#♆ ╱ ❛ ooc.

[okeancs]

give this post a ♡ for a starter, length and verse varies

[devilgirrrl]

my name is trouble , my first name's a mess .

[okeancsa]

activity notice.     return to low activity

irl update.     for once in my life, i have a relatively positive update. professor asshat has been fired from my university, meaning if i am able to return, it will be smooth sailing. my private teacher who has been helping me get a lawyer ( which failed, no one would take the case) is now the guitar professor. i am still attesting the expulsion and requirement of a psych eval but once that is taken care of, i will be able to return in the spring 2024 semester.

[seaprofound]

I just watched a sick-ass animatic of ruthlessness that gave po a water prosthetic arm—and that detail right there had me squealing not only because it looked SO cool but also because the left arm was made of flesh and blood (this is relevant because my po is a leftie, so this was a "oh! same hat!" moment ngl)

anyway, that detail now has me toying around with the idea that po could have a water prosthetic arm, herself, in her redesign—so, I looked into that a bit and it turns out that there's this rare medical condition called phocomelia where a baby essentially has one or more underdeveloped limbs. since po was born premature, the likelihood of her obtaining this condition would have been greater. I think that the idea of po being physically disabled could be a compelling one to explore—especially since she could be used as a parallel for her canonically disabled nephew, hephaestus (whom, in my canon, was a student of hers before he went up to olympus—so, them both being disabled could add another interesting layer to their relationship).

feel free to let me know your thoughts on this below 🤔 (in fact, please do!)

addendum: hmm, since po is skilled in mechanical engineering, I now also like the idea that she made her own prosthetic arm out of marine grade materials and that she can shift it into water whenever she feels like displaying her divine might (plus, if her prosthetic arm looked like it was made of metal by default, it would be easier for her to blend in with mortals)

[naemors]

one thing i want to get straightened out is that namor doesn't fit into a black and white morality scale - he isn't ' good ' or ' bad '. k'uk'ulkan is fully capable of committing truly heroic acts one day and then performing something heinous the next if he thinks it's what's best to keep his people safe. he doesn't operate on our morals, his morality is in a shade of grey that barely anyone else understands and that's because he's a ruler. he is whatever he needs to be to ensure the survival of his people because he truly believes no one else will do so.

k'uk'ulkan makes the hard choices and takes the burdens unto himself so none of the talokanil have to suffer the weight of it - no matter what alliance he has with someone else, no matter how long he's known them, the safety of talokan and its people matter the most and they will always take precedent over anyone and anything. his morality has been shaped by the genocide committed against his people by spanish conquistadors, how they were forced to live in the oceans to survive and escape colonialism and disease that were ravaging them.

how, when he went to the surface to bury his mother, he saw the same colonizers enslaving his people and destroying a home that his mother loved - it changed him on a fundamental level, and from then on, he vowed to do whatever it takes to protect the talokanil, regardless of how he's viewed. namor has strict virtues but his morality is exceedingly flexible.

something that must be understood when it comes to namor, is that he is not a villain - but he is not a hero either. the only ones that see him as a ' villain ' are the very people that have destroyed everything he's ever held dear, and when he responds with righteous rage, he is painted as a monster with ' little cause ' for his actions. even after his people were pushed into the seas, surfacers continue to destroy their home even now, polluting their oceans and killing the talokanil without a second thought. k'uk'ulkan's actions are not unwarranted, his reasons behind every action against the surface world ( and in the defense of his people ), have always been justified.

villains operate on a scale of selfishness, even seemingly good acts are done for personal reasons without a true thought to anyone else, acted on the desire to further their agenda - that does not apply to k'uk'ulkan. every step that he takes is to protect what he loves, even if it means that the horrible acts he performs hang heavy in his heart... it comes out of pure selflessness. even if he's hated and demonized, he will carry all of that, just for his people to prosper and never have to re-experience the genocide that drove them from their homes. to summarize, I'll end with this quote from namor:

" The good and noble, warring against the inevitable. Is that us? Is that what you think we are? You might have been right at one time. Maybe I was that man once. Maybe you were as well. But then we both lost our people and our kingdoms crumbled. Even now while we do what we must to keep the things we love alive, we become everything they hate. "

[fatallyfalling]

Secrets & Sugarcubes ~ ♆

“ Sugarcube ? “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

warnings: hurt/comfort, typical Hunger Games violence/trauma, mention/insinuation of forced prostitution, ptsd, soft reassurances, possible slight ooc?? Finnick fears physical touch, end is very fluffy with some slight cuddling, etc.

{{ word count }} 4.0 k

{{ Prompt }} The two of you had a game, a way of trading secrets when the world felt too big and a simple touch felt like a burn on Finnick’s skin. You always made sure to keep a tin of sugarcubes in your kitchen just in case.

{{ a/n }} I swear i know how to write happy things guys i promise akfkakkdka the next one will be tooth rottingly sweet i promise please bear with me >< ! I hope the length of this one makes up for it being a day late as well. This also might seem a bit ooc for Finnick? Not sure - but here is my full headcanon, I'd suggest reading it before this to better understand why Finnick is behaving the way he is as it's explained a bit more in-depth. Reader and Finnick are also rather affectionate with one another but there isn’t an established relationship yet between them. Please enjoy <3

Tip, Tap, Tip-Tip, Tap

Your door creaked under the coded knock, a beat of silence following before it was repeated on the old wood. Your nose scrunched in a perplexed manner, groggily padding down the stairs in your night clothes to your front door, a glimpse at the mahogany grandfather clock in the entryway tells you it’s well past midnight. Your confusion pooled into a sense of concern as cold fingers gripped the metal door handle and gave a firm tug. You knew the knock and who was behind the door as you started speaking before even meeting his gaze, the scent of almonds and honey tainted by a sickly layer of Capital roses filling your senses.

“What’s going on? It’s late. You should be asle-“

Your sentence was cut short as your gaze met a pair of bleary sea-green eyes. You knew the look too well as a frown settled on your lips, your shoulders sinking with your heart as you took in the male before you. “Oh, Finn..” You mutter as you open the door further to let him inside. He hesitates in the doorway, looking lost, but you give a flickering nod of encouragement, convincing him to cross the threshold.

“Come on, I’ll make some tea..”

Nodding towards the kitchen, he wordlessly treks after you. Finnick’s steel-colored dress shirt was well wrinkled, unbuttoned to his clavicle, and sleeves pushed past his elbows. His face didn’t look much better than his suit. His bronze waves were messy, brows sewn in with a tight jaw, and hunched shoulders added to an unsteady demeanor. You could only assume what had occurred earlier in the night while attending the latest Capital party before the famed “Capital’s Darling” appeared on your doorstep. The growing pit in your stomach churned at the thought, and a muscle fluttered in your jaw as you led the victor deeper into your home.

Settling into what sometimes felt like a nightly routine, you get to work on the tea. You also place a small tin on the counter before Finnick, his gaze dancing between your fingers and the tin as you do so. His hands were trembling.

“I think the sweater you left the other day is upstairs. I can get it if you’d like,” You offer while setting the kettle to simmer on the stove. Finnick shakes his head with a soft, tight-lipped hum. He was distracted, flicking his thumbs against the pads of his index fingers over and over again.

“I thought it might help to change...” You allow while stumbling over an apology. You round the counter in a retreat to hunt down the knit item. But you misjudge the distance. Your shoulder accidentally brushes his in a fleeting move that instantly causes recoil and a sharp inhale on Finnick’s part as if he’d been singed by a flame.

“Please,”

The word was strained in his throat as anguish flooded his tanned features. Your eyes widened at your misstep, immediately backtracking to provide more physical space between you. But your frown only deepens as you stare at one another for a fleeting moment before Finnick all but crumples in on himself, descending to the hardwood floor.

Heartbreak splinters through your chest like a knife, bringing yourself down with him as knees meet the polished wood with a thud. Taking further notice of his trembling, it spread up his arms and across his torso now, fists bunching the fabric of his sleeves. The victor wet his lips as his eyes screwed shut, visibly trying to push back whatever threatened to plague his mind.

“I'm so sorry Finnick. Hey, hey- it’s okay, it’s just me, I'm here. I’m sorry, you’re safe with me. You’re going to be okay,” Apologetic pleas pour out in whispers, your head tilting to see beneath the bronze waves blocking his eyes. “You’re safe here,"

He doesn’t respond, only wetting his lips again with a thick swallow that moves his throat up and down. Your lips press to a thin line as you scan around you for anything that might help break the darkness obscuring his senses. Your own thoughts swim with curses for your mistake before your vision finally connects with the small forgotten tin on the counter. Cautiously you rise to retrieve it, your movements are slow, ensuring your hands remain within view, and keeping a safe distance between Finnick and yourself. Once the cool metal touches your skin you wrap your fingers around it, returning to kneel before the distressed Darling on your floor.

“Hey, do you remember our game ?”

A small ‘click’ chirps out as you open the tin. Dozens of small white sugarcubes sparkle inside, gently shifting to let the tin rest between you two. Finnick’s eyes peek out in a squint, dragging his gaze down to the tin and then back up to fixate on your face. He gives a tiny nod to indicate he’s listening, the trembling doesn’t stop.

“Okay,” you manage a small, warm smile briefly as you dip your head to peer into the tin. Plucking four cubes out, simultaneously sweeping your calves out from under you for a more relaxed sitting position, you gently place two near his knee while keeping the other two in your hand.

“One for yes, two for no,”

Gesturing to show the two options, gaining another nod from the trembling victor. At least his attention is focused on the sugar now. Sometimes it took much longer to bring him back enough just to open his eyes.

This was what Finnick Odair hid behind showboating grins and that “Golden Boy” Capital mask. The poltergeists of sticky, unwanted Capital fingers and lips left dozens of invisible burns engraved on his skin. You’d caught the bronze-haired male regularly picking an invisible piece of lint off his shirt or whichever shiny garment the stylists forced him to wear. Soon enough you managed to decipher the minute gesture as a tell to when the discomfort the tanned male felt on his skin too often was starting to eat away at his thoughts.

Never quite free of the forces from previous nights.

It tore open your heart to see him like this. Thrown to the mutts of the Capital under President Snow’s threat of his loved ones being tortured or worse killed if he didn’t comply, there really was no escape from the taloned clutches of winning the annual Hunger Games.

Nobody escapes The Games, and nobody ever wins.

As much as you desperately wanted to whisk the 65th victor away from his position he wouldn’t let you even if you tried, claiming he couldn’t bear to see you come into harm's way and that he’d rather endure the torture just to keep you safe. The seeping guilt you felt was immeasurable.

“I’ll begin, you just answer with the sugar okay ?”

Another small nod earns a second weak smile tugging at the corners of your mouth to reassure him.

“Are you okay ?”

There’s a pause as Finnick thinks, eyelids squeeze shut again but soon open as a shaky hand gently moves the tiny pieces of sugar forward.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt outside ?”

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Are you hurt inside ?”

Another pause, and then he gently scoots one of the cubes backward.

One cube, ‘yes’

“Can you tell me what hurts inside ?”

Finnick hesitates, his brow twitches with a small crinkle of his nose. You wouldn’t pry if he wasn’t ready, you’re patience was strong and you’d spend all night passing sugar on the floor if it meant he could find peace of mind. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,”

Finnick didn’t have many choices or say in life due to his position in the capital, so you found providing clear options to be rather grounding for the Bronze-haired male. It gave him a sense of stability and control over himself and what was occurring around him. Keeping the questions of your game simple and to the point in turn made his responses quick, a distraction technique you had picked up a while back to combat your own struggles post-games.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“That’s okay,” your small smile strengthens as you give him a tender look, not of pity but empathy. “Can I help?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Please…”

The repeated word is barely above a whisper. If you hadn’t been hyper-fixated on him you might not have caught the parting of his lips that dripped the morsel of sound. His gaze has moved up from the floor to meet yours, wide sea-green irises soft in a pleading expression. You simply nod, assuring him you’re staying right where you are. The tension in his body visibly releases as the reassurances seem to sink in. Gingerly, he releases his biceps, picking at an invisible speck of dust on his sleeve. He drags a hand through his tousled hair before taking it down his face to rub his eyelids. He inhales a deep, shaky breath. You let him take his time to recuperate. Once his hand returns to his lap and he meets your eyesight you resume the verbal questionnaire.

“Do you want your sweater ?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Okay, just a second,” you smile warmly, he nods, and you slowly stand, making your way upstairs, finding the ivory knit sweater on your bedroom dresser right where he’d left it. Turning around, you retrace your steps back to the kitchen, making sure to avoid the steps that creak louder than others on your way. “Here you go,”

Placing the sweater down as you return to sit with the Darling, he waits for your hands to leave the fabric before picking up the thick material and tugging it over his head. It takes a minute to adjust the layers and his sitting position so they’re comfortable but when he’s done the steel grey button-up collar peeks out from under the angled neckline of the ivory sweater along with the tails of the neutral fabric sticking out under the bottom hem. The ends of the sleeves are stretched around his fingers to mimic mittens. “Better ?” You offer while he takes a moment to breathe in the familiar scent. The smell of Capital roses is quickly suffocated in his familiar warm almond and honey cologne mixing with your scent clinging to the sweater. A sweet smile softens your cheeks as he allows a small lopsided smile with a nod and a hum, the corners of his mouth twitching up at the comfort.

“Very much so.”

“Good,” you nod, “Do you want the citrus tea you like so much? The one with the cinnamon?” Quirking a brow with a small tilt of your head.

“mhm,”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Very well,” you smile sweetly, rising again to move back into the kitchen. You gently open a cupboard, plucking a viridian mug off the shelf for the Darling along with your usual mug. A delicate clink echos in the otherwise quiet space as you set the ceramics on the counter. Finnick has turned to peek up and watch.

His sea-green eyes were still big and pleading, not really ready to stand but also not wanting to be away from you. With the counter cutting off just below his irises and his bronze hair tossed around and fluffy like that you couldn’t help being reminded of a small puppy. You mouth another reassurance with a wink as your cheeks warm, pulling open a drawer to pick up two small objects. They’re burnished silver spheres of metal, split in half but held by a tiny latch and speckled in countless minuscule holes for the nectar of the teas to slip through.

Reaching for two narrow jars on your counter you slide them towards your workspace and unstick each lid with an odd “pop”. Whisps of warm cinnamon, citrus, cloves, and black tea mix with the scent of herbs and spices more aligned with your tastes. The teas were a luxury gift from Mags on your birthday a year or two ago. You only use them on special occasions or nights like these.

You take a small spoon and gingerly press the correct amount of leaves in each steeper, adding a few extra to Finnick’s as he preferred a more prominent flavor. Afterward, you lower the metal orbs into their respective mug and quietly clean your workspace. Once the items are back in place you turn and just about jump out of your skin with a yelp of surprise as the tea kettle’s shrill whistle sings loud and clear.

Quickly you fumble for a cloth on a hook beside the wide farmhouse sink. Wrapping it around the heated handle of the kettle you remove it from the flames and onto an unused burner before shutting off the stove. Your heart pounds as adrenaline courses through your veins like lightning. A curse dances off your tongue but your embarrassment is short-lived as a coy chuckle fills your ears, wrapping around your senses like a soft blanket. A relieving warmth weaves its way through your ribs and melts the icy heartache as you hear Finnick laugh again. Turning towards the sound you spot the bronze-haired male now standing at the counter, his forearms leaning on the cool stone. His hands are barely trembling now although his eyes seem far away but his demeanor has seemed to regain its footing, a flickering of his naturally charismatic aura passes through his pointed-to-white teeth in the form of a lopsided smile. Color has started to ebb its way back into his tanned cheeks. That warmth in your ribcage spreads up your neck but you try to shove it back down. The components of your game; all four sugarcubes and the tin are sitting beside his elbow on the counter. You cross your arms over your chest loosely, narrowing your eyes at him in a playful manner.

“It’s not funny,”

“You’re right it’s hilarious,” Finnick drawls, his tone cocky.

An exasperated huff puffs out your chest followed by a sarcastic roll of our eyes. “There’s the Finnick Odair I know and Love,” You sigh, mischief flickers in those sea-green eyes. Carefully bringing the kettle over after it has a moment to cool you pour the boiling water as evenly as you can before returning it to the stove. A comforting quiet falls over the two of you while watching the liquid within the mugs change color. Eventually, your gaze shifts to watching Finnick slowly build a tiny pyramid out of the sugarcubes. The pristine wall of white crystals stands for all but ten seconds (not even) before the victor’s gentle tap sends it crumbling.

The joy from moments ago dissipates into something melancholic.

“Are you okay…?” You ask again, a crease forming between your brows as you search his sea-green eyes for any signs. Finnick gives you another tight-lipped hum, his smile has slipped away and you notice the set in his jaw returns. His gaze shifts from his folded hands to the sugar close by and hesitantly plucks up two of the four pieces.

Two cubes, ‘no’

“Still inside…?”

One cube, ‘yes’

“Still no touching?” Your voice is tender in a reassuring manner.

Two cubes, ‘yes’

Finnick understands that he’s safe. You’ll respect any boundary he chooses. You’re one of his few ‘safe’ individuals that he allows to fully trust besides Johanna, Mags, and Annie. Unfortunately, Annie was always rather emotionally distraught, meaning Finnick couldn’t be around her for long periods due to her tendency to claw at people during her episodes. It broke his heart to see the fire-haired victor he mentored through an awful arena be left so broken and afraid with limited ability to help her. But you did your best to pick up the slack in her care.

You were all damaged people just trying to survive the best you could with the hand you’d been dealt. No matter the cruelty of the dealer.

While caught up in your thoughts, the tea finished steeping. Gently, you slide the viridian mug of citrusy spices towards Finnick, who allows a small thanks and his “compliments to the chef” while plucking two sugarcubes from his fallen stack and dropping them into the burnt orange liquid.

“My pleasure,” you hum, fixing your tea how you like it and stirring the small steeper around the mug before lifting it from the drink and setting it off to the side. Finnick’s steeper soon follows. You’ll clean the sticky residue later.

Hot ceramic warms your fingertips as they curl around the mug, lifting it to your lips and parting them to give a gentle blow. Ripples of tea bounce around the rim, causing the curls of steam to dance around your cheeks. You inhale the Herbs deeply, and a calm feeling washes over your shoulders. The first sip immediately warms your insides as it goes down, observing the same reaction on Finnick as he takes a long swig of the tea followed by a hum of pleasure.

“Don’t burn your tongue it's still hot,” you murmur into your drink, the emitted sound coming out a bit warped. A ghost of a smile crosses the Darling’s face at your words, though he doesn’t reply, preferring another sip of the luxurious tea.

You already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of his dislike for the stinging on his tongue tomorrow from the burn.

You wish to reach out to him, brush your knuckles against his, or cup his stupidly handsome face in your hands, holding him close till all is better, but you can’t. You won’t. His safety and comfort is your priority right now, and you’ll always give him space when asked. You knew all too well what violation of space felt like.

“Are you feeling any better?”

You question the Darling while searching those sea-green eyes for any signs of pain.

Finnick offers a slight nod, casting a glance in your direction while adjusting the sugar.

One cube, ‘yes’

You nod in understanding. Even though the ache inside his chest still hurt you at least managed to help him start to move past it. The two of you stay at the counter for a long while. Secrets pass back and forth via sugarcube and Finnick has another cup of tea. You move in quiet tandem with one another as he preps the tea and you clean up your steeper and mug in the sink. Softly you hum a small rhyming tune from your childhood as you scrub along the inside of your mug, there’s a sense of domesticity in the air and you can’t help feeling more at ease.

Once everything is clean and put away except the sugarcubes you find yourself on your living room sofa, there’s a space between where your knees are tucked up against you and where Finnick sits. The tin of white crystals sits in that space, the Darling victor plucking up cubes every once in a while to suck on. He could eat all of them and you wouldn’t have minded.

The room is dimly lit, just the light from a lantern on the unused desk beside the fireplace. A soft glow is painted across Finnick’s features that makes his eyes sparkle and spread warmth up your cheeks, the tips of your ears surely going red. You try to suffocate the warmth as it threatens to bubble up past your grasp.

As time passes Finnick eventually speaks of what happened. You listen with full attention and offer much sympathy and reassurance once he’s finished. You thank the charming male for allowing himself to be open with you and he admits, “It’s easy to be an open book when it’s you,” and those sea-green irises seem to light up even more. That warmth twists your insides as your stomach does what feels like a backflip. “Thank you…for letting me in tonight,” he murmurs with that perfect smile, the outer corners of his eyes crinkle, and dimples press into his cheeks. The smile you return is equally as wide and sweet.

“Always. I’ll always be here Finn, and you’re welcome to stay here if you want tonight. There’s plenty of space,” You breathe through a slight laugh. The big house you were gifted in Victor’s Village was far too big to have just yourself anyway and this wouldn’t be the first time the Darling spent the night.

With a nod and a pat to the space between you, you nod towards the stairs before moving to snuff out the lantern. Finnick follows, closing the sugarcube tin and placing it on the coffee table. Quietly you two head upstairs, small giggles peppering the air as the stairs creak.

When you enter your bedroom you rummage in a drawer for a pair of sweats you had ‘borrowed’ from the Darling a while ago when it had been your turn to appear at his doorstep with tears in your eyes. “Here,” you speak gently while holding them out. A cheshire smirk creeps over Finnick’s face as he takes the pants.

“So that’s where these went~”

You shush him with a sarcastic wave of your hand, letting him go into the bathroom to change while you move to sit cross-legged on the plush mattress. You preferred sleeping with many soft blankets and pillows like your own nest. It helped you feel safe when alone - though most would end up kicked off or stolen by the furnace of a man you often shared the bed with. Your revenge usually came in the morning as your icy fingers assaulted the warmth of his lower back with a fit of laughter.

You smile tenderly at the thought as Finnick reappears.

“What?” He asks.

That coy smirk is still plastered on his lips as he comes over to sit beside you. “Hm? Oh - nothing. Lay down, I’m tired." You offer with a hum. He nods before joining you under the covers. You face one another, looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, you feel his hand creep over to yours and interlace your pinkie fingers.

“Is this okay?” Those heart-melting puppy dog eyes return. You can’t help the sweet smile on your face and the warmth on your cheeks.

“Always.”

{{ taglist }}

@justtrying2getby

[heizenka]

𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

♆ Luke Castellan x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: mentions of blood, semi-gore, use of y/n, angst, ooc luke, death

— word count: 1.0k

Luke stood in front of her with shaky hands. His sword began to feel like it weighed more than the world, of course that was impossible, as his world was falling apart right in front of him. His world was dying at his own hand and all he could do was stand and watch as the pool of blood surrounding her spread, creating a red abyss around her body, an abyss that he couldn’t get past just so he could hold her for what he thought would be the last time.

 Her eyes searched the surrounding forest around them wondering if there was anyone close by that would find her body and give her a proper send off, because surely Luke wouldn’t . Finally her eyes locked on Luke’s, his flooded with anguish and guilt, her’s with anger and gratitude. 

Luke dropped his sword, and took three small steps towards her, not looking at the massive gash he’d created in her upper abdomen. Y/N showed no sign of fear or sadness, and that scared him more than anything for some odd reason. The girl he’d known was never one to never show her emotions or speak her mind, that was something he’d adored about her.

“This wasn’t the plan Y/N..” The tears that were building in Luke's eyes suddenly became too heavy and fell, leaving trails of regret down his face. 

Luke reached to hold Y/N’s hand, hoping to comfort her in what were going to inevitably be her final moments. He had nothing on hand to help her, and he knew he couldn’t afford the risk of ruining his entire life plan just for her. Her being the girl he’d known for years, the girl who was going to forever hold a piece of his heart, the girl that was going to be the last one to ever see this side of him.

His fingertips grazed her hand and for a moment he felt every ounce of pain ten times more than before. Y/N could see it in his eyes, everything he’d done was finally hitting him, the entire situation was becoming too real for the boy who had taken on so much, but in the end knew nothing.

Y/N pulled her hand away from him, not in sadness or grief, but rather in frustration. Luke lifted his eyes up from her hand to her eyes. His brow furrowed, she looked fine. There was no expression on her face, no tears, nothing. He was falling apart in front the girl he’d loved for years and she looked like she couldn’t care any less about the fact that she was leaving him behind and going somewhere he could no longer follow

“What’s wrong with you..” His brows furrowed in pained frustration, “Why don’t you care about what is happening right now! I’m a traitor, and because of me you’re dying, but you don’t even care!” Luke’s voice raised an octave, desperate for her to have some kind of reaction. 

“Luke, there’s nothing wrong with me, in fact I feel more free than I have in years.” There remained no expression on her face as she spoke, “there’s nothing left for me to do here, I’ve already done everything I needed to do in this lifetime.”

Luke's expression went from one of anger into one of sadness, “What do you mean you have nothing left to do..? You have me, us.”

“No Luke, there is no us anymore. Look at me. I’m bleeding to death because of you. You don’t get to tell me that I should grieve the life I could have had with you when I don’t even get to finish this one.” Y/N’s face remained expressionless. 

Luke swore he’d never felt pain like the kind he was feeling now. He’d practically killed the girl he claimed to love, and now he has to face the consequences of losing her.

“The funny thing is I would have married you if you’d never done this. We were so happy, and like everything you touch, you destroyed me, Luke.” Her eyes began to feel heavier with every word she spoke.

Luke noticed this, but all he could do was sit next to her frozen in fear. His lower lip began to quiver. ‘I would have married you’ it felt like he’d taken an arrow directly to the heart from Y/N herself. As he looked at her slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind began to drive to what would have been if he wasn’t so fucked in the head. 

It would have been them for the rest of their lives. Maybe they would have had a kid,  and he would have had the chance to do what his father never did. Instead he did the same thing, he destroyed the person who he was supposed to love most in this world, and he wasn’t doing anything about it. 

“I’m sorry..” His voice was raspy with the tears he was attempting to golf back so he could have one semblance of control at the moment. 

His eyes lifted to Y/N’s face, and his world shattered. Her eyes were closed, and her chest no longer held the steady beat that used to calm him down whenever they were together. The tears he was holding back fell, and he couldn;t find it in himself to care about anything other than the body that was sitting lifeless in front of him. 

For the first time in his life Luke Castellan felt everything and nothing at the same time, and he had no one to turn to.

[foultides]

|| just a little note: it has been a hot minute, so im dusting off the following list here - if you’ve just followed me, welcome! (feel free to point me to other genpact accnts i should follow, tumblr has changed a lot and im a little lost when it comes to finding still active accounts)

[0rainy0muses0]

Rules: Pick four colors you associate with your muse. Then use the gif search function and search for the color. Post one gif for each color.

Colors: Peach. Blue. White. Green.

~ ~ ♆ ~ ~

PEACH

BLUE

WHITE

GREEN

[islehurricane]

slowly pokes her head in. hello i’m alive...

[pelagaios-a]

@warcrowned

[okeancs]

low activity for a bit for mental health reasons

[devilgirrrl]

hello fellow tieflings energy

[okeancsa]

            𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 !         stay     tuned

[seaprofound]

a peek into how my mind works

by now, some of you might be wondering, "sunny, where did you even get the idea that po is an inventor from?"

well, I'm glad you asked!

Hesiod, Theogony 715 ff : "[The Titanes were defeated by the gods and confined within the pit of Tartaros :] [The hundred-handed Hekatonkheires] overshadowed the Titanes with their missiles, and buried them beneath the wide-pathed earth, and bound them in bitter chains when they had conquered them by their strength for all their great spirit, as far beneath the earth to Tartaros (Tartarus) . . . There by the counsel of Zeus who drives the clouds the Titan gods are hidden under misty gloom, in a dank place where are the ends of the huge earth. And they may not go out; for Poseidon fixed gates of bronze upon it, and a wall runs all round it on every side, and a wall runs all round it on every side. "

in this passage from hesiod's theogony, it's stated that po was the one who fixed the gates of tartarus. now, on the surface, this may not seem like much—after all, to fix something in this context means to strongly secure it; also, given how the elder cyclopes are the masters of metalworking who canonically made the signature items for po and her brothers (at least, according to most sources), wouldn't it have made more sense for them to do this? but then it hit me—super strength alone wouldn't have been enough to fix the gates. po likely would have needed to have, at least, some knowledge as well. and, since po was the one who also built her undersea palace by hand, I thought to myself, "who could be more fitting to teach her metalworking and building than the elder cyclopes, themselves?"

thus, po the inventor was born. (alternatively, I see a throwaway detail and turn it into a bigger deal than the author probably intended it to be because I like to chase down what ifs like a dog let loose at a park.)

[okeancsa]

@paldin

if you ever wanna ship with me just come to my ask and be like “listen dick face we bout to fuck shit up with a ship ok.”