcry! The fic writer would be anathematized! So it doesn’t make any more sense for them to turn on Enjolras like that.

Am I saying that everything has to be a fluffy, happy coffeeshop AU? No, definitely not. I think that mode of thinking is very disturbing, actually. Conflict is good, and characters should do problematic and downright shitty things. But when those shitty things are framed by the narrative as good, then it becomes a lot more suspicious. It’s bad writing, is what it is, and I know that I, who am also a bad writer, have no point from which to speak, but I can recognize poor characterization, at least, and this fandom is full of it.

Anyway, I’m sorry that I went on so long! I got a little heated. You put it much better than I did, but in short, I agree with you, and I don’t read a lot of fic these days either, unless it’s by a Trusted Source, or by me. Thank you for sending me this! I’m always down to talk about Les Mis or Enjolras or anything at all, really! I hope you have a fantastic day!!!

p.s. I think you might be interested in this fic by (my girlfriend!!) @amiedelabaisse 😊

#ask #anon #les mis #enjolras #sunshine angel #my love my baby my delight #I could talk about him all day

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telltalebatman · 5 years

Text

@biformers let’s go

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? wine glasses, they make everything seem so... elegant

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? lollipops!! they don’t melt in the sun and when i pull them out of my mouth they make that POP sound. very good.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? bubblegum, last time i checked i couldn’t make cotton candy balloons

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? bright and bubbly and curious and energetic. very energetic. too energetic. mister crispin, please, your daughter is way too energetic, the school’s gonna expl-

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? wine glasses. (that’s not an- well, it is now.)

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? pastel and formal, but mostly formal.......... formal clothes make me look super nice. (so do pastel ones. well, i look 12 in pastels.)

7. earbuds or headphones? earbuds can he shared, so... earbuds.

8. movies or tv shows? movies for watching with someone, tv shows for watching alone. sometimes it’s the other way. sometimes it’s neither.

9. favorite smell in the summer? raspberry lemonade, freshly cut grass, and uh... oswald. yes, that’s a smell. he smells nice in summer. in fact he smells nice all the time, but he smells best during the summer.

10. game you were best at in p.e.? i was never good at anything p.e related........ i’m good at yoga i guess.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? w a f f l e s. shit, i’m hungry now. oswald! i want waffles!

12. name of your favorite playlist? kiss me hard, fuck me harder, love me hardest (what? you heard me. i did, i’m just... what? is this a suggestion? a hint? :) )

13. lanyard or key ring? i’m gonna go with “not attaching my keys to anything and losing them all in my purse”.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? those little, chewy, caramel candies that make your teeth stick together.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? do i look like a girl who had ever read a book in her life? (you got a master’s degree. ...kristeva’s “powers of horror”.)

16. most comfortable position to sit in? with my legs crossed.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? those!

18. ideal weather? warm and sunny, so oswald has an excuse to keep a ton of ice cubes in the freezer, so that he can- she likes it when it’s hot, so she has an excuse to devour buckets of ice cream. and also wear short skirts. that’s coincidentally also /my/ favorite weather.

19. sleeping position? preferably wrapped around oswald, if not available... i like to take as much space in bed as possible. on my stomach. limbs spread.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? notebook app on my phone

21. obsession from childhood? z-zorro.............

22. role model? if i had a role model i wouldn’t be the person i am.

23. strange habits? none! i’m perfectly normal. the normalest girl in gotham.

24. favorite crystal? see? i’m normal. i don’t have a favorite crystal.

25. first song you remember hearing? not a song, but an instrumental piece. something by tchaikovsky. my mom used to listen to tchaikovsky after work.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? swimming. and sitting around and complaining it’s too hot.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? ; )

28. five songs to describe you? you should ask oswald that one. i bet he’ll have a good answer. (sweet talking woman, a girl like you, how to be a heartbreaker, gold dust woman and fear and delight. what? of course i know how to describe charlie with songs. i can describe her in any way.)

29. best way to bond with you? feed me and have sex with me. not neccesarily in that exact order. wink.

30. places that you find sacred? i wouldn’t have sex on anyone’s grave, if that’s what you’re asking.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? i’m gonna be honest with you. what part of me suggests i’m capable of KICKING ASS or TAKING NAMES? oswald once called me a silly girl and i cried. (well, love, to be fair, you /did/ spend quite some time on the road.) and to this day i don’t know how did i manage to not die after a week. idk. i guess... pants, that’s for starters. a leather jacket. biker boots? and also a gun and a knife.

32. top five favorite vines? i like pink wine. are there even that many kinds of pink wine?

33. most used phrase in your phone? omg

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? aNIMAL CRACKERS IN MY SOUP-

35. average time you fall asleep? two a.m

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? can i haz a cheeseburger...

37. suitcase or duffel bag? suitcase, duffel bags don’t work well for... well... people who wear clothes.

38. lemonade or tea? yes.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? yes.

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? one of my teachers had straight up died when i was answering his question in class. i still don’t know if my answer was correct. :(

41. last person you texted? louise!! she’s such a good friend. i love her.

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? oswald’s pockets.

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? leather jacket

44. favorite scent for soap? bubblegum, duh

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? superhero, and not just because my boyfriend is a literal supervillain.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? none. ; )

47. favorite type of cheese? sharp cheddar

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? a strawberry! sweet and red and begging for c-

49. what saying or quote do you live by? “there’s bravery in being soft”.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? someone once tweeted a picture of oswald, challenging batman to a fistfight, captioned “i aspire to 1 day have self-esteem this high #blessed”.

51. current stresses? yes.

52. favorite font? do... do people have favorite fonts? huh.

53. what is the current state of your hands? soft and clean, thank you very much. (i punch people so charlie doesn’t have to cook. it... makes sense, i swear.)

54. what did you learn from your first job? do i look like a person who had ever worked a day in her entire life? do i /sound/ like i ever had a job? no. no, i don’t.

55. favorite fairy tale? beauty and the beast!

56. favorite tradition? don’t tell oswald i said it, but i’m kind of sort of fond of that traditionalist concept of men being dominant and assertive and capable. or maybe i just like not having to do anything, who knows.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? well, first my parents died, then it turned out my then-husband was behind it and THEN i almost died because a man cut my heart out and attempted to eat it on my mother’s grave. and he didn’t even cook it! (and for that i am eternally glad.)

58. four talents you’re proud of having? i have zero talents. (that’s not true, but she firmly refuses to believe me when i say so. let’s go with talents charlie SHOULD be proud of. she can read people, behave properly in any given situation, is a fantastic listener... oh, and she’s a fantastic, caring, loveable girlfriend.) that’s not a talent. (but if it was, you’d be the best at it.)

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? “OH!”. i say that approximately... 100 times a day.

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? a shoujo anime, with little to no actual drama and a hentai spin-off.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? i... hm. ah. hm. i don’t know. i knew the answer 30 seconds ago - but now it’s gone. please don’t ask me about my favorite things. i only know what those are when no one’s trying to learn about them.

62. seven characters you relate to? persephone, beauty from beauty and the beast, emma frost, sleeping beauty, triss merigold, that absolutely brainless blonde boy from kingdom hearts aaaand... sakhmet from the wicked and the divine comic. not because i’m bloodthirsty, but because i too prioritize sex and looking good.

63. five songs that would play in your club? bulletproof, six shooter, tongues, horns and bittersweet

64. favorite website from your childhood? absolutely do not tell oswald, but... club penguin.

65. any permanent scars? what, you mean physical, or mental? because there’s one on my chest and one on my heart. both are permanent and can’t be loved away, even though oswald’s doing his best to love them away. : (

66. favorite flower(s)? red roses... i’m not a very original person.

67. good luck charms? oswald once gave me a gun. so... a gun.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? anything pear-flavored. pears are the devil’s fruit.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? parmesan isn’t vegetarian.

70. left or right handed? right. and i didn’t just pick up a random pencil only to make sure of that.

71. least favorite pattern? the behavioral pattern of constantly repeating one’s mistakes. (i... think they meant things like polka dots.) but do you have any proof of that? no. no, you don’t. so... repeating one’s mistakes it is then.

72. worst subject? politics. :)

73. favorite weird flavor combo? spicy chicken wings dipped in honey.

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 4 or 5. i’m a big baby when it comes to physical pain.

75. when did you lose your first tooth? do most people remember losing their first tooth? because i don’t. at all.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? french fries french fries french fries FRENCH FRIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? basil. i like the smell... and forgetting to water my plants.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? gas station coffee. sushi has to be... well... good to be good.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? they both look the same, because i’ve been cursed with the curse of “eternally looking like i’m twelve” :(

80. earth tones or jewel tones? jewel. and not just because i don’t know the difference between those two.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? ...are you telling me fireflies and lightning bugs... are two different things? huh.

82. pc or console? pc, because i can do my taxes on my pc. can you do taxes on a console? of course you can’t, that’d be stupid.

83. writing or drawing? writing.

84. podcasts or talk radio? podcasts!

84. barbie or polly pocket? b a r b i e

85. fairy tales or mythology? hm. fairy tales, because there’s less... rape in them.

86. cookies or cupcakes? yes.

87. your greatest fear? i’m not saying! my greatest fears tend to become reality, so maybe let’s not speed the process up.

88. your greatest wish? i,,,,,,,,,,,,, i’d like to maybe get married once again one day,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, maybe,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

89. who would you put before everyone else? the man on whom i’m sitting as we speak.

90. luckiest mistake? well, i once told bruce wayne i have a dog named pingu, which lead me to instantly adopting an actual dog.

91. boxes or bags? boxes

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? fairy lights forever

93. nicknames? love it when people come up with nicknames for me!

94. favorite season? summer

95. favorite app on your phone? proooobably instagram. or twitter.

96. desktop background? a photo of a baby seal. it’s so cute!

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? ...do people really memorize phone numbers?

98. favorite historical era? okay, now you’re making fun of me. no one has a “favorite historical era”. that’s made up.

#4.txt #charlie

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human-resourccs · 6 years

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He Just Likes The Rush - Ch. 4

In which Jonathan earns a reputation for himself at Arkham and Edward is a whiny baby.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Jonathan's first arrival at Arkham had been eventful, if nothing else. There was a sort of pattern to it, whenever an addition was made to the Rogue Gallery. Everyone - guards, staff, and inmates - wanted to know how you would size up with the rest of them; how much trouble you would be; how dangerous you really were; most importantly, how useful you'd prove as an ally. It was basic human nature, he supposed. A sort of collective pack mentality. Jon didn't feel any obligation to prove anything to them, and so any interest in him died down fairly quickly; due in part to his impressive talent for utterly shutting down conversation before it could ever begin; no need to follow social conduct in a house of madness.

The eventful part came some time after this period of calm, accompanied by a startling realisation that, despite his physical incarceration, Jonathan felt more freedom than he ever had. His nature exposed he was free to explore and discover all these hidden little facets of his personality that even he hadn't been personally aware of. More than ever, he started to count that day at the University as a blessing in disguise. He could pick away at people and peel back their layers and see just what happens when you push them just the right way. People's fears were truly an amazing, amazing thing. What a motivator they were! He decided he had a few things he wanted to try.

The first guard to attract his eye and his ire never regained the ability to walk. Really, it was a failure on the part of the asylum; didn't they know he was an expert of the human mind? His cellmate was a typical paranoid schizophrenic - he'd never bothered to remember his name - and once Jonathan had worked out the nature of his delusions, all it required was a few nights of half-heard whispers from the cell, not human, that one who does the morning rounds, a passing phrase in his ear in the rec room, he's gonna hurt you if you don't get him first, plastic cutlery that had conveniently found its way under his pillow… it must have seemed like fate to the poor man. Jonathan only bothered to hide his glee at such a successful experiment when the other guards showed up to restrain the man after his victim's screaming was finally heard amid the usual chaos of the hallway - he had never even considered that one's fears could be used to force their hand in such savage ways. It was a beautiful realisation.

Oh, yes. He was imprisoned, but he wasn't bored, by any means. He resolved to continue with his work as quickly as possible once he got out.

After that, people started behaving a little differently around him. As always, there was no proof he'd done anything, but people could still tell. Maybe it was the look of curiosity in his eyes as he regarded people, now. The thoughts and the ideas and the theories he created with every conversation you held. Getting analysed by your doctors is one thing; from an inmate was another entirely. He caught one of the night staff gesturing to his cell and referring to him as 'Doctor fucking Lecter over there' one night. He decided to take it as a compliment. He wouldn't forget their face.

He did wonder - with a short, quiet laugh to himself - if he should try hissing at people, though.

Jonathan went on like this for some time; playing along disinterestedly with his therapy and honing his skills among the minds of the other inmates. He was no fool, though; he did not mingle with the so-called 'A-Listers' that were currently incarcerated alongside him; only two for the moment, one Harvey Dent and one Harleen Quinzel. He was aware of them both and knew that associating with them could not hold any benefit.

And then Edward re-joined the proverbial ranks, which livened things up splendidly.

When he'd heard the rumours, he surprised himself by being slightly pleased to have the chance to speak with Edward again. The man had been right; it was amazing what intelligent conversation could do for the mind. He hadn't realised it until now, he too had found himself slightly stifled by the lack of… someone to exchange theories with. The change was a welcome one.

It'd been a stupid mistake that had gotten him caught in the end. A stupid, stupid, idiotic oversight that he could've and should've seen. Edward was furious; with Batman; with the GCPD; with Gotham and more importantly with himself. His trip through inmate processing blurred past, only making a small handful of snide remarks at the idiotic jailers. He wouldn't be here long; he knew that and they knew that, no matter how many times they said"this is the last time, Nigma." He considered it as more of an alternative greeting at this point - a reflex upon seeing his entry.

So he was sulking in the rec room. Pulled up a chair by the table with the chess board nobody would play him at aside from Jervis in his more lucid moments, but he was absent from the guest list at the moment. So yes, he had resorted to sulking. They took his mask - he hated when he couldn't wear his mask it made his face- his face was exposed with his eyes on show for everyone to see and just read what he was feeling in the way that baffled him to absolutely no end.

And his vision…

It all just made him feel… flawed. It was frustrating and it didn't help with the already-present anger at his own foolish errors. He barely noticed when Jonathan took up the chair at the other side of the chess table.

"Riddler."

Jon's greeting was curt, flat-toned. Edward turned his head slightly to look at him, eyes narrowed; sitting with his hands steepled, he gestured, then, to the board

"Presumably since you're sitting alone sulking at a chess board, you'd like someone to play. Can't guarantee I'll be much of a challenge."

Edward raised an eyebrow. Then furrowed it again. He couldn't read Jonathan's features; wasn't sure what could've happened since his break. You could tell a lot about a person by how they played chess. Did Jonathan know that too?

"You're on, Doctor Crane."

They spent the remainder of the recreational time playing. Jonathan, for lack of better words, got absolutely thrashed. He lost count of how many games it was, but that wasn't the point anyway. After the first game Edward lifted out of his sullen mood, making quick and decisive manoeuvres and running circles around the other. Jon would linger on his moves much, much longer - dragging his gaze slowly across the board, staring at Edward for a moment, utterly expressionless, and then make his move.

Edward tried not to show the mild unease that the lingering glances had planted in his stomach. Jonathan was playing his own game, apparently.

"Are you hoping to read the future in my face, or are you going to make your move? Flattered as I am, my appearance is not actually magical."

"I'll move when I'm good and ready."

"I'm going to die of old age first."

"Fine by me. I'd finally have a win by technicality."

"Actually, if the game cannot be brought to a legal conclusion, it is considered a stalemate."

"Mmh. Shame."

Jonathan had not stopped staring at him for the duration of the exchange. Jonathan, in fact, was just noting the bizarre colour of the other's eyes. Such a curious, light greyish colour that he had actually mistaken it initially for cataracts. It was oddly striking. It made him wonder why a man who did so much for drama and aesthetic would hide such a pleasant (pleasant?) face. He recalled his curiosity for Edward's mask when they'd first met.

"Why do you cover your eyes? Obviously, it isn't to hide your identity."

Edward's face became the picture of indignance.

"That's- none of your business, is what it is."

"Come on now, we're friends, aren't we?"

"I just do. I like it."

Edward folded his arms defensively. Jon nodded slowly in response.

"S'fine."

"….What?"

"Not gonna push it. You'll tell me if you want to."

A long pause.

Nobody had ever just… accepted it like that before. Respected his wishes. He was expecting more of a fight; a half-dozen pre-thought defensive arguments died on his tongue.

"…Thank you, Jon. Now play the damn game."

Finally, mercifully, he did. The gameplay went back to its regular proceedings. Edward actually almost lost that match; the exchange had settled a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, distracting him. It made him a little nauseous - try as he might, he just couldn't put a name to it but whatever it was it lifted his spirits and the room seemed a little brighter for it and everything he had been brooding over before seemed silly now in hindsight.

Suddenly, the prospect of his stay at Arkham didn't seem so bad with the presence of a tolerable companion - because he realised just then that it was Jon's presence that accompanied the feeling and he supposed that so long as the opportunity presented himself he'd be quite happy to whittle away the recreational hours playing chess just like this, actually. His rapid escape plan shifted down his mental ladder of priorities a little.

Yeah, he supposed it could be worse.

#edward nygma #jonathan crane #edward nigma #the riddler #scarecrow #danny writes

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micaramel · 4 years

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James Benning in Joshua Tree (December 25), 2011. Photo by Heinz Peter Knes

Artist: James Benning

Exhibition Title: Down the Rabbit Hole: JB in JT

Arranged by: Julie Ault and Martin Beck

In Collaboration With: O-Town House, Los Angeles

Note: at the request of O-Town House we have adjusted this project’s presentation.

Shortly after I arrived in Joshua Tree some three weeks ago, going into lockdown with Julie and Martin, we decided this was a perfect time to realize our plan for a James Benning exhibition of his works in their home. The idea for a private exhibition of James’s works here was hatched last Christmas, a time when the gang usually descends on Joshua Tree for some quality time at the kitchen table and in front of the fireplace. But now, considering the current circumstances, developing this exhibition as a virtual one seems to resolve several issues—of privacy, access to the public, and keeping busy and engaged with the world. Down the Rabbit Hole: JB in JT is conceived as part of a continuum with two earlier exhibition projects. The first, Tell It To My Heart, which traveled from the Kunstmuseum Basel to Culturgest in Lisbon and ultimately to Artists Space in New York, was an exhibition based on the artworks Julie has collected over decades, many of them the results of conversations and collaborations with other artists. The curatorial team was equally significant, and the project strove to develop a different mode of mapping the ways art and history touch our lives through relationships and collaborations. The second project in this lineage was inspired by the first, titled 31 Friends by James, for which he made 31 artworks for as many friends. The works were shown at the Marfa Book Company in Marfa, TX, and, after the exhibition ended, were given to their intended owners. James then asked everyone to send him a photograph of the works in their new homes. Those framed photographs were presented at O-Town House. James described 31 Friends as an “attempt to pay homage to the ability of art to produce community as opposed to just commerce.” The line drawn from Tell It To My Heart to 31 Friends to Down the Rabbit Hole is indicative of an ongoing effort to sustainably engage artistic practices and align the language around this work meaningfully with our lives. Down the Rabbit Hole brings together (nearly) all the artworks and some artifacts made by James that are distributed in Julie and Martin’s house and grounds in Joshua Tree. Many of these objects are on permanent display, others were unearthed from drawers and closets. Most objects we photographed as they are installed, others we staged, and, collectively, we put together an annotated checklist, supplying details about the work and some stories of how they came about. Picking up on the aspirations of Tell It To My Heart and 31 Friends, this exhibition also reads as a conversation. The works are listed in chronological order to make present the unfolding of friendship over many years; the show becoming an extension of ongoing collaborations with a view toward the future. Moments of recollection, such as Down the Rabbit Hole represents, become crucial to finding fresh ways of thinking about the role art can play in the construction of community. By drawing lines across time, as we rummage through James’s traces here at the house, together, we are taking stock, reviewing, and recounting the conversations that grew into plans and then into actions. Enduring interests and subjects, obsessions, and curiosities have become shared experiences and the medium with which we solidify our lives together.

— Scott Cameron Weaver

After Traylor, 2004 Colored pencil on cardstock Two parts 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 inches and 6 1/2 × 8 3/8

James often came to Joshua Tree around the holidays to visit our mutual friend Dick Hebdige. In 2003 they came over to our house a couple evenings. Sitting by the fire, James said, “I usually don’t like places like this, but I like it here.” I think he was referring to all the colors. When Dick and James came over the following Christmas, JB brought this wonderful gift. It seems reasonable to me now, but at the time, copying Bill Traylor imagery, and doing it well, was astonishing. (JA)

Two sugar pine cones (Pinus lambertiana) from Hatchet Peak near Pine Flat, ca. 2005 Approx. 11 × 4 × 4 inches each

When coming to JT from his place in the Sierras, James sometimes brings a couple of large pine cones with him. We integrated most of them into the landscape, and some have disintegrated over the years. These two we kept on a stand on the patio. They sometimes get blown off by the wind and we find them somewhere between the cactuses. (MB)

Clock, 2006 9 inches diameter Acrylic paint on clock

I needed to keep busy, part of my nature, so inspired by the many cans of paint in the garage (due to the many different colors used inside and outside of the house [what is it 36? I think it’s 42]), I decided to paint a clock I had just found in a local thrift store using a few of those colors. (JB)

Continue the exhibition after the jump.

AFTER JESSE HOWARD (DETAIL) J.B., 2007 Colored pencil on cardstock Two parts 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 and 6 1/2 × 8 ½ Pencil (verso of larger part): A MAN HAS NO RIGHT TO DEFEND HIS FAMILY DECATUR. ILL. OCT. 11. 1961 OF ALL THE UN=AMERICAN. UN=CIVIL- IZED WAY OF LIFE! ARREST: A MA- N AND THROW HIM IN JAIL! BECA- USE HE HAD NO PERMIT TO CON- STRUCT A FALLOUT SHELTER, FOR HIMSELF=AND=HIS=FAMILY. JESSE HOWARD

This was the second set of drawings made for this two-part frame. The first set was two Bill Traylor drawings (see After Traylor, 2004), but they looked rather silly so small, so I replaced them with these two truncated drawings of a Jesse Howard painting that I copied and is hanging in the replica Kaczynski cabin I built in the Sierras. I’m not sure what happened to the first set. (JB)

Once taken out of the frame, the first set, After Traylor (2004), was kept in the bottom shelf of a covered sideboard, visible right when opening its door. The unprotected drawings were vulnerable. This display, if one could call it that, always felt a bit treacherous and, recently, Julie packed the drawings in glassine and cardboard and stored them safely in the Christmas closet. (MB)

Freedom Club, 2009 Wood carving 2 × 9 7/8 inches

Kaczynski embedded a signature of sorts—the letters FC—in the bombs he made from 1980 on, and in the mid-nineties signed letters to public figures and editors FC. FC (Freedom Club) was supposed to be an anarchist terrorist group. Kaczynski’s 1995 letter to Scientific American is worth repeating: “Scientists and engineers constantly gamble with human welfare, and we see today the effects of some of their lost gambles: ozone depletion, the greenhouse effect, cancer-causing chemicals to which we cannot avoid exposure, accumulating nuclear waste for which a sure method of disposal has not yet been found, the crowding, noise and pollution that have followed industrialization, massive extinction of species and so forth…. We emphasize the negative PHYSICAL consequences of scientific advances often are completely unforeseeable…. But far more difficult to foresee are the negative SOCIAL consequences of technological progress. The engineers who began the industrial revolution never dreamed their work would result in the creation of an industrial proletariat or the economic boom and bust cycle.” This carving was a step in James’s process of furnishing his Kaczynski cabin. After a while, he replaced it with one reading FC, and I asked if I could have this one. (JA)

James Benning and Sadie Benning Untitled, 2010 Pencil on cardstock, framed Two parts (left part drawn by Sadie Benning, right part drawn by James Benning) Drawing: 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 inches and 6 1/2 × 8 1/2 inches Frame: 8 × 14 1/2 inches

This was the third set of drawings made for this two-part frame. I was going to continue to change the drawings for this frame, but since this is the only collaboration between Sadie and I, it seemed best to end the series here. (JB)

James and Sadie like to settle on the couch in front of the fireplace when they visit. One Christmas we got a new couch. Knowing that we wouldn’t be home when they arrived, and that they would immediately take their places in front of the fire, we wrapped a large ribbon around the couch and made it an in situ present to them. (MB)

After Traylor by J.B., 2010 Colored pencil on paper Drawing: 12 3/4 × 8 1/2 inches Frame: 21 1/2 × 14 1/4 inches Pencil on backing board: APARTMENT FOR PEOPLE TO GO AND THEN COME OUT UP A ELEVATOR AND THEN JUMP OUT THE WINDOW. ONLY THE MANAGERS CAN GO THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR. NAME OF THE APARTMENT IS “THE PEOPLE’S APARTMENT”. 100 PEOPLE LIVE IN IT, EVERONES THE SAME AGE, BUT SOME ARE 10, 20, AND 40. by VANESSA

Vanessa’s name is Vanessa Basilio. She was about eleven at the time, 2010. She was a CAP student. CAP is Community Arts Partnership. CalArts students teach kids in disadvantaged communities, and then the kids have a show at CalArts. When I saw her piece (house and text), I was most impressed and asked her if I could trade her an artwork for it. She was excited to make a trade, but told me she wanted to see what I could offer. I told her I could trade her a house for her house. The next day I met her and her mother, and showed her the After Traylor house. She really liked it and we made the trade, and I took a picture of her holding her house but can’t find the photo. (JB)

James made another version of the After Traylor (2010) drawing that he gave Vanessa for our house; he transcribed Vanessa’s description of her house on the frame’s backing board. A photograph of the work by Heinz Peter Knes, showing the drawing in context at the house, adorns the back cover of the first volume of Tell It To My Heart. Proofing the catalog, none of us noticed the image was reversed, the bird looking to the left rather than to the right. (MB)

(FC) Two Cabins by JB, 2011 Edited by Julie Ault Contributions by Julie Ault, James Benning, Dick Hebdige, Theodore J. Kaczynski, and Henri David Thoreau Designed by Martin Beck Published by A.R.T. Press, New York

I still intend to write something about the Two Cabins constellation and Thoreau and Kaczynski copies James gave me. (JA)

After Thoreau, 2011 Ink on chipboard, framed Drawing: 10 × 8 inches Frame: 18 1/2 × 15 1/2 inches

This is a copy of one of Henry David Thoreau’s many drawings that he made as the town surveyor of Concord, Massachusetts. The frame is tramp art from the 1930s. (JB)

The autodidactic orientation of both Thoreau and Kaczynski finds a correlation in Benning, who takes immense pleasure in learning. Ted Kaczynski created a numeric code to shield his most self-incriminating journal entries about his bombing campaign. JB meticulously copied the dense document and hung it in his Kaczynski cabin. He made a second copy for me, but it’s not in Joshua Tree. Empathy is palpable in his copies, and so is James, who leaves traces. I regard the reproduced TK code and the Thoreau survey as outlying companions linked by James’s acts of copying, thereby completing the triad of primary protagonists in FC: Two Cabins by JB. (JA)

intertitle study for Stemple Pass, 2012 Typewriting on paper 11 × 9 1/4 inches

I spent a few weeks working on Stemple Pass at the kitchen table in JT. This was made while I was working on the intertitles. I believe there is a photo of me doing just that, in the first Tell It To My Heart catalog. (JB)

Tell It To My Heart was an exhibition about the artworks given to and acquired by Julie over a few decades. For the catalog, the works were photographed in situ, “at home” in our NY apartment and the JT house, installed on the walls, packed up in closets, under the couch, in drawers, and other odd places. Some of the images didn’t even show artworks, just the environment. The only person appearing in the catalog’s photography is James, seen from behind, with headphones on, sitting at the JT kitchen table, editing a film. (MB)

After Beck 11 × 15 3/4, 2013 Acrylic paint on wood panel 11 × 15 3/4 inches

Martin gave me a painting of his that was hanging on the wall in JT. It was a painting that I always admired. I was going to make an exact copy of it and replace it in the same place. It proved to be too difficult for me to reproduce, so I made this painting instead. It was the same dimensions as the painting I tried to copy. (JB)

Back in 1996, I gave a painting I had made as an art student to Julie. It was the first painting I considered to be quite good and therefore was precious to me. Soon after we got the house in JT, the painting moved out here, which is where James saw it. Expressing his admiration, he wondered if there were others like it. I had a similar same-size one from that time in storage at my parents house in Austria. James and I then cooked up a trade: I would give him that painting and he would copy it for me. When visiting my parents next I took the painting to NY and sent it to him in the mail. Quite a few months later, at Christmas out in JT, James gave me his version of it. While James was working on the copy, Sadie painted a white version as a companion piece. Unbeknownst of the impending gifts, I had made two drawings, to give them as presents, one for James, one for Sadie, both saying “the same thing can be done in different ways.” (MB)

Thinking about the Unabomber, 1987/2014 Enlarged photobooth photograph, framed Image: 4 3/4 × 4 3/4 inches Frame: 12 1/2 × 12 1/2 inches

In 1987 a woman witnessed a man wearing aviator glasses and a hooded sweatshirt placing a package outside a computer store in Salt Lake City that turned out to be a bomb. The widely circulated police sketch made from her description was the first representation of the Unabomber. (JA)

The last year I lived in NYC, Sadie visited me and we went to Coney Island and made this photo in a photobooth. I was thinking about the Unabomber because a number of my friends and I thought the Unabomber might have been Leo Burt, the only person never to be arrested for the Sterling Hall bombing at the University of Wisconsin, in protest against the Vietnam War. In 2014 I re-photographed the photo. (JB)

Three Paper Airplanes, 2014 Signed contract; three one hundred-dollar bills, folded Laser print on paper, framed Print: 9 3/4 × 8 inches Frame: 12 1/2 × 10 1/2 inches Bills: 1 1/2 × 6 × 1 1/4 inches each

Julie bought this piece for $600 and paid with 563 single dollar bills. I then gave the three secretaries (the three women who keep the CalArts film school running) $200 each. The piece was in the spirit of Douglas Huebler—he was teaching at CalArts in the 1980s—and was one of the reasons I took a job there. I like his art very much, and he was an amazing guy. (JB)

For several years, whenever James needed a book for his Kaczynski library and research into artists he was copying, he asked me to scope out the possibilities online and order the books, since I had a credit card. This provided a productive exchange about the books’ contents and various editions. Periodically I’d give him the tally. On one occasion, he owed me $563 and paid me in one-dollar bills stuffed into a big envelope. Not needing the cash at that moment, I kept the reimbursement “as is.” A few years later, James told me about his paper airplanes made from one-hundred dollar bills and said he wanted to get more than their value to split the money between the three women that run the film department, who do a lot for him. So I pulled out the envelope and made up the difference to $600. (JA)

This work was really hard to photograph—it is usually stored in a protective box in a cabinet. Scott and I kept moving the paper airplanes around the house and tried about a dozen different settings until we settled on this one. Another image we shot looks very similar except that the hundred-dollar bills sit on a pink ground with a yellow glow coming in from the sides. Julie liked the green ground better, so we went with that. (MB)

After Ono by J.B., 2014 Photocopy, framed Print: 7 1/4 × 5 3/8 inches Frame: 11 1/8 × 9 1/8 inches

This is a reproduction of a call for entries by Yoko Ono for a show (This is Not Here) at Emerson Museum, Syracuse, NY, to open on October 9, 1971. (JB)

After Ono by J.B., 2014 Photocopy, framed Print: 7 1/4 × 5 3/8 inches Frame: 10 7/8 × 8 3/4 inches

After Warhol (smiling), 2014 Serigraph, silver and black oil-based ink on paper Print: 25 × 24 1/2 inches Frame: 26 1/2 × 26 inches

I love this sexy exuberant photograph of Andy Warhol, grabbing Parker Tyler’s crotch. JB made it in the spirit of Warhol, as part of a diptych, the other half being After Noland (smiling). I’m often amazed by the images and narratives James annexes and activates. (JA)

After Noland (smiling), 2014 Serigraph, silver and black oil-based ink on paper Print: 25 × 24 1/2 inches Frame: 26 1/2 × 26 inches

For quite a few years, I’ve been spending summers in JT, mostly by myself. The only friend who doesn’t mind the heat and visits regularly is James. During the hot days, we both work and tool around, he under the covered patio, I in the garage studio. In the evenings, I prepare food; he makes gin-and-tonics, we listen to music and talk about work and life. At first, I wasn’t sure why James thought I should have an image of Ruth Ann Moorehead (“Ouish” of the Manson girls). I know he likes Cady Noland’s work and I do too. I love the image and, of course, understand why he chose it. (MB)

Thirty-one Friends (October), 2015 Published by Marfa Book Company, Marfa, TX

In the years 2014–15 James Benning made 31 works of art for 31 friends, and produced a book, recounting a story of each friendship and describing the works created with them in mind. Some of the works referenced work by other artists—Andy Warhol, Marie Menken, Bill Traylor, Jean-Luc Godard, Jesse Howard, Henry Darger, Henry David Thoreau, Cady Noland, Robert Smithson, Jasper Johns, Miroslav Tichý, and Ted Kaczynski—inferring another set of (imagined) friends. In the summer of 2015, these works were exhibited together along with the publication at the Marfa Book Company, in Marfa, TX. At the show’s closing event, the artworks were removed from the walls and given to each of the friends for whom they’d been made. The works then traveled to places near and far—Bastrop, Texas, Duisburg, Germany, Sydney, Austria, downtown Los Angeles…. The final chapter of this project happened in 2018 at O-Town House, and consisted of the photographs James asked each friend to take of his gifted artwork in situ— gathered together from their disparate locations. 31 Friends represented a self-professed exercise in prioritizing the mechanisms in art that foster genuine examples of community. (SCW)

June 2nd, 1984, 2015 Acrylic paint on thermometer 15 1/2 × 2 3/4 inches

In the summer of 2015 James generously helped me with the shoot and edit for the Last Night film which is based on the records David Mancuso played on June 2nd, 1984, at the last party at the Prince Street Loft. To keep the sound clean we had to film with windows closed and swamp cooler off, making for a rather hot environment. To get a little break, one afternoon we went to the 99 Cent Store where James bought a thermometer. He painted it pink and, after thinking for a while what other decoration it should have, decided on June 2nd 1984. (MB)

After Chris B., 2018 Acrylic paint on match-head on nickel coin in wrapping paper 1 × 2 inches Edition 7/20

After Chris B., 2018 Acrylic paint on match-head on nickel coin in wrapping paper 1 × 2 inches Edition 19/20

I made this work in JT while recuperating from major surgery. (JB)

James was pretty under the weather after his surgery. We were all worried about his vulnerability and waiting it out. One morning I was going to the store and asked if anyone needed anything. James suddenly perked up and said he needed twenty nickels, some metallic paper, and a box of red-tip matchsticks. I couldn’t find red matches anywhere, only Diamond-brand green tips. He then asked for red paint and a small paintbrush and proceeded to meticulously color twenty of the green tips red. With his obsession and ambition restored, we knew he was recovering. (JA)

James made this edition as gifts for friends while convalescing under Julie and Martin’s and Dick Hebdige’s doting care in Joshua Tree, staying at their places a few days each, wearing the pajamas bought for him by Sharon Lockhart. The work was inspired by the 1979 installation, The Reason for the Neutron Bomb, by Chris Burden. The original work, now in the collection of the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, comprises fifty thousand nickels and match sticks, all placed on the floor in a grid, with the red match-heads all pointing in the same direction and the words of the title painted across the wall behind them. With each red match and nickel representing a Soviet tank, Burden’s installation spoke to the escalating arms race at the height of the Cold-War. (SCW)

Ault + Beck, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 9 1/4 × 23 inches Sign reads: AULT + BECK 9224 VIA ROCOSA PSALMS=148=8

Soon after we bought the house, Jennifer Bolande and Cannon Hudson stayed here for a few weeks. They were having some packages sent and, in order for the carrier to find the house, painted a sign showing our names and address. Over the years, the sun burned off the paint and made it illegible. When James arrived for the recent Christmas holidays, we asked him to make a new sign, which he eagerly took on, commenting: “Now I have something to do and don’t have to stare at the walls.” His sign uses Jesse Howard’s lettering and cites a psalm Howard included in one of his paintings. Psalm 148:8 reads “lightning and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding.” The day after we installed the sign, it snowed—a rare and lovely occurrence in the desert. (MB)

Genius Christ, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 5 7/8 × 12 7/8 inches

In celebration of our favorite genius. (JB)

Love Saves the Day, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 10 7/8 × 12 7/8 inches

Once James finished the two signs and needed more things to do in order to stay busy we started thinking of other signs that might be needed. I asked him if he could make one for the garage studio, referencing the Loft and David Mancuso. We decided on the phrase Mancuso used on the invitation to the first Loft party in 1970. (MB)

JB has copied Jesse Howard’s signs for many years, and replica signs figure into his recent projects Found Fragments and Alabama. A hand-painted recycled license plate that hangs from a thick rusty chain crossing his driveway in Pine Flat reads: “POSTED Henry David Thoreau KEEP OUT.” For some time previously, it read, “POSTED T.J. Kaczynski KEEP OUT.” (JA)

Sketches for Genius Christ and Love Saves the Day, 2019 Laser print and pencil on paper 5 × 13 inches and 8 1/4 × 17 1/4 inches

These scraps of paper contain the scale calculations and printouts James used to transfer the sign layouts to the boards. They now are in the same place in the sideboard which the two-part After Traylor (2004) drawing inhabited for a long time. (MB)

after Darger (Welcome), 2020 Acrylic paint on garage door 6 feet 11 inches × 25 feet

This work doesn’t exist yet. James had the idea for it over the holidays but wanted to wait for warmer weather to paint it. We thought including a mock-up here might insure it happens—hopefully soon as he can safely come to JT. (MB)

We were all talking about the influx of people to Joshua Tree over the last few years and envisioning a message to anyone coming up the driveway who didn’t belong there that they’re in the wrong place (or, perhaps, the right one). Naturally, the Vivian Girls came to mind, and James had just the Darger image on his laptop to extract from, Second Battle of McAllister Run they are pursued. The section he plans to superimpose on the garage door shows Glandelinians bearing bayonets, hunting for the girls, who hide behind trees, as if to say: welcome to the realm of the unreal. (JA)

Images courtesy of O-TOWN HOUSE, Los Angeles

— Scott Cameron Weaver

Link: James Benning at O-TOWN HOUSE

from Contemporary Art Daily https://bit.ly/2Vr0Hq6

#micaramel

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