“Honestly, it’s more of a cultural talking point than anything else. Sure, lots of the Earth-born like to brag about having the biggest grave, but we all know it’s about the symbol. A grave is something to be remembered by, and what ghost doesn’t want to be remembered?”
The thing is, Bruce isn’t even supposed to hear the words.
It’s a coincidence, a random chance that he’d happened to be walking past the library in time to catch the snippet of conversation. In hindsight, Bruce can’t even remember what he’d been doing at the time, nor could he tell you who Danny had been talking to.
Bruce isn’t even sure if Danny knows he was there. If Danny knows that he overheard.
But Bruce was there, and he did hear the words, and now they’re rattling around in his mind like caged birds, begging to be freed.
What ghost doesn’t want to be remembered?
There is no grave marked Daniel J. Fenton. Bruce knows this, because he searched and searched and searched, and came back with nothing, no matter how many times he tried. If there was, it would be covered in Danny’s favorite flowers, he’d make sure of it.
It's later that night, when Bruce gathers the courage to mention it.
i don't care what you think (as long as it's about me) ch15
Pairing: Catcrow, Rating: E, Words: 122k, Chapters: 15/20
"Take me to bed or lose me forever," Thomas quotes lustily, tossing imaginary hair back over his shoulder.
Monty's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
"You heathen," Thomas laments, clutching his chest like he's been mortally wounded. "You're out here Maverick-ing it up with the sexy motorbike, and you haven't even seen Top Gun."
Aaaand we're back! Sorry for the wait, my life got a little bit insane but never fear, because I come bearing lots of sweetness and some actual communication for once!
Hi Bird! I'm curious about your Percy Jackson style demi-god (greek pantheon) takes/thoughts for all the GenKill guys. Your Athena vs Posidon post for Brad opened a can of (brain) worms that I can't seem to let go.
🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱🪱
Look it’s unusual for guys like Ray to survive into adulthood so please cut him some slack for *staring* like a fucking idiot at Brad the first time they met. The Mist around Brad is thick as hell and dazzles him stupid for a moment.
The probability of *two* demigods not only surviving into adulthood, but also joining the marines and being assigned to the same damn platoon is just— well, Ray should have known normal things just Do Not Happen to him.
(Meanwhile, their parents gleefully place bets on which of their (favorite) sons will make the first move).
Athena speaks with Brad more than Ray ever does with Hermes— though the communication is more the weird, distant way the gods tends to communicate with their favored kids. Think like, prophetic dreams, intrusive thoughts. She whispers in Brad’s ear sometimes. He got the Hero treatment growing up. (If we’re talking a true crossover, then yeah he totally knows annabeth. They’re chill.) if children of Athena are gifts, then oh boy, the Colberts were something *special* and *rare* to her.
Hermes doesn’t talk to Ray, because he knows Ray won’t listen and he’s also *his* kid. Ray, by blood, is fleet footed and sure of himself. He doesn’t *need* divine intervention.
Probably, Ray’s mom has a touch of the Sight, which is how to met Hermes. She generally doesn’t trust his dad tho, and did a damn good job at keep Ray hidden. Lots of cattle industry work out in MO/KS which is incredible stinky at every level.
The first time Ray met his dad, he was 8 and the guy did actually take him to nascar. That was cool of him. Then he didn’t see him until… idk, either Afghanistan or Iraq. Guy was like “wow!! You’re so BIG! Not many of my other kids get so BIG!” And Ray like, shares an MRE with him.
Anyway, Ray isn’t particularly envious of Brad and his patron. Not when he gets that weird manic look in his eye when they’re pouring over maps and Ray can practically see her looming over Brad’s shoulder.
Being LC with your godly parent is probably *good*.
Speaking of intrusive and prophetic mom advice- Brad was *totally* expecting Ray, BTW. More surprised it was *ray* than the fact there was another halfblood in first recon. They meet in Afghanistan and NO this is not gonna be some Achilles/Patroclus tragedy! Jocks, go home (thank u sam)
But makes strange sense and what’s more moto than having *actual Hero’s blood*? They truly are the dream team.
Per the mythological canon, Hermes and Athena work well together- that their sons fall in love is just… happy collateral in the cosmic games the gods play. But Ray refuses to believe in fate and tacitly ignore the misty red line that connects him to Brad.
Sometimes, Brad plays along and they are just Two Normal Guys. Sometimes, Ray plays along and makes offerings of dip, jalapeño cheese, and pound cake to his father (yeesh esp when they were working on that dang humvee).
Anyway, I’m just free associating rn. I could go on. It’s all very homosexual.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Conclave (2024)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Aldo Bellini/Goffredo Tedesco (Conclave)
Characters: Goffredo Tedesco (Conclave), Aldo Bellini (Conclave), Thomas Lawrence (Conclave)
Additional Tags: Luggage, Italiano | Italian, New York City, Post-Canon, Homesickness, Mentioned Niccolò Machiavelli, Secret Relationship
Series: Part 2 of Conclave Bingo 2025
Summary:
Tedesco reaches into his luggage, before pulling out a copy of Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. It can be enough, he believes, to muse on what might’ve been instead of mourning it. He admires the words of the Florentian, and wishes that others in his out-group would as well.
One cannot scold him for his surprise, when he kicks his feet up and reaches in for the bookmark he’d have left, and all he finds in this English copy is the handwriting of his mortal enemy on a crinkled receipt for pan au chocolat.
Talk about shame, he thinks, Aldo Bellini’s loopy handwriting in his hands. It reads — Non si può evitare la guerra; si può solo posticipare a vantaggio degli altri.
Or, Bellini and Tedesco have identical suitcases and a luggage switch up has Tedesco flying to New York to retrieve his things. The wounds are still fresh following the conclave.
“How can you know you’ll like me, all of me, if you’ve never seen it? What if I turn out to be the most annoying person you’ve ever fucking met?”
Thomas cracks a wan smile. “Do you think maybe you could let me decide that for myself?” Then his face grows serious. “I know the way things started off wasn’t… ideal, but I do think I know you. And more importantly, I want to know you. You never, ever have to pretend with me.”
Monty takes a shuddering breath. It’s a heady thought, that kind of honesty – that kind of freedom – even if he can’t quite bring himself to believe it. It feels too good to be true, and not just because Thomas is a literal movie star. But Jenny’s words echo in his mind, still vivid all these months later. You have to let people know you. Otherwise, what’s the point? He’d taken that advice when he opened up to Niko, and he hasn’t regretted it yet. Why not Thomas?
Because, really, that’s all Thomas is asking for, isn’t it? The chance to know Monty. All the rough edges he usually grinds down and makes safe. All the soft, ugly things he usually keeps tucked inside, far away from prying eyes.
It’s terrifying. But it’s also not unreasonable, not if this thing between them is going somewhere. And god does Monty want it to go somewhere.
-anything_thats_rock_and_roll, you and me are the difference (between real love and the love on tv)
Everyone please go check out the catcrow epic masterpiece by @anything-thats-rock-and-roll!
"I haven't seen you in the Dreaming in some time." Hob startles at the sound of his voice, hunched over the counter scrubbing at what must be an immaculate surface.
"Oh, do come in," he chuckles, turning to face him, "Never have been fond of doors have you?"
He looks exhausted, bruise purple shadows under his eyes that still crinkle with his warm smile. "At this hour I doubt you would have answered for me."
"I always answer for you." His face stretches into a yawn that cracks his jaw as he returns to the counter to toss his sponge into the sink. "Can I make you some tea?"
"It's quite late." Dream says, sighs really. This isn't the first time that he's come to Hob's home at an unreasonable hour to find him cleaning or writing or some other mundane task that could wait until morning. This isn't the first cup he's been offered like tithing. Probably won't be the last either.
"Hasn't stopped you yet."
Dream catches his wrist as he reaches for his kettle. "It's quite late, Hob."
For a moment Hob squares his jaw as if Dream's word wasn't final. Though, he knows that Dream would only argue and not enforce. "Right, right. It is."
Dream lets go of his wrist and lingers as if too ensure that Hob will follow through and not pick up his sponge again. "Why don't you go to bed."
He knows that's technically meant to be a question, but here it's really a demand. Hob hasn't entered the Dreaming for more than a few fleeting moments in days, his sleep apparently fitful and restless. He doesn't make a habit to meddle in Hob's dreams, he figures it could make their relationship strained if Hob grew to expect him there, if his presence would be unwelcome. But he took note that Hob has been absent and that his brief dips have been unpleasant.
"I suppose I could try again." Hob concedes. Everything about him screams that he's exhausted and yet he pushes against the urge to sleep.
"Would you like me to help?" Dream offers. Again, he rarely offers these things. But many exceptions get made for Hob Gadling.
Hob sighs, like it's a chore to be looked after. "You'll make an old man think he's getting special treatment." He still manages to smile like a part in the clouds and even still, even with the heavy bags under his eyes it still warms him.
"You've always been getting special treatment." Dream smiles back at him. He always smiles back. It's easy here in this cluttered little home.
"You gonna tuck me in and everything?" Hob bumps his shoulder with a wink as he walks past towards his bedroom.
Dream follows him, watching his uneasy sway, "I could. Would it help?"
"It would just to make you stop worrying about me."
Before he's even crossed the threshold to his room he's wrangling his belt from his pants, balling it up to toss at his closet before awkwardly bending and tripping to get out of his pants. Dream has always found the ritual of bedtime an interesting thing, like it says something about the person whether or not they take their pants off before their shirts.
"I'll be right out." Hob murmurs, tossing his shirt in the vicinity of his hamper and stumbling into the bathroom.
Dream takes a moment to reacquaint himself with Hob's room. He swears his bed was against the other wall the last time he was here. He wonders if he moves his furniture often to force change into his long lived life. He turns the bed down and waits. He pretends that something terribly fond doesn't bubble in his stomach when Hob smiles softly at him.
"Aren't you sweet." Another non-question trailed across the back of Dream's hand as he walks past. His hands are always so warm.
Dream has grown to appreciate the little things about humans, Hob specifically he supposes. He makes the same groan every time his back hits the bed, wiggles into his blankets the same way, and now, looks over to him with the same sleepy expression. So Dream dutifully drapes the blanket over him, tucking it under his sides like a doting mother.
"You're becoming a hassle, Hob Gadling. I have to come all this way into the Waking world just for you." Dream chides with not a single ounce of malice.
"Forgive me oh merciful Lord Morpheus." He barely says around a yawn.
Lazily, Hob reaches out for him, clutching at his wrist with a gentle tug. Dream follows and sits on the edge of the bed. "I appreciate you." He mumbles, thumbing at the thin skin of Dream's wrist.
Dream's never quite sure how to respond to things like that, so he smiles and turns his hand in Hob's. "This is my purpose."
"And I appreciate you taking time from your purpose to tend to me alone." Hob grips his hand, taking to thumb the back of Dream's fingers. "I have my suspicions that you could deal with little ol' me from a distance."
"I could." Dream admits. "But I would rather come to see you."
"Now you're just being sweet on me." Oh the eyes, the crinkled eye smile.
"Perhaps."
Hob pulls on his hand, turns it over to press his knuckles to his lips like a sigh. "Gone soft on me."
Dream smiles, something terribly fond in his stomach. He wonders if he's as obvious now as he has been known to be. He wonders if Hob can feel the pitter-patter of his pulse beneath his fingertips. "Are you ready for bed?"
"If I'll see you there." Hob can hardly keep his eyes open, but they still search for him as his grip grows weaker.
