Hello! My Current Hyper-fixation And Maladaptive Daydreaming Scenarios Center Around Epic The Musical,

𝕵UJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

౨ৎ⠀ׄ⠀. ─── Crossovers 〬𓂂 ׄ

﹙Jujutsu Kaisen x Lookism﹚

( ၴႅၴI'm so bored | pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

ft. Fem! Reincarnated! Gojo x Various Lookism

— Gojo was reincarnated to Lookism and became a teacher there. | Lookism-typical violence, stalking, death, spoilers, crack.

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼… 𝓞𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓼, 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓭𝔂 𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮

Black & white version

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Oh~ Lenore~ the MAN You are~ 😩💦

and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

no tumblr this doesnt need tags im releasing it into the wild as god intended

Memory Lane Part 3: Between the Lines

Characters focused on: Adeuce, Grim, & GN!Reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You're an innocent isekai victim, but was there something more to you that not even you were aware of until now...?

Or: You wander into another world and meet reincarnations of cartoon villains (who were REAL and also your friends in a past life). Exposition chapter ft. Brain cell Trio.

Masterlist

AO3 Link

"Myaaah! Get out of my room, explodey-hair!"

"Oi! There isn't gonna BE a room if you keep throwing fire all over the place!"

"Myahaha! What's wrong? Scared of'a little fire? Why don't'cha use your wind? Oh, that's right; you can't! Myahahaha!"

"H-Hey, cut it out, you two! Or else I'll make you!"

You open the door, already wide-eyed upon hearing the commotion as you came down the hall, and blanch at the chaos you see inside. Ace is ducking and weaving around jets of blue flame as Grim hisses and growls at him from on top of the bed. The young squire counters with his own taunts, making no effort to douse the little monster cat's fiery rage. The only reason the room hasn't burned down yet is evidently thanks to Deuce, who you can see is scrambling to extinguish the flames using his own spells.

For a moment, you can do nothing but watch in both fascination and horror at the scene in front of you. Of course, after a long day of non-stop events—from accidentally wandering into a fairytale world, being chased by monsters, and then meeting friends who are apparently from a past life—you should've known better than to assume that you'd be able to finally catch a break from all the excitement in your room. You begin to rethink thanking Riddle for generously providing you with a place to stay and instead consider if you should ask him to behead you after all.

That might seem like an exaggerated reaction, but even before you came in here, you already had the feeling that the events in your life are only going to pick up from here if the way your discussion with Riddle and Leona had gone was anything to go by.

----

"Reincarnation and past lives are complicated stuff," Leona drawled, lounged carelessly on one of the misshapen sofas in the sitting room. Across from you, Riddle's smile is strained and you even catch his eye twitching, but he remains seated. "But basically, not everyone can remember the memories of their past lives. Guess you can say that kinda makes us special."

Leona sighed, heavy and weary. He leaned over and skewered a piece of meat from the tray on the table with a claw.

"Makes for a special pain in the ass, if you ask me."

Leona nonchalantly popped the piece of meat into his mouth, unphased by the stern gaze Riddle had trained on him. All this "reincarnation" stuff was making your head spin, but if you understood it correctly, then you might be right to assume that these two (and maybe even the others they mentioned?) had some beef that went back to way before everyone in this room had been born. Riddle's eyes seemed to hold distaste beyond Leona disrespecting basic rules and etiquette and a curious (read: nosy) part of you was intrigued to know the source for it.

"As Leona had said," Riddle continued, his eyes lingering on Leona before settling on you as he faced you, "The ability to recall past lives isn't widespread. While we may encounter people who used to be affiliated with us once upon a time, fellow inheritors are set apart from others."

"So you and Leona are different from everyone else, and because of that you know that each other is different?" you mused, the gears turning in your head as you put this information together in between finger snacks.

The corner of Riddle's mouth lifted slightly and he nodded.

"Correct. Our own inheritor status allows us to identify fellow inheritors. It's how we're able to consistently be associated in other lifetimes."

"Unfortunately," Leona grumbled.

"You mentioned sensing my "essence" earlier," you said thoughtfully. "That's how you do it?"

Riddle nodded again.

"Leona can feel it too."

"Yeah." The lion man—beastman, you think Riddle had called him—yawned, stretching out over the sofa and settling his chin on the back of his hands like a lazy housecat. He peeked at you out of one eye as he continued, "I can feel your essence too, clear as day, but Riddle's sayin' you can't feel us or even remember us."

You shook your head helplessly and Leona grunted, closing his eyes as his pretty features twisted up in a scowl.

"Figures," he growled. "Tamer up and takes off without warning and when they show up again their inheritor doesn't know shit."

It was obvious that Leona was mad at you, and you can do nothing but shift in your seat awkwardly. Riddle was unexpectedly more level headed, but even his own expression was one of dismay and disappointment. You suddenly felt very put on the spot, and you hadn't even done anything! But you guess you technically did in a past life? Regardless, whether or not you did, it shouldn't mean you'd have to deal with all these problems that past-you left behind! You didn't sign up for this!

All you'd wanted to do was get yourself a fancy antique, not... whatever all this is.

Riddle suddenly spoke up, drawing your attention back to him. Leona remained still and quietly seething, but you saw his ear flick in the corner of your vision.

"There's no point in focusing on the drawbacks." There was resignation in Riddle's voice and a determination in his eyes. A part of you wanted to feel concerned for your own well-being, but another part of you also couldn't help but be stirred by his sudden resolve. "Tamer's inheritor may not remember their memories or be able to sense other inheritors, but we can sense them, can't we?"

A deep hum rumbled from Leona's throat. He stayed relaxed where he was, but the quirking of his ears conveyed his interest.

"True," the lion mumbled thoughtfully. "The herbivore doesn't remember us, but they're still an inheritor."

Slowly, his eyes drew open and he looked at you with a lidded gaze. Despite his casual, relaxed, drowsy air, his deep green eyes sparked with undeniable intellect you couldn't possibly fathom.

"Which means... we've got a chance."

----

Grim's next breath of fire breaks off into sputters of blue flame when you suddenly pick him up off the bed.

"Fgna!! Unhand me, henchman!" The cat yowls as he squirms in your hold. Your fingers slip on his silky fur, but you re-adjust your grip and continue to try wrestle him into submission. "Yrow! Let me teach that jerk a lesson!"

The aforementioned jerk retreats from the bed and sighs with relief. His demeanor quickly shifts to one of triumph at Grim fighting against you (and losing).

"Serves ya right, you stupid cat!" Ace laughs. "That's what you get for trying to pick fights with me."

"Grrr, I'm not a..." Grim's retorts trail off into a low growl as you gently run your fingers through the fur at the top of his head. He stops squirming and lets you hold him, but his glare still promises Ace a crispy death. You face him yourself and your eyes immediately land on the heart-shaped collar around his neck.

"Says the guy who got collared because he messed with a "stupid cat"."

Ace sputters a surprised protest. Next to him, Deuce snickers, and he shoots the other squire a glare.

"Grim, when I asked Riddle to let you use your magic again, I didn't mean to burn our room down!" you admonish, but your fingers continue stroking through the wayward cat's fur.

"Mya... I was just tryin' to chase out these intruders!" Grim proclaims with puffed-up fur. "They were hangin' out in here when I got back. I thought this was our room!"

You're not sure when exactly you adopted a stray monster cat, but you find that you don't mind the declaration that this room is in fact yours and Grim's. You guess you're a cat parent now.

"Now that you mention it, what are you guys doing here?" You narrow a quizzical glare at the two boys and Deuce holds up his hands defensively.

"Don't look at me!" He points to Ace. "It was Ace's idea to come in here. I was just making sure he doesn't break any more rules or steals anything."

"Like I'm the one who needs a babysitter," Ace scoffs. Deuce's glare goes ignored as he continues, "Alright, listen; I wasn't tryin' to steal anything, alright?"

You raise your eyebrow skeptically.

"It's the truth!" he retorts quickly. "I was just looking for a place to get away from His Royal Bossiness and the door was unlocked—so I didn't break in!—and since you seem kinda important for whatever reason—" as he says this, his gaze flits over you searchingly and he seems curious but also unimpressed, "—I figured that he wouldn't look in here and bother you."

You tilt your head at him. You don't think Riddle and Leona have told anyone about your "inheritor" status. Since the moment you arrived at the castle, Riddle had been occupied drilling answers out of you and Leona had acted as if just talking about the matter with you and Riddle had taken every ounce of effort in him so you can't imagine him bothering to tell anyone, nor can you think of a reason he'd want to.

"What makes you say that?" If Ace could sense inheritors like Riddle and Leona, you think he'd have said something. You don't normally come off as someone very important in your opinion, and since Ace himself had seen you run out of the woods like a headless chicken just today and seems sceptical of his own deduction, you're curious. Was there always something about yourself that you'd missed?

Ace cocks an eyebrow as if you'd just asked something so blatantly obvious.

"Because Riddle acted all weird when you showed up this morning?" Next to him, Deuce nods thoughtfully in agreement. "And let's not forget that important and expensive-looking box you've got sitting over there."

Ace gestures with a tilt of his head and your gaze follows to—

Oh, that.

"This thing?" You cross the room to a study area where, sitting unassumingly on the study table, is a worn, wooden chest decorated with intricate designs. Grim's ears perk up and he hops onto the table's surface to investigate it more closely.

"Oh yeah, I was wonderin' about this too." Grim eyes the carvings curiously and paws the latch. "You were carrying this around when I ran into you in the forest earlier." His eyes light up and his tail stands up into the air. "Is there treasure in it?!"

"There's gotta be, right?" Deuce's voice is eager and hopeful as he approaches with Ace, his eyes brightening like Grim's. "With how it looks?"

"Yeah, whether or not it has anything inside, the box itself has gotta cost mega marks." Ace's grin has a scheming feel to it that you don't like. "You could probably even score a crazy deal if you gave it to Leona or Riddle."

"Huh? Why?" You pick up the chest and turn it over in your hands. It looks just as old and dusty as when you first saw it. "I found it just lying around in an antique shop. Nobody else wanted it, so I got it for free."

Both boys spring up in surprise and startle you.

"You got it for free ?!" Deuce exclaims. "Man, luckyyy."

"Yeah, that's nuts!" Ace adds hysterically. "Anyone with half a brain cell knows that Great Seven relics are worth a fortune . Museums and historians all over the world are always scrounging around for 'em and sometimes even the Seven's inheritors themselves are willing to pay good money to get their hands on their old stuff. No way you got that thing for free!"

"It even looks like it might've even been from the original Seven's time," Deuce muses, his eyes trained on the chest with deep interest. All you can do is continue looking between them cluelessly.

"I... don't really get it." You look down at the ancient object in your hands that had ensnared your companions' attention. "It's pretty, sure, but... it's just a box."

Deuce looks at you in disbelief while Ace exaggeratedly heaves an exhausted sigh.

"You really don't know anything, huh?" he says in a very put-upon way, earning him an unappreciative expression from you in response. "Look at the carvings on the chest."

You lift the chest to your eyes. Grim rises up on his hind legs to get a look himself. You trace your fingers carefully over the impressions in the wood where you can make out the most distinct shapes, just like you had what seemed like forever ago.

The chest had been tucked at the back of the shelf, hidden behind several other dusty, old-looking antiques. When you'd pulled it out and blew off the dust coating the top, the particles seemed to glitter in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Immediately, your eyes were caught by the detailed carvings on the chest. Following the dips and curves in the wood, chiseled with a precise practice and attention to detail you could never hope to comprehend, you manage to parse out the figures that'd been shaped so carefully:

The first of them was a queen donning a massive gown and a small crown. Next to her was a prowling lion etched with scars. Standing in front of it was what looked like a woman with curling tentacles for legs and bedside her, a tall man in a turban holding a staff styled to look like a snake. Beside them was a second queen, dressed in an impressive gown adorned with peacock feathers. Across from her stood a flaming robed man and finally, on the center of the chest; an elegant, horned woman with dragon wings.

"I bought that during an estate sale years ago," the store owner had said when he saw you looking at it. "It has all these characters on it but seems so much older than when these movies came out. I've never been able to get the lock on it open, though. If you can do it, you can have it and whatever's inside."

"See? It's the Great Seven." Ace points to each of the figures one-by-one. "Here's the Queen of Hearts. There's the King of Beasts, and then the Sea Witch, the Tactician of the Sands, the Fairest Queen, the King of the Underworld, and—"

"Ooh, I know, I know!" Grim hopped up and down excitedly. "The Thorny Fairy!"

"It's actually the Thorn Fairy," Ace corrects with a mocking grin. "But it looks like you've got a brain after all under all that fur."

Grim begins to growl at him, but you smooth down his anger and the hairs on his back with your hand.

"Anyways, yeah. A chest like this that has old magic on it has gotta have been important to the Seven in some way," Ace finishes. He looks at the chest more closely with a thoughtful expression.

"Too bad we can't open it," Deuce sighs. "I'd kill to know—"

Click.

You would've laughed at the way the boys' eyes were bulging out of their heads if you weren't so confused.

"What?"

"Wh— What do you mean, "What"?!" Ace screeches. "How did you just—?"

"Um, you just push it?" To emphasize your point, you click it closed and open it again. Deuce shakes his head in bewilderment.

"No way. That can't be it," he says in a befuddled tone. "It's an enchanted chest! It can't just..."

You shrug. "Dunno. That's just how it works." You reach inside the chest and pull out its sole contents. Or, well, content .

"Whoa." The boys gasp as you carefully place down a large, leather-bound book on the table. Keeping it closed is a single thick strap with its own latch.

"That definitely looks important." Ace leans over to pick up the book and get a closer look.

"Careful! It's really old," you say warily.

"Gotta wonder what's in...side..." He grunts as he pulls on the latch, but it doesn't give.

"Here, let me try." Deuce walks over to take the book from him, but Ace pulls it away.

"I've got it!" He continues to strain with the latch unsuccessfully as Deuce keeps reaching for it.

"You're not pulling hard enough!"

"Yeah I am!"

"Let it go, Ace!"

"No, you let go!"

"Hey, give my henchman back their book!" Grim yowls from the table, blue sparks jumping from between his bared teeth.

The boys continue to bicker as they grapple for the book, grabbing and pulling at it in an increasingly rough fashion. You heave a sigh and push between them, snatching the book out of their hands.

"What are you guys, 12?" The boys once again gape at you as you push down on the book's latch and, just like the chest's latch, it easily gives way beneath your thumb. You hand it back over with an eye roll, but you can't help the amused smile that's paired with it. "Seriously, you can cast magic spells but you can't work out simple physics?"

A slight hint of pink tints the boys' cheeks as Ace snatches the book back from you bashfully.

"It's not that! Maybe it's just... Maybe the book likes you, that's it!" Deuce says with such conviction that you're actually not sure if he means it or not. Ace snickers under his breath. He opens his mouth to say something, but his expression morphs to one of puzzlement. He flips a few of the book's yellowed pages, eyes glossing over the inked words completely before he speaks up,

"It's blank."

" What? " you say in a surprised gasp. Deuce leans over to look as you take the book back from Ace. You feel your entire body slacken at a release of tension you hadn't realised had even gathered in your limbs when you have the book in your hands again. You see for yourself that it was still filled with the scribbles of handwritten words as it had the last time you opened it. "Very funny. You really scared me for a bit there."

Ace, not for the first time that day, unabashedly looks at you like you're crazy.

"Huh? There's literally nothing there," he says again, his eyes flicking from the pages to you as you once more look at him with confusion.

Deuce lifts the pages to look at the ones beyond. "Yeah. It's completely blank, from what I can see."

"What?!"

This entire day, ever since you walked into this magical world, has been a bombardment of unfamiliarity and perplexity and questions one after the other, but you don't think you've felt as mystified as you do now—not even when you saw a walking, talking, fire-breathing cat.

Because, on the pages in your hands, right before your very eyes, are lines and lines of words and paragraphs, all together building coherent messages that in turn tell of the complex, captivating correspondence between two people within the now-yellowed pages of a single book.

"I..." you turn your head to look between Ace and Deuce. "Nothing?"

Deuce shakes his head while Ace shrugs.

"Nothing," the latter says.

"Myah?" Grim scampers across the floor and climbs up your legs onto your shoulders to get a look himself. You examine him closely as he peers at the pages with his wide blue eyes. He tilts his head, but unlike Ace and Deuce his eyes are focused when they look at the pages. "What're you two talking about?! There's a ton of words on there!"

The two squires exchange mirroring puzzled expressions before seeming to come to a sort of conclusion as they both look back down at the book with wonder.

"That solves it then," Ace says with finality. "This book's enchanted."

----

Enchanted. Well, at least you aren't crazy.

Your eyes travel over the collection of words etched into the paper; unassuming and unremarkable, except for maybe perhaps the unusual way the contents are written.

There are two writers. Not only is it said explicitly in the first pages that there are two writers, but also in the writing itself. The script in the book—written in the form of letters, as if the two people were talking to each other this way—has two distinct handwritings and speech styles. One of the writers was more formal and eloquent, their words written in a complex flowery cursive, while in contrast their correspondent's language was more callous and casual and their handwriting mirrored it; less perfect and more crude and uneven.

There was a strange sort of life in this book that you hadn't expected when you had first pulled it out of the chest. Initially, you had expected a sort of journal or historical record, which you're sure can be interesting, but what it actually possessed was something much more beyond your expectations, allowing you not only a glimpse into the long-forgotten lives of these two individuals, but also their friendship. There was just something so compelling about it; slowly learning the characters of and connection between these two old-timey pen pals that you couldn't have the privilege of being privy to otherwise.

And, apparently, you're being given the magical privilege of seeing.

You would never have known that the book was enchanted if Ace and Deuce hadn't looked at it. Now, beyond the lives of the two people tucked within its pages, you wonder what else it's hiding. Why is it enchanted? Why can't Ace and Deuce see it? Why can you and Grim see it?

Most importantly... what was it doing in an old antique shop in your magicless world?

You ponder these thoughts late into the night, even until Grim had gotten too tired to entertain your musings and had fallen asleep, curled up on one of the pillows. Ace and Deuce had long left, but not without convincing you to share the hidden contents of the book with them in the morning.

You'd gotten deep into reading after that, but as engrossing the conversations between the two writers were, you'd barely made a dent in the book's contents and there didn't seem to be a single clue in sight as to the magical properties of the book itself.

A powerful yawn forcing its way out of you finally compels you to look at the bedside clock. It reveals to you that it is in fact the ungodly hour of 1 AM and going into 2 AM.

"Shoot... I'm gonna die tomorrow, aren't I?" you murmur to yourself, remembering that the other inheritors were planning to take you somewhere to possibly resolve your little amnesia situation.

The smart thing to do would be to turn in, but just as you're about to close the book, the page underneath your right thumb suddenly folds inwards. Startled, you pull your hand back, and the book erupts into a cacophony of fluttering pages. Hundreds of pages and words bypass your vision in a blur until suddenly the flipping stops, leaving the book open on the surfaces of two empty pages near its end.

Except, it's not completely empty.

At the top of the left page, slowly etching itself into existence before your bewildered gaze, are words.

Like one of the writers', the writing is neat; the letters almost perfect imitations of each other, except with less swirls. Instead of a full essay of words though, the ghostly writing only forms a single sentence, but it still sends your mind whirling with thoughts.

Are you there?

site that you can type in the definition of a word and get the word

site for when you can only remember part of a word/its definition 

site that gives you words that rhyme with a word

site that gives you synonyms and antonyms

one more pearl & tilly for the road

The waking up in PJO lore no one really wants, but I need to desperately tell someone —

Hades has never been anyone’s favorite parent.

Melinoe, their oldest, has always been so independent, she takes after her grandmother in that way. Orderly and proper, with healthy amounts of ambition and a practical worldview. She doesn’t care much for Olympus or the mortal realm, finding solace with Nyx and Hecate, old immortals with old magic. He’s not surprised when she asks to journey with Hecate to the lower levels of the Underworld. He sees her off, handing her a metal container full of pita bread, hummus, and her favorite olives pickled with lemon and paprika. She’s in such a rush she forgets it on the entryway table in the foyer.

Makaria, their youngest daughter, is a spitfire. Rebellion incarnate, in the shape of a thirteen year old girl. She outgrew the underworld by the time she was sixteen, bored with shades, and Elysium, and jewels. The only time she seemed to be enjoying herself was when Hera came to visit. “I just hate having to learn everything about the mortal realm five years after it’s already happened.” She’d whispered when she accompanied him to bless one of Zeus’ favorite sons, a king of his mortal land, while on his death bed. He sees the way she looks at palace, the ivory columns, and sprawling lush gardens with a conflicted look in her eyes, and he knows it time for her to go. He reaches out to Hera himself, asking if she’ll guide his daughter in the duties of a socialite. He makes pomegranate jam and scones himself when she leaves, and she smiles as she accepts it, but he knows they’ll sit untouched for months until they start to rot.

He never had a chance with Zagreus, not with the way he radiates with wrath, just like his wife. And sure enough, from birth they’re inseparable. Two beings made from the same fabric. Maybe that’s why he hungers for Olympus so desperately, practically trying to claw his way out of the Underworld while Persephone watches with a disappointed frown. He wants to tell her to be more understanding, she was just like him once, begging and scheming to find a way to escape her mother in the mortal realm and climb to Olympus. Understanding comes later, after Zagreus makes it out and returns with hunched shoulders and dark circles. “It’s not what I thought it would be like,” he says, and Persephone holds him as he weeps. Zagreus finds his own footing in the Underworld, becoming a celebrity amongst the shades and nymphs. Hades leaves dinner in the fridge every night, just in case, even though he knows he’ll just end up washing the full containers at the end of the week.

And it’s not that he feels unloved or unappreciated. He loves his children, and he knows that they love and trust him. They just have people they relate to more.

And that’s okay. He’s never been anyone’s favorite god, temples and shrines are built in fear, he knows that. And he’s never been anyone’s favorite brother, that’s why it had to be him that inherited the Underworld. And even Cerberus prefers to sleep with Zagreus these days.

He’s used to it.

But when he holds you for the first time, bundled in a pale cream blanket, he knows that this time is different than all the others. Melinoe might be for the elder's of the Underworld, and Makaria might be for Hera, and Zagreus was undoubtedly made for his wife, but you —

You were made just for him.

And everyone knows it. They can see it in the way only he can soothe your cries in the middle of the night with his scent alone, the way you place a hand on his face and you shriek in delight when he places his hand over it, the way you only eat when it's the baby food he made personally for you, the way he caries you in a sling and whispers to you all that he knows; about the Underworld, about life, about mortals, and how love is the greatest gift and curse of all.

It's in how his heart breaks in two when Zagreus decides to take you to the mortal realm. He knows it's the right thing, you're half mortal yourself, it's where you belong. He does as Zagreus asks, feigning banishment for not adhering to the rules of the Underworld, when Persephone asks why he let him leave. And he watches as his son ascends the steps to the mortal realm, a cream-colored bundle cradled against his chest. He knew this was always going to happen, but he stays in bed the entire week after you're gone anyway, barely registering Persephone's embrace, Melinoe's offerings of water and soup, or Makaria's company.

He only rouses from bed when he realizes he sent you off without any food, he makes your favorites, packs them neatly in stacks of four in a canvas bag and wraps them in two pieces of checker print cloth tied at the top. He can't leave the Underworld, so he sent his best man to deliver them to you, a Cyclops who was good at paperwork and organization.

"I delivered it to the penthouse boss, but don't send me back, they're terrifying," he says with a shiver.

He finds himself smiling, being fearsome is it's own advtange.

He watches you through the eyes of ravens and moths, through the billowy curtains of your penthouse in Manhattan and the windows in your expensive private school next to Central Park that your father liquidates a diamond every month to afford tuition for. He watches you laugh, and make friends, and (unfortunately) develop a very deep soda addiction (he’ll lecture Zagreus when he sees him again).

And you’re six years old, on your way to school when he sees the best pomegranate finally ripen in the garden. He picks it with care, polishing it four times before whistling for Cereberus.

“Could you make a trip for me?”

It’s the greatest mistake of his life, because now Cerberus is at his heels all day, begging for another command to bring you a gift. He looks through the eyes of bird, watching you sit on the kitchen counter cutting a pomegranate, his pomegranate, in half. Smiling as you take a bite of the sweet fruit.

"Their knifework needs help," he mumbles to himself, but his mouth is wobbly and his eyes are warm.

Makaria comes by, asking for money for her tuition fees for NYU, ten years and still no degree. He sighs, he would have paid it anyway, but he might as well get something out of it.

"Deliver this." He hands her a black business card, he only ordered ten cards a millennium ago, and he's only ever handed out two of them. This will be the third. Makaria quirks an eyebrow up, and he shrugs. She wouldn’t understand. "And take Cerberus with you, he's been depressed for weeks now."

He's beside himself with anticipation for when you'll call to meet him. A day goes by, then two, then a week, and as he counts the days he realizes it's been a month. He knows you don't remember him, maybe just the feeling of being held, at best. He knows you mean more to him than what he means to you.

But knowing and hoping are two different things.

He finds himself preoccupying his endless amount of time with work, with balancing the accounts and collecting feedback from the shades, inspecting the areas of his realm. He's trimming the pomegranate tree in the garden when he feels it, a tremor, a calling.

He smiles.

Grabbing whatever he can get his hands on, a pomegrante, a red cloak, jewels, and tweleve years worth of birthday money he's been collecting in a silk pouch.

The first time he sees you in person after eleven years, you're on the ground, your legs tucked underneath your body, golden ichor splashed across your hands, staining the flimsy cotton fabric of your shirt, a glimmer smeared across your cheek.

But your eyes, your eyes haven't changed. You look directly into his eyes, just like when you were no more than two months old and he'd whisper secrets and sweet nothings to you.

His baby. His godling. His child.

His. His. His. His.

And the sight of you alone makes him want to weep, the thought that this is what's been kept from him all these years.

"Will you help me?" Your voice cracks in the middle, tears budding at the corners of your eyes.

He would burn all of Olympus down if you asked.

"Always."