#ambrosia negative

[anemicvampires]

Thinking about how figs were basically the fruit of the gods to so many different peoples over many different times and today the closest so many have come to them is through a fucking fig newton

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words related to Mythology

to include in your next story/poem

Ambrosia - the food eaten by Greek and Roman gods; a very pleasant food

Chthonic - relating to or living in the underworld (i.e., the place in ancient stories where the spirits of the dead go)

Chimera - in Greek mythology, a creature with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a snake's tail

Delphi - an ancient Greek sanctuary (i.e., a holy place) on Mount Parnassus, where an oracle (i.e., a female priest) was believed to be able to answer questions with advice from the god Apollo

Fate - what happens to a particular person or thing, especially something final or negative, such as death or defeat

Gorgon - one of three sisters in ancient Greek stories who had snakes on their heads instead of hair, and who turned anyone who looked at them into stone

Harpy - in Greek mythology, a creature with the head of a woman and the body of a bird

Hydra - in ancient Greek stories, a creature with many heads that grew again when cut off; also, a difficult problem that keeps returning

Ichor - in Greek mythology, the liquid that flows in the bodies of the gods instead of blood

Muse - in ancient Greek and Roman stories, one of the nine goddesses who were believed to give encouragement in different areas of literature, art, and music

Nectar - in ancient Greek and Roman stories, the drink of the gods; also, a sweet liquid produced by flowers and collected by bees and other insects

Satyr - a god in Greek literature who is half man and half goat

Siren - in ancient Greek literature, one of the creatures who were half woman and half bird, whose beautiful singing encouraged sailors to sail into dangerous waters where they died

Sphinx - an imaginary creature with a lion's body and a person's or animal's head, usually with wings; in ancient Greek stories, a creature at Thebes with the body of a lion, the head and breasts of a woman, and wings. She asked people who passed by a riddle (i.e., a difficult question) and if they could not answer correctly, she killed them

Underworld - in mythology, a place under the earth where the spirits of the dead go

If any of these words make it into your next poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I’d love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Avocado Allergy

Summary: Max and his girlfriend are learnign to understand each other's love language

Warnings: mentions of an ex cheating, slight mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation as well as love bombing, but there is also a whole lotta fluff to make up for it

Wordcount: 2.1k

🏎Masterlist🏎

______________________ It’s quiet. A drastic change to the noise that happened mere hours earlier.

But Max relishes in that. After feeling like he is on top of the world with a first place trophy in his hands, he loves feeling grounded again. Especially through her.

(Y/N) head lays on his lap while she reads. Both sitting on the couch that the hotel room offers. Upon checking in they joked about trying not to think about what that piece of furniture has already seen.

Max massages her scalp, concentrating on how her eyes move from line to line, taking in the words that will lead her to a whole story eventually.

In this moment, Max feels at peace.

A peace he never thought he would reach.

A peace, where his thoughts are not full of self-deprecation.

A peace, where he feels enough. Secure. Without a worry.

He presses a kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead. “Will you read to me?” His soft voice cuts pleasantly through the silence. (Y/N) smiles and nods, clears her throat and starts to read the words on the pages in front of her out loud.

A peace, they both thought they would never be able to reach. And yet, they are still here. Basking in each other’s presence like it’s their form of ambrosia. Like it’s the only way that makes them invincible to what the world has against them in its pocket.

To get there, to this point, a whole process of understanding each other had to take place first.

It all started during the early days of their relationship.

“I’ll take you out for dinner tonight. Do you want to go for a shopping trip with Victoria for a new dress? You can take my credit card with you.” Max offers as he appears next to his girlfriend on the sofa.

Confused, she takes her eyes off the article she was reading in some magazine that had been laid out on the coffee table. “Is there a special occasion we go out for?”

(Y/N) thinks for herself a few moments. There is not an anniversary approaching. Neither is any of their birthdays. Or a big accomplishment.

So the question is: What did Max do? What will he be apologizing for?

“No reason except for me wanting to have an amazing date night with my even more amazing girlfriend. I just want us to have a good time.” This makes her even more suspicious.

“Oh,” (Y/N) answers, “Sounds like a good idea. But I don’t feel like going out shopping today.”

In reality, she does not want to get a special dress for a night out, just to get told that he cheated on her or that he totaled her car or something similar in that dress. The young woman does not want such negative energy clinging to a piece of fabric that is supposed to be special.

Max presses a kiss to her cheek before getting up again. “No problem, whatever you put on, you’ll be the most beautiful woman. I love you!” Off he goes, probably doing some Max-Verstappen-stuff.

His compliments and love exclamation in combination makes (Y/N) even more nervous for the upcoming dinner. He must have fucked up royally.

Several horror scenarios are going through her mind over and over again while (Y/N) is getting ready.

Did he actually cheat? Would she take him back after a confession like that?

Or maybe he hates her family and wants to tell her that he doesn’t want to spend any more time with them. That she has to decide between him and her family. Can she make that decision again? Would she make the right one this time?

“You look breathtaking.” Max’s eyes begin to sparkle, similar to the eyes of a child upon entering a toy store.

Can this face, the one of a man admiring the current love of his life like she is the most beautiful sight he has ever been blessed enough to put his eyes on, belong to the same person, that will isolate her from her family and friends? That cheats on her and acts like it was her fault for not being there for him 24/7?

For an average person the answer is simple: No, Max is the guy who nearly brought her bridal style to the emergency room because of her period cramps. He is the same one that ran to the store and back in record time to get some ice for the toe she stubbed on a chair leg.

For (Y/N) the answer is also just as simple: Maybe. Because her previous boyfriend also had a pretty face and said I love you. He also went to expensive restaurants and extravagant short trips with her. He took (Y/N) out for designer shopping trips, making her whole family say that she made the right decision by falling in love with that guy.

The same guy, who cheated on her with a close friend and got her some unimportant, but apparently expensive purse. That man, that followed her to the bathroom, giving her compliment after compliment, to make up for all the dates he canceled.

Maybe, they are not the same to the naked eye. But no one really knows what broods under the skin of any person, right?

“What’s going through your pretty head?” Max asks, putting his hand on her thigh while using the other one for the steering wheel. (Y/N) tries to shake his concern off, simply answering with “Oh, nothing much. Just something about work, you know?” But this man never lets up until he gets to the bottom of a problem. “Tell me about it. If it’s bothering you, it can’t be nothing.”

“Why are you taking me out for dinner? What did you do to try and make up for it? Is it in a public space because I can’t make a scene there?” If he wouldn’t have to watch the road, Max would have gotten whiplash by how fast he looked at his girlfriend. “Um, no? I really just want to take you out because you deserve an amazing night out. I genuinely just want to give you a memorable night. But I can turn around and we order something in. I don’t wanna pressure you into doing anything. I know that we can have just as much of a fun night on our couch watching that one show you have been raving about.”

It takes a few minutes for (Y/N) to comprehend what he said. “So, you will not tell me something bad you did? You actually take me out for no reason, no ulterior motive here?” Max caresses her thigh with his hand. “My only motive is wanting to spend some quality time with you.”

And so they did. The couple has a really romantic evening, sharing jokes and laughs over food and candle light, tugged away in a private corner of Max’s chosen restaurant.

This was the first, but unfortunately not the last time (Y/N) has accused the Dutch of having done something horrible.

Whenever he does a grand gesture, gifting her a very nice bracelet or bringing her to a place she has dreamed to see, it is followed by her asking what kind of crime against their relationship code he committed.

It’s starting to take a strain on both of them. “I don’t know what to do”, he vents to his mother over the telephone. “I love her and only her, but (Y/N) somehow has this twisted image of me that I cheated on her or have done something else wrong and want to apologize for that by taking her on vacation or so. I feel like she doesn’t trust me at all!”

The frustration is detectable in his voice. His mother feels bad for her son. “Have you asked her why she suspects something is off? Maybe you gave her a reason for not having her whole trust?” Max thinks about it. He has never really asked. He doesn’t know why.

“I think I’m losing him.” (Y/N) cries to her best friend. They both sit on her couch in her best friend’s apartment. “I’m accusing him of all these things I know that he would never do to me. But whenever he gifts me something expensive I immediately think of my ex and how he did that too, followed by him telling me he totaled my car or made out with some other woman at a party the night before again.”

Her friend looks at (Y/N) with sympathy. “He love bombed you and distorted your whole love map by doing that. You need to tell Max what he did to you. And you both need to work on understanding what the other person needs in order to feel comfortable in the relationship.”

Having been pep talked to, both find the other person in their shared four walls as soon as possible. They sit down and talk about what they need. They open up to each other and try to find compromises.

Later that night, they lie together in bed, cuddled up while some random movie plays in the background to fill the silence. “I have never felt so safe in a relationship than I do ever since we got together” (Y/N) mumbles, drawing shapes and numbers on his arm with her fingers. “I have never been able to be so true to myself while being romantically involved with someone else.”

Max’s heart starts hurting again. While (Y/N) told him about how much her previous boyfriend manipulated her over and over again, trying to win her over with both grand gestures and verbal threats. He gets it, her getting upset over him trying to be the best boyfriend by reading every wish from her lips.

They both learn to understand each other’s love languages. Max loves to spend quality time and by bringing his girlfriend everywhere with him where she could be present, may it be a simple interview where she sits in the background or the big vacation he had planned for the two. (Y/N) is more a lover of the small gestures. A flower there, holding the edge of a table when the other retrieves the fork that has fallen down during dinner here.

Rediscovering how they can love their soulmate best, it feels like diving into a new part of their relationship. They start to feel a deeper connection, a new level to finding each other. It gets to a point where (Y/N) confidently can say she knows Max like the back of her hand. She is better versed in his voice and tone indication than in her favorite songs.

They are out eating at a nice restaurant with a few of the drivers and their partners. It is a nice evening after the intense race weekend they just endured.

“Can I have some of yours?” Max refers to the pasta dish (Y/N) ordered. “Of course”, she smiles and pushes her plate towards him. Max takes a good bite from it, praising his girlfriend’s choice for her dinner. “Can I try yours?” She asks, eyeing his burger. “No.” Max answers shortly after having already taken a bite of his dish.

Lando chokes on his sip of water he just tried to drink. “No? But she just let you try her food. Why don’t you share?” But Max continues to chew his bite, taking his sweet time before answering.

“Do you want me to kill my girlfriend? Because it’s a sure way to do so by letting her have a bite of my burger, since it has avocado on it and she is allergic to that.”

(Y/N) just melts immediately at that. She mentioned her allergy to avocados once in passing to Max while he was making them sandwiches. But he still remembered it, even after it never had come up ever since.

Maybe it’s really not the big things that make you fall in love with a person. Maybe it’s the attention, the eye for the little things, that can make the greater difference.

And maybe this attention is what led to Max not proposing to her in front of a ferris wheel under the light of fireworks but rather in the kitchen of their shared home over a home cooked meal, asking for her hand in marriage on one knee while being shrouded in solitude.

[pillow-anime-talk]

injured s/o.

synopsis: You were a bit clumsy, but luckily your partner knew first aid. But they had to be careful because both of you know... they were a ghoul.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; light romance; a bit of drama; also slight fluff; human!reader; mention of blood and wounds; maybe suggestive

includes: gender neutral reader ft. shuu tsukiyama, ken kaneki, touka kirishima, rize kamishiro, ayato kirishima & nishiki nishio {tokyo ghoul}

— SHUU

↘ He instantly smells your delicious blood and almost cries at the sight of the knife covered in red liquid and the onions that were supposed to be part of your disgusting human dinner.

↘ He’s trying hard not to eat your tender, sweet flesh, but after a short breath, he finds a first aid kit and then scolds you from top to bottom. His touch is tender, even though you are well aware that Shuu is holding back all his senses from killing and eating you. He’s a simple man, a bloodthirsty ghoul, so don’t be shocked. Of course he won’t hurt you, but... you never know.

↘ After applying the bandage, he’ll probably lick his fingers to taste your blood, and he feels as if he’s reached the highest level of ecstasy. 

↘ Your blood tastes like the sweetest chocolate, the ripest peach, the best wine, like coffee from the most expensive beans. He almost faints at the thought of you being filled with this dark ruby and delicious ambrosia.

↘ “... Thank you for your help, Shuu-kun.” You smile slightly, touching his arm with your hand. The man just nods, kissing your forehead, then disappears from your view as he enters the bathroom to take a cool shower and calm his farious thoughts.

— KEN

↘ Black Reaper doesn’t show affection to others, unless we are talking about his beloved partner. Then it’s completely different, still dangerous and uncertain, but with you, Kaneki takes off the mask of a dark, vulgar and cruel ghoul.

↘ “May I come in?” He asks softly as your small apartment starts to smell of your sweet like honey blood. Ken tightens his fingers on the doorknob and then enters the room as soon as you let him. One drop of blood escapes from your index finger. You cut yourself with a piece of paper while writing an essay. You look uncertainly at the black-haired man, but you don’t see any negative lust in his eyes. On the contrary, Ken looks worried. “Everything’s all right, love?”

↘ You reply that it’s just a scratch and that you’re fine. Your boyfriend offers you a bandage though, and you smile at him, lightly pressing his body against yours.

↘ “Thank you.” You reply quietly, and he only wonders why. That he didn’t kill you? That he didn’t tear your body in half? That you’re still alive? “... Thank you for being there for me.” His eyes close and he snuggles tighter against your weak, human body.

— TOUKA

↘ Touka is calm and the first thing she will think of is hydrogen peroxide and bandage. She’s not interested in your body, though of course your blood smells like a field of orchids and poppies. This fragrance evokes sentimental memories in her mind.

↘ She examines your wound with the greatest tenderness, and then, equally calmly and without haste, cleans it of any dirt and puts on a professional lint. Her gaze expresses many emotions, none of which are related to her ghoul nature.

↘ “Better now, Y/N?” Dark-haired girl asks calmly, while her hand squeezing yours. You nod your head a bit in response to her brief question and she smiles softly. “Would you like some coffee?” She asks another question, and you nod once more, thanking her for help.

↘ Tonight was full of tenderness and assurances that Touka would never hurt you.

— RIZE

↘ He behaves similarly to Tsukiyama, maybe even worse. The sight of your blood is like a lighter to spilled gasoline. She can’t control herself and runs away as far as possible so as not to hurt you. After all, you are her beloved lover, her little treasure. She can’t afford such a disgusting moment of frailty.

↘ You bandage yourself and expect her return, even though you know it may take several days.

↘ Rize is disgustingly weak when it comes to you; after all you are her greatest drug and probably if she only tasted a drop of your blood or was in the same room with you for a bit longer, she would definitely throw herself at you.

↘ The relationship with her is quite dangerous, but you feel happy with her. Maybe it’s stupid and life threatening, but you really can’t imagine your own life without this beautiful and graceful woman.

— AYATO

↘ He snorts with laughter when your apartment starts to smell like blood. When he enters the bathroom, he sees that you’ve cut yourself shaving and a few drops of blood run down your still wet skin.

↘ “If a razor beats you that much, then seriously consider my proposal to turn you into a ghoul, kitten.” The sarcasm in his voice is strong and you just roll your eyes. You quickly wash the wounds with a cotton swab and water, then find the plaster.

↘ “You know very well that I am the biggest enjoyer of fried rice with vegetables and lasagna. There is no way I will give up these human goods to eat human flesh.” You grimaced at the thought, which made the black-haired man laugh lightly one more time. “You should help me instead of laughing, dumb boy.”

↘ “Hmm... Nope, nah.” He waved at you and then went back to watching TV, calmly waiting for you to come over and lie down next to him.

— NISHIKI

↘ He cares a lot about you; you are the most important person in his life, so the sight of your tear-stained face and chafes on your knees from falling down the stairs is a hard sight for him.

↘ So he takes you into his arms and leads you to the bedroom, where he treats your wounds with the greatest precision with disinfectant spray and bruise ointment. He talks to you a lot during this moment, almost forgetting that he is a ghoul. For sure, a few years ago he would have jumped on you without much thought, just to end your suffering.

↘ Afterwards, he smiles slightly and offers to order you something good to eat to make you feel better. You’ll agree, although you’re asking for a moment of tenderness and a few kisses. 

↘ You’re definitely too cute.

[smallgodseries]

People who don’t really know him think he’s a carefree guy.   After all, he’s always joking, always ready with a quip or witty comeback.  He never takes anything seriously.  He’s the celestial class clown.

People tend to forget that the person who never takes anything seriously never gets anything done.  He can’t keep a relationship past the first few dates; even someone who finds his witty repartee charming over dinner and a glass of ambrosia will likely find it old once the clothes are on the floor and they want him to listen to what they’re actually saying.  His worshippers come and go with alacrity, seeking gods who will actually listen to their problems, seeking temples with substance, divinity with holy texts instead of snide put-downs and negging.

He is the patron of pickup artists and the insecure, beloved of teenage boys who believe that sincerity is a sin and showing genuine interest in a thing means it will be taken away at the first opportunity.  They come to him with empty hands and broken hearts, and he cannot heal them, and he cannot truly help them, but he can patch their broken places with his own brand of rot and cool dismissal.

He wishes he could be better.  He can never teach anyone else how to reach that fabled state.

People who don’t really know him think he’s carefree.  People who do know that he cares more than he can ever express, that his jokes are at their root a form of self-protection, and he can no more stop than he can change the core of his existence.  He is a shallow god.

He wishes he were more.

[twptwp]

Ambrosia the god of dread, an overwhelmingly negative force that leeches off of the dread it wringes out of stressed mortals it has gotten tight hold of. Once it latches on there is no letting go.

[popcorndispenser]

Layton in Eternal Diva is so funny in how he doesn't gaf. Keeps puzzle answers to himself even though failing means, as far as he knows, condemning the wrong-guessers to death. Intentionally leads the posh lady and the footballer to the wrong answer, watches them fall a massive drop and just deadpan yells 'wait here a bit'. Knows Descole is probably going to use Ambrosia for something Negative but still solves the puzzle FOR him and raises the kingdom, purely to rub it in his face. He's SUCH a bitch.

[yuyinesque]

WINDBLUME BARD | “𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀…”

⚘ précis. = you’ve noticed changes in your lover’s temperament the closer the two of you have grown. they’re not negative changes, per se, but you’re having trouble comprehending how exactly a guileless face could inure such terrors.

⚘ disclaimers. = blind!gn reader x venti/barbatos, poetic writing (he’s a bard, hadda switch up my groove), the baby gust of air goes by they/them, major character death mention (the nameless bard), not proofread.

⚘ category. = sfw fluff/angst headcanons/drabble.

⚘ wc. = 708.

𖦥 m.list. oc.list.

𖤥 Venti is the ballet dancer to your boxer. While all bards possess the ethereality to poetically enact stories that pertain to universal crises, this surrealist in question is the one that stuck out to you the most. You like to imagine that when you're in their vicinity, listening to them charm the ecstatic crowds with their intangible anecdotes, ivory cecilias scampered to flourish each time the mysterious individual would ramble, their trusted diaphanous lyre rejoiced in their memorable tunes to influence the tear-inducing plots, and their guileless giggles mistaking songbirds for melodic flirts from their mates. You naturally developed the obsessive need to protect them, casually and uncharacteristically threaten the ones who would dare disrupt his silly stories, earning a mischievous titter from Venti. Especially since they've been assisting you and your cecity ever since you've moved to Monstadt.

𖤥 You didn't need it, but you didn't say anything, for you believed that they'd leave you alone since there was no reason for them to linger around you anymore. Meanwhile, you're their anticipated fan, adoring the fact that you're the first one there when they're going to sing another song. The nostalgia was overwhelming for the both of you; they could never forget how concerned you were when they received minor backlash that didn't move them in the slightest. It left quite the reputation. How fast you almost ditched your walking stick to follow the voice of their awkward replies to the said outsiders who dared treat them in such a way; it was truly an adorable sight to keep embedded within their memory for eons.

"Well, aren't you as sweet as an ambrosia apple? Ehehe, thank you! Buuut, if you really wanna ensure my peace, I accept libations in decanters, if you know what I mean~... Huh!? What do you mean I "seem" too young to drink!? I'm as old as the Anemo Archen themself!"

𖤥 Meanwhile, Barbatos is the boxer to your baller dancer. As the two of you've grown closer, you've learned a thing or two about the bard who derived from an Archon. Or perhaps is an Archon; your expression was utterly priceless when they confided in you! They would seem to carry more of an aura of an Archon the more you ponder about it; was it because they seemed rather... serene with you now? Previously, they were the personification of bustling billows of suffocating winds, but now the winds practiced tranquility, converting into whispering zephyrs who implored to tell you all the truths needed to understand their character. Their implores were merely in vain, resulting in the bard to continuously quaff down bounties of alcohol to subdue the helpless sentiments they wish not to sing about. To think that he was a retired boxer all this time, subtly swaying you away from the evil of Teyvat to avoid another important loss. The idea of losing you was overwhelming; the thought of being incapable of burying themself in those achromic eyes of yours as they serenaded you under the moonlight was heartbreaking.

𖤥 You could tell that something was bothering them that specific day with the way the tunes were drearier than usual, slower than before, and even some notes were uncharacteristically misplayed.

𖤥 These were one of the rare times they adored the fact that you couldn't see, but loathed the fact that they could. The more they doted at your concerned expression, the more their face suffused with crimson, the more their under eyes surged, reddened, and swelled with disruptive tears, and the more their throat seethed with fears they failed to subdue. Although it's been a while since they last cried to someone, they refused to ruin such an amazing time with you. Because of such, they wiped out their doe, viridian eyes with a feigned giggle, scooting closer to you in order to cuff your hand, which only proceeded to worry you even more.

"Very intuitive. Hehe, as expected from my flawless lover. There's something that's been pestering me a bit, but don't you go worrying about it. Even Archons need to feel something every once in a while. Come on, come on! Let's indulge more in each other, I promise that your presence will wash every dread I have stored in my heart."

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can I request a Child!Reader taming a bunch of Unicorns using her Skittles Candy, believing it’s ‘Ambrosia’ (The food of the gods) and explains she had them ‘Taste the Rainbow’ (Who’s gobsmacked because Unicorns are difficult to train, even for the gods)

She also proceeds to ‘tame’ Buddha/Loki by feeding him skittles (This is from the newest Shazam Movie and I thought it was hilarious)

-Your giggles filled the air as Odin, Brunnhilde, and Adam were looking for you as you had wandered off during your picnic with several members of your adopted family.

-When they followed your giggles, they were not expecting you to be in the center of a small herd of unicorns, their eyes immediately going wide in shock.

-Adam was worried that you were in danger of being hurt, but watching these majestic creatures be so gentle with you, nuzzling your cheeks with their snouts, he calmed down.

-You beamed, seeing your family and you waved, “Hi! Meet my new friends!” they remained back, the unicorns now seeing them, as unicorns were notoriously difficult to approach and didn’t want to scare them, which could make them bolt and in turn, potentially hurt you.

-Odin was stunned, as they all seemed to be tamed with you- he knew that you were a pure soul, as you were a ray of sunshine, and unicorns shied away from those with evil or negative feelings in their hearts.

-He gave you a small smile, “How did you do this, Y/N?” you beamed, your little fists on your hips, “With ambrosia I found!” the three adults shared a small look, curious as to where you found ambrosia, before you pulled out a bag of Skittles.

-They watched, smiles growing as you gave each of the unicorns a small handful of Skittles, which they happily ate, looking happy and content.

-Brunnhilde grinned into her hand, in disbelief that you tamed unicorns with rainbow candies, “Only you could do something like this Y/N.” you looked over, a bit confused before you grinned, “I did the same thing with Buddha and Loki! If I give them these ambrosia candies, they cuddle and play with me any time I want!”

-Brunnhilde snorted softly into her hand, giggling at the thought of you taming those two gremlins, but if that kept them out of trouble while they were around you, then that’s a win.

-Once your unicorn friends decided to move on, you waved bye-bye to them before running over to Adam who kneeled to scoop you up into his arms, hugging you before they headed back to the picnic as you were chatting away about how you were going to tell the others about your new friends.

[a-d-nox]

Random question. Which persona charts (or any other Astro placements) highlights a persons strengths, weaknesses, personal development, and path to self improvement?? Thank you.

how to discover your strengths, weaknesses, and how to improve using asteroid persona charts

i smiled when i read "random question" i was like oh boy... they are gonna ask me what my favorite color or type of potato is... NOPE this question is not random at all for this blog. i'm going to work off of what i already have posted (no asteroids discussed after this post will be added after the posted date).

strengths (check the jupiter placement/aspects and sagittarius/pisces ruled houses for the following asteroid persona charts)

abundantia (151): where you are most abundant in life and receive a bunch of gifts while also rewarding others

achaemenides (5126): he had a strong power of will and was capable of perseverance

atalanta (36): strengths/capabilities as a woman - breaking the norms of gender expectations

constantia (315): consistency often breeds success and strengths

hehe (200002): where you have a lot of harmony/positivity in life

heracles (5143): what tasks you completed / will complete because you are strong and determined

hilaritas (996): resilience despite everything around you going poorly

lysistrata (897): leadership qualities and power over a group

themis (24): power and ability to see right from wrong

weakness (check the saturn placement/aspects and capricorn/aquarius ruled houses for the following asteroid persona charts)

achilles (588): a flaw you have that can break you down if not improved upon

cucula (2731): repetition and routine is often a person's greatest weakness (i say this as someone who studied forensic psychology with a lead investigator who works with serial killers)

icarus (1566): a mindset that could lead to your demise

lacrimosa (208): thoughts/experiences that hold you back because you are still upset over them

midas (1981): where your life is set to change from riches to rags because of greed

narcissus (37117): where your selfishness is your weakness/flaw

niobe (71): where you are too cocky and you experience a downfall because of it

tantalus (2102): where your superior mentality holds you back

how to improve (check the jupiter placement/aspects and sagittarius/pisces ruled houses for the following asteroid persona charts)

ambrosia (193): the food of the gods - the more you eat the more immortal you become - the more you act in this area (these areas) the better life gets for you

chiron (2060): he was the wounded healer - if anyone knows about improving it is him

dante (2999): dante journeyed from hell to heaven to be good enough for beatrice - it can show you the improvement(s) you make for others / those you love

eureka (5261): a discovery that can change your life

isis (42): how you can heal

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[moonlightswritingandstuff]

How to Not Panic About Godhood: A Guide by Nico di Angelo

for @persuespost, in the pjo gift exchange! (@ethannku)

Nico di Angelo never expected to become a god. Well, becoming a god isn't something one usually expects - especially if it was completely unintentional. And is it even a good thing at all?

read on ao3!

"Son," Hades says, with the most fondness that his voice ever gets, "there's some monsters blocking the DA entrance in LA. Can you take care of them?"

"Of course," Nico replies, and melts back into the shadows. His cane gets useful some days, but normally he's just doing more organizational skills, and his powers haven’t been affecting him all that negatively recently.

"Son," Hades says, with the most fondness that his voice ever gets, "there's some monsters blocking the DA entrance in LA. Can you take care of them?"

"Of course," Nico replies, and melts back into the shadows. His cane gets useful some days, but normally he's just doing more organizational skills, and his powers haven’t been affecting him all that negatively recently.

For whatever reason, Nico finds himself rather fond of the underworld. Even without the sun, it feels like a home. It feels more like home than anywhere else, he supposes. The underworld, at least, is somewhere that Nico has always belonged in. Not like camp, where he still feels like an outsider. Not in the cities, where it's too busy and feels wrong in time and place. Not in the suburbs, where the idle turning of the streets drives him insane. Not in the country, where the emptiness is often punctured by death.

But that does not mean that the warmth of the upper world is unwelcome; no, it is wonderful to feel the sun and touch the flowers. Nico's stepmother's spring reigns above, now - the flowers are bright and cheerful, and the snow of winter has all but completely melted.

He finds himself in the landmark he chose for LA - a set of buildings that is in no way remarkable. Easier to shadow-travel and hide away when there's not reason to look.

And from there Nico idly heads towards DA, checking to make sure the ambrosia squares are still in his pocket. The passers-by don't stop even to look at his ink-black sword. They're so different. It's completely foreign to him, the people who don't have to worry about one mistake meaning their death.

The years have passed him by, and they blur together now. It's been ten years, and it passes as ten years does - blurringly but at the same time achingly slow.

But he feels stronger these days, and it seems to make it okay, somehow. The shadow-traveling barely tires him out anymore, and everything feels fine. He can summon more skeletons; age has only increased his tolerance for all things deathly.

But on with the mission, Nico supposes.

The DA is as it usually is, but there appears to be four manticores. No matter how good Nico gets, he'll never be able to take on several manticores alone, so skeletons it is.

He takes a few seconds to analyze the situation. The DA swarms with souls, as usual, hesitant and creeping in the corners in light of the manticores. But Nico can't use them - for one, they're souls, ghosts, whatever you want to call them. Unable to work. For another, they're scared.

Skeletons are much easier. They don't have emotions - like fear and cowardice, which ultimately come from the same place, Nico supposes.

It's fine, though. LA is a city; it reeks of death in every corner. And there has to be at least a few cemeteries nearby. And, naturally, there is - the DA is situated near one, how convenient.

Nico summons some skeletons as backup.

"Would you mind moving out of the way?" he asks the manticores. Never hurts to be polite.

One of them lunges at him. Nico sidesteps.

"Well, not feeling very polite or talkative, are we? Shame."

The skeletons approach them and are supremely unsubtle. Sometimes Nico hates working with skeletons.

He summoned six skeletons, so two per manticore, plus a manticore that's all Nico's. He'll let the skeletons do their thing. This manticore is all his.

The manticore charges at Nico, growling on the way. Nico jumps up, backflipping in the process, and lands on the manticore's head.

Go time.

Monsters don't actually just explode, even if it's a killing shot, frustratingly enough. So Nico stabs it straight in its rather ugly head, jumping off as it roars in anger. He lands in front of the manticore, and slashes at its arm, cutting it off. Nico's figured by now that manticores die best when one of their arms is cut off and there's a hole in their head. Or rather, Nico-Percy-Annabeth-Hazel-Leo-Frank-Piper have figured it out.

So he refocuses his efforts and stabs the manticore in the heart - or where it would be. Nico's not entirely sure monsters have organs like humans and, presumably, gods do.

But he digresses. The Romans' stabbing is not all bad; although Nico is a Greek and prefers slashing, stabbing can show its use every once in a while. Case in point, now.

With that manticore dead, or, rather, exploded, Nico looks around. The skeletons are taking care of the remaining two manticores, so Nico gives them a (metaphorical) hand. One of them quite literally does not have a hand. Nico wonders if he pulled it off to beat the manticore with. Probably. Skeletons are brutal and rather single-minded.

And then, with a start, the adrenaline wears off and Nico realizes that his arm really hurts.

And sure enough he looks down and-

Oh.

Oh.

Because the blood he usually sees, the blood as red as any other human's, is gold. And the cut is closing as quickly as a Nico supposes gods heal.

He swipes at it. It's thick, thicker than blood, ichor-thick.

He shadow-travels away with a flash of darkness.

«»

Nico doesn't even think about where he travels, he just travels somewhere. It's a meadow in the middle of nowhere, nothing special, really. The flowers remind him of his stepmother.

The soft grass pads his knees as they sink to the ground, mostly from shock.

He's a god. He's a god. He's a god.

There's nothing else to say. How could there be?

He's a god.

Maybe he should've listened to Will.

("You need to stop!" Will hisses like he always does.

"Stop what?"

"You're hurting yourself. No more powers."

"They're my powers. I know my limits!"

"No. Doctor's orders."

"Go to Tartarus!"

"Doctor's orders," Will says, not even slightly emotional. He looks like he's dealing with a young child.

"No."

"Nico."

"No! Why won't you just understand! I'm perfectly fine!"

"If you keep losing your powers, you'll lose yourself," Will says, as ever a paragon of rationality.

"Maybe I'd rather lose my powers than stop."

"You're so self-sacrificing."

"It was one message. It's not going to hurt me!"

"Nico. I can't keep dating you if you keep doing this."

"Then don't."

For the first time, Will looks shocked at Nico's words. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm not stopping."

"Really? After all we've been through? You're breaking up with me?"

A surge of confidence. "Yes. We're over."

Before Will can get a word in edgewise, Nico shadow-travels away.)

Nico takes a deep breath. It's been ten years. Will was right, though - his powers are the end of him. Gods are gods. They are just as beautiful as they are terrible.

Nico had a lot of arguments with Will over his powers. It's been ten years since they broke up, but those ten years have diminished none of the shame that Will bestowed upon Nico's powers.

Should he have listened?

Nico hasn't dated anyone since he broke up with Will. It's never felt like the right time, for lack of a better word. Underworld duties, duties for everyone.

No. He's been much better since he dated Will. There's no place for regret.

But he's a god. And gods mean something else, too.

("I think being a god must be miserable," Reyna says. It's a lovely afternoon, the sun seeping golden light into the Garden of Bacchus, blue sky painted over with reds and oranges and yellows and blacks. It's frozen over in winter, and Nico knows that the Underworld is a reverse of this frigid cold. They're nineteen and twenty, it's been five years since they met, four since the last war, but nothing much ever changes.

Nico hums in response to Reyna's words.

"They can't change," she continues softly, "or really live. I think that dying and being a god must be close."

"Maybe," Nico says. "But I think it's easier to hope they can."

"They're cruel, the gods," Reyna replies. "Is that what it is to be a god? Is it to be cruel?"

Nico falls silent at that; he can bring up examples, but the gods stand by when cruelties happen. It is just as cruel to be a perpetuator as it is to be a bystander.

"I don't think I could stand immortality," Reyna finishes.)

Could Reyna stand him, stand a friend turned god?

There's nothing stopping him from being identical to every other god. Gods don't change, he knows, it rings in Nico's ears as steadily as the birds chirping in the distant background, as the shadows creeping towards him.

And gods mean things. Gods have things that humans don't - just like how Psyche has souls, Persephone has spring. What is Nico made of? What has become his heart instead of what used to be there, when he was more mortal than immortal?

He is deathless now; and that means things he can never stand. Reyna can't; he can't; no one can.

But some mortals do turn godly; it is not unobserved, after all.

Some turn it down. Like Percy.

That gives Nico an idea.

«»

He reappears on Percy’s fire escape-slash-balcony and knocks on the door. The great, twice-prophecy-hero Percy Jackson appears. He’s in his pajamas (at two o’clock in the afternoon) and nods at Nico, before leading him into the apartment’s kitchen silently.

"Really, Nico?" Percy asks. "Why is it always through the fire escape?"

Nico shrugs and grabs himself a blue cookie off of the plate in Percy's kitchen. “It’s more fun that way. A tradition, if you will.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “Sure. Now, why are you here? You only ever come if you need something.”

That’s a little rude. Even if it is true.

“And I’m not going on another ‘field trip’ to the local graveyard with you. Much less letting you use my blood again.”

“What? Ghosts love son-of-Poseidon blood!”

“Sure. Anyway, what’re you here for?”

Nico grabs a knife, Annabeth’s by its look (she usually has it on her – why not now?) and slices the back of his hand.

It bleeds gold.

“Oh,” Percy says, his eyes momentarily widening. “How’re you feeling?”

“Weird. Nothing’s changed.”

Percy laughs. “That’s with everything with the gods. You could change that, though.”

“I highly doubt-”

“Oh, please. Be our union representative. I’m retiring.”

Nico snorts. “Union representative?”

“Who got the gods to claim all their kids by thirteen? Me. I support the gods paying their child support, Nico.”

“Fair enough.”

Percy smiles. “Anyway, I think this is the second time you’ve truly surprised me.”

“What was the first?”

“When you said you had a crush on me! I thought you hated me!”

“I should’ve. I have terrible taste in men.”

“Hey!”

It feels good to laugh; laughter feels a lot like home.

“Anyway, need anything?”

“Another blue cookie.”

“Besides that?” Percy asks, handing Nico another cookie.

“Probably… I don’t know. Do you think gods can change?”

“Yes,” Percy says instantaneously. “Look at Apollo. Look at Athena. She’s okay-ish with me now!”

“Thanks,” Nico says. “Anyway, do you have any guesses to why I’m a god?”

“No, but from now on whenever anyone argues with me I’ll just say you’re a god. No one can disagree. I need you to do a well-timed signal too, though. I can’t wait to tell everyone. My cousin’s a god!”

Nico rolls his eyes. “I am not helping you with that.”

“It’d be funny.”

“Maybe once or twice,” Nico laughs. “Does this mean I’m your favourite cousin?”

“Hmm. Well, Hazel’s never tried to kill and/or doom me…”

“Of course.”

“I lied. I have no favourites. Except Thalia is my least favourite.”

Nico snorts. “Is it because she tried to strike you with lightning?”

“Yes.”

“Thirteen, no, fourteen years ago.”

“Yes.”

Nico nods. “That’s fair.”

Nico continues munching on the blue cookie, while Percy does the same.

“You know I’ll always think of you as my cousin, right?”

“Yes, of course I know.”

“Great. Because even godhood won’t be an escape from me.”

“Nevermind. Get out of my life.”

“Never. Anyway, are you staying here, or?”

“I’m going back to the underworld. Reporting for a mission, et al.”

Percy nods. “See you sometime?”

“See you sometime,” Nico promises, and fades back into the shadows.

«»

“Welcome back, son,” Hades says. “The mission was successful, I presume.”

“Yes, Father, it was.”

Hades gives a single nod, as to dismiss Nico.

“I believe I am a god now,” Nico tells him.

Hades gives another nod. “It appears people have begun to think of you as a god, and as thus you are. The effects will start to set in. Do not leave until you are in control of your godly form.”

“I see,” Nico lies. He, in fact, does not see. “I should take my leave now, Father.”

He leaves towards his rooms.

Nico di Angelo, god of something. It sounds odd, but it could work, maybe. He could change the gods.

He just has to make sure the gods don’t change him first.

[emjiroki]

Omegaverse *and* tribal au just the thought has me freaking drooling...... and the world building opportunities that secondary genders could bring in to tribal life like just imagining all the ways it could work is so cool!

Also just like. Enji in leather and jewelry and nothing else... Enji in the firelight under a full moon... Enji with tattoos that celebrate his successes... Enji scooping you up and carrying you to somewhere at least passably private to fuck your brains out....... 🥺😳👉👈

AAAAAAHHHHHH okay yes this has been making me crazy!!!! (Disclaimer the only reason the tribal au headcanons weren't Omegaverse was because a nice anon asked if I could make the headcanons regular, I totally understand that Omegaverse is not for everyone! BUT NOW I HAVE A GREAT EXCUSE TO GO FERAL) sorry it took so long everyone I hope you enjoy

Link to the non a/b/o tribal headcanons

18+ ONLY below the readmore

Your courtship was short, a week at the gathering before you agreed to travel back with him to the mountains and only a month before he publicly proclaimed before his tribe council that he, their Chief, would be taking you as his mate and future bride

Enji knows you're his fated mate from the moment he sees you. He always kind of knew his former omega wasn't it, inspite of the arranged marriage. After she had left back to her home tribe he really thought he'd never find love again, until he met you at one of the large tribe gatherings during the harvest season. Your scent drew him in like a moth to a flame and he knew you were his

He did his best to keep to tradition and not copulate with you until your bonding ceremony, so the foreplay was almost constant. He was barely in the mindset for meetings with his tribe members or any sort of celebrations or other important ceremonies, his mind constantly fixated on stretching you on his fingers and drinking your slick down like ambrosia. Your cries of pleasure were like angels singing in his ears and could be heard very clearly to anyone straying too close to his hut. Unfortunately for them...

The first full moon of the summer season finally came your bonding ceremony, he had discussed his tribal traditions with you before hand to make sure you were comfortable and that you weren't caught off guard due to the nature of the ceremony. The beginning was simple, Enji slaughters a goat for a blood sacrifice in your honor and the Shaman paints the blood across you and Enji’s chest first, across your heart for eternal love and across your face and eyelids to ward off negativity and evil. But the second half of the ceremony after your marital beads are place around your throats is the part he tried to make you comfortable with

The tribe council has to be present for the official bonding and first knotting, to at least see you connected and bonding marks fresh bleeding. It made you a little uneasy at first, but with Enji being as aggressive as he is they all kept their eyes to the floor as he shielded you from their view.

He was delicate as he laid you against the fur bedding, whispering reassurance and promises against your skin as he breached your virgin entrance for the first time. The combination of your scents and smell of your blood staining his cock had him nearly going feral but he kept himself steady so he didn't hurt you. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do. "I love you, so much. Endless as the river my sweet omega" he whispers as he kisses the overwhelmed tears from your cheeks. And you believed him, could feel it through the grip of his fingers laced with yours above your head as he began to move and fuck into your soft body. It took a few minutes to adjust to his size but soon you were calling for more, locking your legs around his waist and pulling him into you until his flushed head was tapping your cervix with every thrust of his hips.

Enji was coming to his end just as soon as he expected, your tightness milking everything from him until he was dizzy with your sweet scent flooding his senses. He was holding back drool as he watched your eyes roll back and your pretty swollen lips part in ecstasy. "A-Alpha I'm-" "Cum for me love, let me feel you so I can give you everything" with a strangled and barely coherent cry you were tensing and squeezing around him so hard it nearly forced him out until one of his strong hands locked your hips into place as he growled deeply and released into your warmth, his knot sealing your entrance to keep his cum inside.

With aftershocks of your orgasms racking our bodies you two sealed the bond, your mating marks red, raw, and prominent against your throats as you tasted each others blood. Everything felt calm and peaceful after the bond was set, the pheremones calming and instincts feeling the rightness of everything settling in. The council was all but forgotten about until the motion of them leaving the hut had Enji snarling and holding you close to his body protectively, your blood staining against his chin and bringing forth the true animal version of his instincts that had your inner omega preening and purring against his strong chest.

After a moment you could hear the tribe cheering from the news of your consumation, the great bonfire starting and soon the smell of roasting meat reached your hut and your growling stomachs. "As soon as the knot releases we can join the celebration if you'd like" he says quietly as he strokes his fingers along your spine in a soothing pattern, your own fingers tracing the tattoos along his chest and arms, his many years of success telling stories across his skin. "I'd like that, but could we spend a bit longer in here together, just us?" You asked, feeling vulnerable after your private moment. "Of course, anything for you" he says with a rumbling purr, nosing against his mating mark, "my beloved mate and soon to be mother of my pups".

If anyone has anymore Tribal au thoughts or requests send them my way because I love this au!!! Doesn't have to be omegaverse btw

[icehearts]

Esca Reynault

— B A S I C S

Name: Esca Reynault

Nicknames: Lady Belladonna (derogatory), milady (also derogatory), milady (affectionate???)

Age: Early-to-mid 20s.

Nameday: 7th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon. (7/7)

Race: Midlander Hyur.

Gender: Cis female; she/her.

Orientation: Bisexual.

Profession: Alchemist by way of the Alchemists' Guild of Ul'dah, botanist by way of her father's tutelage, reluctant shopkeep of the family plant nursery-cum-apothecary

.

— P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Long, chestnut, well-kept. Usually swept up in a ponytail or pinned back and out of the way.

Eyes: Tigerseye brown. Inscrutable.

Skin: Fair, unblemished; the complexion of one raised in comfort and relative luxury.

Tattoos/scars: None to speak of.

— F A M I L Y

Parents:

Mother - Leopoldine Reynault, the youngest daughter of a minor house of Ishgard. Members of the Reynault family have historically been employed by larger noble houses as retainers, midwives, maids, cooks, in-house chirurgeons, groundskeepers, among other roles. Father - Warrick Caraway, a Studium-educated botanist and horticulturist with a specialization in environmental, plant, and soil sciences. Part of his ongoing post-graduation research involved evaluating the aetherial qualities of the soil in the various Calamity-affected Coerthan regions, and developing methods to encourage the growth of more diverse foliage and flora that could withstand the recently altered environs.

Siblings: None. She's an only child.

Grandparents: None to speak of. Her parents' union was not approved by either family involved, so Esca's grandparents on both sides remain quite distant.

In-laws and Other: Silas ████████, a Garlean ex-patriot who acts as a sort of older brother figure for Esca.

Pets: None to speak of.

— S K I L L S

Abilities: Alchemy, of course, botany, and she's rather savvy with a needle too. She's no seamstress, but Esca can mend an article of clothing or even stitch up a wound if need be. She has some aptitude for spellcasting, primarily wind- and water-aspected magicks. Her mastery over such magicks is lacking, to say the least, and Esca has little patience for things she can't control.

Hobbies: Reading, tending to the greenhouse, concocting experimental solutions and potions. Hunting down the ones she thinks are responsible for her mother's suspiciously sudden illness. Daydreaming about how she'll pay them back for humiliating her family. Honestly? She needs more hobbies.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Diplomatic.

Most Negative Traits: Deceptive.

— L I K E S

Colors: Blues, whites, blacks. Silver and gold.

Smells: Fresh air, delicate florals. Nothing overpowering.

Textures: Smooth silk, gauzey cotton, weathered leather.

Drinks: Mulled tea, coffee, mint lassi.

— O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never.

Drinks: Very rarely. Alcohol makes it a little too easy for the mask of composure to slip off, so she tends to avoid the stuff. Plus she tends to be an emotional drunk, and that can be embarrassing.

Drugs: None.

Mount Issuance: A snow-white chocobo affectionately named Ambrosia.

Been Arrested: Why? Do you think she's guilty of something?

Tagged by: @paintedscales @sealrock @shroudkeeper tysm <3

Tagging: YOU! 🫵 That's right YOU! If you haven't done this yet but want to, consider yourself officially tagged!

[mekha-draws]

oh man tell us about Turuque (#66308507) ? they look really cool

Ah yes, The Scout, the Aimless Mouthful, Ambrosia's babygirl, one of the Altar's most guy of all time, Turuque!

One of the few who willingly joined the Altar's troupe with no relation to them at all. His past before joining is short and unimportant to him all things considered: exiled from his old home due to an untreated variant of gembond breakout that originated with him which took many of their residents down, he was left to his own devices and took the exile in stride. He would make the most with his circumstances no matter what crossed his path and eventually he managed to lessen his gembond infection via herbal remedies and his own stubborness (the treatment did lessen his outbreak but left hole-like colored spots across his scales and th occasional itch and scarring resulting of picking his own scales and wings)

On one of his many traversals across the canyonwalks he came across what at the time was a ragtag gang composed of Queren, Fass, Ambrosia and Cuu. They let him hang around and share a couple meals while he aided them cross the realm to the nearest city. On their last day, Turuque came to them to let him join their gang assuring them that his assistance would be of use should they require it (it being his practical knowledge in medicine, navigation and generally a good around attitude, not much but its honest work), they declined him. With a half-hearted apology and a vacant promise of goodwill they went their way and him his.

Years would pass before he came across the now entourage, named the Roving Altar, being led by the same small gang he met so long ago. He stalked them from a distance with no particular goal, simply enjoying the feeling of getting to hang around with them like the old times even if it had to be in such a disclosed way. One thing led to another and he found himself in the same position from last time: before them at the crossroads, wanting in. This time though, his wish was given more consideration and after a long discussion and explanation from them, he simply accepted; leaving all leaders baffled at his choice. It's not that Turuque dismissed their warnings or didn't know what he was getting into, he didn't even "see" nor "felt" this so called Altar they would claim to be subordinate to, he just enjoyed having them around and belonging somewhere after so much time.

He is among the first to reach any clans the Altar is interested in meddling with, he pitches the clan's strengths and why they choose said clans for their trading group to make business with. Some clans are more privy to these sort of offers from stranged travellers but Turuque is particularly good with his wordings and manages to get his way for them via good word pressed from previous arrangements or placid conversation and a confident approach (something he will admit he wasn't aware he could pull until being put to practice on a whim), sometimes their negotiations cam take days or weeks and while most have been successful, there are the rare declines that simply roll off his shoulders like nothing, not all can be winners after all.

When the clan gets their way and settle for the coming days of trade and sales, Turuque passes most of his time aiding the traders so their staying is as well received as possible while his friends do their ritual thing (although he thinks he should be more concerned or alert about that part, he knows whatever meddling the Altar does has not afflicted negatively the clans they have visited so he keeps to himself with that). Once all is done and everyone packs to leave he gets to spend time once again with his pals, having now time to chat and play a bit to lessen their worries or talk away what weighs in their minds. He is well aware of Fass' failing mind be it to his delusions or the maybe real thing controlling him around, Queren's sudden absence and Ambrosia's stress and Cuu's fears; he knows he can't do much to really fix anything on his own, he really doesn't know what he is working with and refuses to acknowledge the big That which clearly haunts this whole clan. But it's really difficult to do so when there's nothing at all, so in the meantime he only nods and plays along

[nicotinemaiden]

A night to map the centuries;

Pairing: Astarion x Dhyula (F!Tav) Rating: E (Smut) Word count: 5,399 Summary: He had just needed to satisfy his curiosity, to drink strong blood in order to be stronger himself since the fights were now a common occurrence, since he refused to be deemed as 'too weak' and left aside. However, he hadn't expected her to accept him with a worried gaze and gift him her red ambrosia with little more than a word, to make him feel sensations he had all but forgotten, to make him crave the warmth of her skin after centuries of aversion. You can also read on AO3.

His cold hand sneaked under the incredibly smooth cloth of her nightgown, his fingers tracing the valley of her belly, the sensitive skin of her waist, until they reached her soft chest, her nipple perking towards him, her quiet and breathless moan inspiring him to bite harder, to drink more.

He hadn’t expected, while he watched her return to her tent after spending the evening with their local wizard, that he would be able to taste her so fully, so deeply, his lips stained red with the pleasure of the first thinking being he had been able to wet his throat with, his fangs deeply buried inside the lower area of her neck until he could only feel negative space between them and her vein.

She was delicious, her blood warming his tongue with a mouthwatering savour, burning in his freezing throat until it created a river inside of it, until he had a hard time believing he could be satiated with something or someone that wasn't her.

When people mentioned partaking in feasts worthy of the gods he was sure they referred to that exact moment, that exact flavour. The question of whether or not it was a quality of sentient and thinking beings or one exclusively besotted to her remained in his mind for a second before he pushed it to the back of it, where it wouldn’t sully the moment, where his curiosity wouldn’t get the best of him and he would break it to launch the question out loud, at her, who most probably couldn't even answer him. Who most surely would look at him as if he was little more than an insect acting like an entitled noble, wanting to taste everything out of sheer curiosity.

But it wasn't only that which was deeply confusing for him, which made him dizzy — he would have understood if that was the point, if that was everything she had to offer, if the cause for it was the novelty of the situation. He didn't expect her to accept, to begin with, while he pronounced his secret out loud for the first time in centuries. He didn't expect her to be awake when he snuck into her tent, hoping to take a bite out of her without the need to offer further explanation, without the memories of all his lies taking place in his brain. He had planned to drink a bit, just enough to have adequate strength for the fights they were encountering since this damn worm was planted into his brain, nothing remotely reaching the lengths of the gift she had given him.

Yet when he saw her opening her brilliant golden eyes and looking directly at his teeth, his fangs, he thought he was done for. If he was lucky she would only push him away, she seemed kind and gracious enough to grant him that — he hoped to, at least, have been charming enough to avoid receiving a stake through his heart instants later.

He had not, however, counted on having been charming enough to be invited inside the tent despite being there already, to be granted permission to drink from her, to be accepted. Dhyula, whose name had stuck in his head since he heard her pronounce it for the first time, whose name he refused to use not out of lack of memory but of desire of making things too personal, had not known what he was before, though she had suspected it, he had no doubt, because she wasn't even half as surprised as he would have been in her place, finding a monster lurking near her bedroll in the middle of the night. And, instead of screaming at him, instead of banishing him from their camp and their company, he worried for him, her concern obvious in her expression while he explained that his diet was insufficient with the rats and birds he could get while traveling with them, with the boars and cows he rarely had the privilege of sinking his teeths into. With the amount of fighting they were doing it was a miracle he was still there — his feeble and malnourished self missing half of his attacks, his strength draining day after day — he explained to her while she listened thoughtfully to part of his story, to anecdotes he had never told anyone before because who, exactly, would he tell? He hadn’t even wanted to tell her, of all people. He had created a plan to try and seduce her, offering his body in exchange of safety, in exchange of protection, because he had assumed he would be found out sooner or later. If Dhyula, who had apparently taken the role of leader of their little troupe, was smitten with him, no one would oppose her, no one would mean a threat to him, not while he traveled with them at least. He needed to use his assets as best as he could, he needed to survive, just as he had done every year before this one.

But the feelings the situation brought to him were… not new— though they felt like it, they felt completely different to everything he had known up to clashing with her now — but forgotten. He took his fangs out of her neck before she said anything, before she warned him he was drinking too much, not without the need of forcing himself out, not without realizing that she was exactly what he had wanted to drink from the very start, from the second his broken nails removed the last strands of earth from his tomb and showed him his new life, the new freedom that never truly was.

The residual flavour of her blood left a pleasant sensation in his mouth, his tongue adventurously licking the small mischievous drops that journeyed down her skin and towards her cleavage. It followed them for a moment before getting distracted by the taste of her skin, by the aroma of the horned half-elf who was treated as an abomination everywhere they went, of the warlock who wanted to help everyone and only received disgusted looks and distant words — of the person who had just shown him, after almost two centuries, what it meant to be aroused, to desire someone, to crave her lips, her body, with such intensity he felt breathless. He felt a connection with her, an attraction he hadn’t felt since soon after he was turned, and he would have died again to pursue it, to keep feeling as alive as he was feeling at that moment.

“Astarion…”

Her voice was a whisper, an unspoken question of what he was doing, a confused, escaped murmur of the way his name was supposed to sound before every other lover he had been forced to take stained it, but not a reproach, not a plead for him to stop but the very opposite. She was confused, lost and, unexpectedly, accepting— but so was he. He had never got to choose who he shared his body with, not willingly. He just… had to do it, in fear of facing the consequences he learned pretty quickly opposing Cazador brought him, in fear of the misery he could impose on him. Yet there was no master now, he didn’t have a reason to do this besides securing her protection with the rest of the group. He was ready to flirt with her, throw at her some of his favorite lines, the ones that never failed, and force himself through it as he had done so many times before — he never expected… this. He thought he had lost that part of himself forever.

He took a moment to look at Dhyula, the gorgeous woman who tilted her head to the side while gazing up at him, her golden eyes ardent and yearning yet surprised, a bit taken aback. Her curved black horns — the ones that matched her long, coal hair, the ones that shouldn’t be there in the first place but that suited her so beautifully — now deprived of the decorations that usually hanged from them during the day, framed her cheeks, her chin, the full lips which she decided to nervously bit exactly the moment he was looking.

He knew it was an illusion but he could feel his heartbeat rise at the sight, at the realization that he truly desired her — that for once he had found someone who enticed him, someone special and different to everything he had known — and that he was extremely close to snapping and throwing all logical thinking, which he still liked to believe he had, off the window.

The way she was looking at him, innocently and in wonder, didn’t help in the slightless.

He should have probably said something. He should have probably thrown a flirty line or a small joke to make the air less heavy, to rest importance to the moment, but instead he surrendered to his instincts and he kissed her, taking her lips with his as a ravenous beast claiming his prey, one of his hands supporting him and the other enjoying the warm of her stomach, the way her breath stopped for an instant each moment his fingers drifted to the inside area of her thigh. She answered him slowly and dubitative, grabbing his upper garment softly, as if she was unsure whether to push him away or pull him towards her yet deciding herself for the latter. 

It turned out he was pretty sure all of her tasted as finely as her blood, if her lips were anything to go by. He had forgotten how it felt to be kissed that way, to want to be kissed. It was a unique sensation, a sensation he hadn’t noticed he had missed so badly until it was right in front of him once more.

He moved his leg upwards on the slim mattress, using it to open her legs more widely until the bulge of his cock could grind wonderfully against her panties, deepening the kiss and playing with her tongue in a way that was simultaneously studied and impulsive, improvised. He never improvised. He knew every step, in every shape and color — there was no need to improvise, no freedom to. Until that night, until her.

She broke the kiss after a minute, panting, flushed, leaving him almost broken in the process, the craving unceasingly growing inside of him, the fire she had ignited in him uncontrollable and wild. He didn’t remember the last time he forgot himself that way, the memory too distant to his present, if it ever truly existed at all.

“I… What are we doing Astarion? We know nothing about each other, are we really at the point of letting ourselves go? Shouldn’t we have our heads busy enough without you stealing the rest of my thoughts?”

He panicked for a moment. Had he done something wrong, perhaps? Should he be more in his game? Was he doing this to win her protection or because he truly wanted to? He had passed the point of caring about his reasons and that fact alone answered his own question.

He kissed her neck and she groaned, slightly annoyed but allowing him to hear the soft laugh of it, her skin trembling, her chest arching towards him and the hand that couldn’t stop feeling her skin moving to meet it, his fingers slipping to play with one of her nipples. He had no reason to lie to himself — he couldn’t wait to see them, to eat them, to enjoy them fully. He wanted to do everything to her, a lot more of what the short night could give them time to, a lot more of what she seemed confident doing with him at the current moment.

“Darling, you’re sending me conflicting messages and I’m unsure which one I should pay attention to. There’s one I like a lot more than the other.”

She chuckled and took a deep breath before looking at him, a caressing hand upon his jaw. There was a lot more in her eyes that she was not saying. The problem wasn’t how much they knew each other or the trust she had on him, it was something personal, a lack of confidence in herself, fear of disappointing him. Her gaze moved away before she sighed. 

“It’s been a long time since I… I haven’t even kissed someone in decades, as pathetic as that sounds. I'm nothing special, unlike you.”

Her statement seemed so incredibly sad, so resigned to her current vision of the world and the vision she inspired on others, so defeated against the fact that someone could find her attractive, pretty, not an utter monster, that she seemed in complete disbelief of his genuine interest. But he was one too, a real one, unlike her. And it didn’t stop him from feeling at the top of the world, seeing that very small piece of himself grow a little confidence, knowing this situation, this sensation, was somehow a start, a rebirth, an after that left each encounter before this one in the before. He had claimed the moment, the terror of facing the consequences ever present, his master’s eyes rendered in front of him by his imagination. But he wasn’t there, he had no way of controlling him now, it was impossible for him to tear this reclaimed feeling from him, to tear her from him. He needed to take advantage of the moment, needed to make his choice, for once.

“My dear, you seem to be painfully unaware of your charms. You are beautiful, beautiful enough to bring a dead man back to life.”

She chuckled once more, not fully believing his words but accepting them as something positive after seeing his smirk mirroring hers, her smile remaining for a moment while they looked at each other. He moved closer, ready to take the following silence as permission to reclaim the lips that had been stolen from him, but she moved slightly out of reach, her breathing clashing with his mechanical, unnecessary one — so close and yet so horribly far away from the place where it should be.

“I don’t want neither of us to regret what you are pushing to happen. I don’t want you telling me that it was provoked by your drinking from me or something of the sort. If I do this, the last thing I want to hear is that I was a mistake.”

She was trusting him, it was implied in her words. She wanted this to happen, but was afraid he would regret it, was afraid he really didn’t want this, that it was the situation acting and not him. Was she right? Was her blood talking from inside of him, the wonderful feast guiding his actions? And how could he be sure it was not if he had never before been in this position? Should he stop, even if he truly didn’t want to? No, the only thing his logic was awfully insistent with was the correction that, if anything was a mistake, it would be leaving now, renouncing the opportunity to take back that small piece of himself, try to forget the warm of her hand on his chest, pulling his shirt up to sneak it inside until she could touch the body he was so proud of, the one everyone adored, the one that had brought more sad and forced moments than happy ones.

“Love, if perfection had a name, it would be yours. You couldn’t be a mistake, perhaps not even if you tried to. I’m not asking you to marry me nor to spend the rest of our life together, I just want for both of us to have a fun, unforgettable night shared with each other, to get to know you in a… different light to the one we’re used to.”

She laughed lightly, shacking her head, possibly telling herself that this was a bad idea but convinced enough to keep going, convinced enough to let her hands remove his upper garment completely and throw it away from them where it wouldn’t be a problem for their next set of actions, convinced enough to bite his lower lip and pull it softly towards her until they were fully reveling on their passionate embrace, until there was little to no space between their bodies, their dance just starting but already in full swing.

She turned them until she was on top of him, anxiously, nervously and desperately removing her nightgown, too quickly for it to be a normal gesture, too impatient to hide her body from him again, as if she just decided to take it out because it was what was expected of her and not because she truly wanted to. He recognized the gestures all too well and stopped her before she could kiss him again, forcing her to remain in his sights, the only covered up part of her body the most intimate one, the one he had more urge to enjoy. The reason as to why she would feel insecure about herself, misplaced horns included, escaped him. In what twisted mirror had she seen her body, including the scars that adorned it, the features of her face, her extremely long, braided, black hair that almost reached the floor when she walked, to believe herself anything but gorgeous, he could not answer.

He had always abhorred art, but he understood it a little better when his gaze had free reign to roam her naked body, when he couldn’t stop thinking it would make for a beautiful painting.

She shied from him, sighing and looking away, her braid tickling near his knees, her brilliant, big eyes closing for a moment, as if enduring it, as if giving him time to get on with it. He grabbed her chin, his thumb caressing her surprised lips while his other hand wandered from her hips to her waist and chest and back again, her arms over his chest carefully hiding hers until he started moving them away with small gestures. He wanted to make clear without the need for words that his desire to see her was real, that she truly was precious in his eyes, that he didn't understood how she hadn’t had thousands of lovers if she had wanted to before but that he would do his best tricks to make her return to sexual interaction so pleasant she would start searching for it again, searching for him, again.

Seeing her playful yet timid attitude he turned her again, pinning her to the slim mattress that was her bedroll, her wrists tied over her head by his left hand. She seemed flustered by his action, her cheeks darkening red, her mouth half opened trying to get the air that refused to stay within her borders.

Those sweet gestures, the fact that he had won her over despite her doubts and had her completely at his will, only inspired him more, his lips finding her neck and kissing their way towards her naked chest until his teeth could bite her left nipple, until she moaned, her hips coming to meet his, her leg surrounding it and pushing him towards her.

His free hand stopped his wandering to focus on creeping into her underclothes, to focus on finding and touching her clit and the entrance of her cunt, to focus on giving her pleasure despite his frustration about the cloth still remaining in place. It had been too long since he found any kind of satisfaction in pleasuring others yet it felt so different now — he wanted her to moan his name against his lips and the thought of such desire was enough to make things difficult for him, enough to feel at the edge every couple of minutes, enough to forget he was supposed to stop her from touching him at the moment.

She grabbed his hair, her wrists releasing themselves with far too ease from his loose clutch, learning from how rough he was being and matching it perfectly, and brought him suddenly up to her perfectly sculpted mouth, stealing his breath away, not giving him time to think about any next steps. It was freeing, having no need to calculate, no need to act more than he had done to reach this situation, no need to be overly conscious and aware of everything that was happening around him.

Without warning, without releasing his lips even for a second, without a single movement that betrayed her intentions she took his cock in her hand, lowering his trousers too little for his needs, and stroked it once, almost making him jump out of the kiss only to pull him back in, her movement restarting and stopping in the perfect rhythm. Would he be an asshole if he told her he didn't believe she had had no lovers in the past decades? Because by how she knew exactly which of his buttons to push, because she licked his lips before drifting to his neck and biting hard near his last scar, he was inclined to be unconvinced by her previous statement. He was more inclined to believe her an expert, and he had plenty to compare her to.

Smirking, he followed her game and moved to finally discard her panties, placing himself in a lower position, kissing and biting his way down until he reached her inner thigh and allowed himself to drink from it, to suck the blood from her in a messier way, crazier, uncontrolled, his tongue needing to catch the drops that fell outside his mouth while she tried to wriggle away from him.

She hissed, groaned, grabbing his head once again, this time to force him to stay in place, to nail his fangs further into her leg, searching for a specific kind of pleasure only he could give her. And he was making her wait, just because. He felt powerful watching and feeling her reaction.

Lightheaded between his feast and the proximity of her entrance, the deep aroma of it fully invading his delicate senses, he didn’t even realize when his hand had moved to invite itself inside, feeling the walls of her cunt closing against his fingers, the movement of her hips searching for a lot more of what he was offering, her breathing replaced by small, involuntary sounds. As much as he loved eating her blood as the most delicious meal, as a drug he could easily become dependent on in the way he had been intoxicated with her, he was impatient about eating her wholly, about using his tongue besides his fingers to grant her the sweet release she was pleading for.

He relished the sensation, the impatience, the eagerness and anticipation, the joy.

He continued his work, savoring her clit like caramel, using both his hand and his tongue to explore her depths while her nails scratched the skin of the back of his neck, until she was undone for him, her quiet and contained sounds stimulating him to try harder, to make her scream for all the rest of their companions to hear. He continued even after, while she tried to separate herself from him without success, while she pushed him away with a breathless laugh until she changed their position, giving him a beautiful sight from under her body.

She grinded against his cock while desperately eating his mouth out, reclaiming herself on it, not an ounce of the shyness she had demonstrated before showing.

He liked her more in bed, he decided then. Dhyula was usually kind, sweet and shy. She didn't appear as so because of her black horns and glowing golden eyes, part or punishment of her hellish pact, he hadn’t asked, but she was. So much so in fact he had assumed she had some kind of ulterior motive, some secret she had kept from the rest, much as himself. He still had trouble believing she simply wanted to do good to a world that had never treated her right, to a world that didn't deserve it. He had clearly deemed it too much work a long time ago. If no one was kind to him, if everything he had known was based on how society was a conquest, survival of the fittest, why would he bother trying to be a good person? He had tried before and it hadn't been worth it, in the end.

Yet the Dhyula that was with him tonight, the woman who was forcing him to look outside his box, outside his cage, the half-elf with black strands of hair decorating her face that looked at him as if she just wanted to meet every expectation anyone could have and more, that one he could enjoy, that one he wouldn't mind to turn into more usual fun, something he had never been allowed to.

Before he realized what she was doing he felt his cock sliding into her incredibly hot and wet cunt, without resistance, without opposition of any kind, as if it was a place made specifically for him, as if he had just picked her open like one of the locks he had learned to crack. He hadn't noticed, until one of his soft moans escaped him, that he hadn’t been putting a display like he was used to, exaggerating his pleasure for the other person to enjoy. He had been himself, having fun and forgetting everything he usually did, allowing his body to release the groans and moans he needed to, and not one each time something happened just to make the other party feel better.

This was real, it honestly was.

He didn’t know how to take such information.

The warlock started moving on top of him slowly at the start, her upper body leaned back, her hips and legs doing all of the work, the burning image of her head thrown back while she rode him way too special for him to discard. He grabbed her thighs strongly, bringing her down each time she moved up, synching both their movements and the quiet sounds their throats made, raising the stakes, the speed, the intensity.

It turned out, as he realized while he moved up to meet the curve of her boobs and the peak of her nipples, to place small bites along her neck before stealing her lips and the moan that they granted him, he didn’t had, at present, much more tolerance for doing things he wanted, wasn’t used to it — he had been so damn close every time she squeezed his cock with her inner walls he could only hope to bring her down with him.

So he moved her under him without leaving her, without asking for permission, and grabbed her leg until it rested on his shoulder, watching her bite her pillow to contain herself and smiling at it. It was just a second before they were bustling once more, desperate to touch the other, to kiss them, bite them, leave on them a forever mark since each of them had a reason to remember this night.

Deprived of control and frustrated about it she tried to move more from her position but he only took advantage of it by moving his thumb to her clit, watching her relax to it, release her body to him and the circles his finger was able to do while he fitted himself inside her deeply, until he couldn’t see nothing of his cock except for the moments in which he was thrusting inside.

By the time he felt her spasms overcome her he had little to no patience left, had been containing himself as best he could to wait for her and couldn't wait a minute to allow his own release to follow her, motivated even more by the only loud sound, the only loud moan she had gifted him along the night, so musical and rough, so natural and free. He felt possesive with it, with her, wishing the rest of the camp to have heard, to know who she was spending her night with, to learn to respect him as the one who fucked their leader, who made her see stars.

Even cumming felt different, he thought to himself, as if the release hadn't been only a tonight thing but something he had been wishing for a very long time. As if something he had been needing eons before now. He felt so relaxed, the problems of the world — of his master, of the tadpole in his head and the possibility of turning into an even greater monster, of watching his body being taken away from him again — vanished behind a cloud of overwhelmingly positive emotions, of fulfillment and enjoyment, of confidence.

He was conscious it wasn’t exactly normal, as a male, to finish and want to fuck her again almost inmediatly, but he couldn’t think about anything else, not while they tried to resume a normal breathing while laid in the ground, with her turned towards him eyes closed and sweet smile. What had she done to him? She had mentioned how he was stealing the rest of his thoughts but she had replaced his completely.

He should have gone, should have left her to sleep or to her reverie, whatever she preferred, should have joked about how amazing it had been while he buttoned his pants. Instead, she had looked at him with an understanding expression before getting up to pick her own clothes, giving him a clear vision of her back, the scars that decorated her body more prominent there. He felt reflected in them for a second before discarding the thought, replacing it with the desire that refused to be subdued.

He wanted to fuck her from behind, to grab her horns and pull them towards him while his cock joined her ass, while he buried it even deeper than tonight and his fingers worked inside her cunt, to drink from her while she came for him. He needed to stop looking at her if he wanted to be able to function properly.

“I have to admit I might have needed it.”

She laughed, the sound tainted with her following words, with the conflict she was feeling internally that he was sure he could see in her eyes if she wasn’t looking away. He had seen her type before, her lack of confidence in herself in some, more intimate, matters, the thought that it was a miracle that someone could be interested in her, that someone could have a good time at her side. He didn’t like watching her, of all people, struggling with it.

“But you can go if you want. You've seen everything I have to offer. I just hope it was a little fun for you too.”

He wouldn’t let the night, his magical, mystical night that might never be repeated, end in such a sour tone. Moving as quickly as his not entirely normal body allowed him, he grabbed her by her waist and turned her towards him, claiming her lips and sensing her reciprocating almost immediately, following him, grabbing him, as reluctant to say goodbye, to stop what they just found, as he felt. Her breath clashed with the skin of his mouth, warm and inviting, when he took a moment to flirt with her, his hand in the lower part of her back, bringing her closer.

“Eager to get rid of me darling? Because there's still night left and I still have a lot of ideas on how we could spend it.”

She bit her lip, fixating her golden orbs upon his with a playful smile, deciding, debating, trying to find if he was lying to her. But he wasn’t. He had wanted to, he would lie to anyone who asked if this night had meant something, he would rest it importance if it was her. But he was enticed by the warlock, by the things that turned her into a demon in the eyes of the rest, by the scars that were testimony to the horrible treatment life had given her, by her mischievously shy attitude that dropped when in private, that dropped while she wildly rode him into oblivion.

He wasn't surprised to find himself in her tent still when the first rays of sunshine of the next day slipped under the curtain of the door.

[peggingmegamind]

William Andrew Solace is okay. He has always prided himself on his ability to shake off the negative things in his life. His therapist, teachers, and mother all hailed him from a young age for being “resilient.” His mother used to call him her sunshine; during one of her particularly bad episodes, she took a sad little eight-year-old Will by the shoulders and said to him, “C’mon Sunshine! You’re the only one in this family who’s happy! We’re all relying on you, Don’t let your smile slip!” And since then, he was always sure to remain strong for his family. After Lee’s death, after Michael’s death, after losing countless patients during the Titan and Giant wars, he never slipped, never faltered. He was the strong eldest brother all his siblings needed. It didn’t matter to him that he was just going through the motions, living through profound numbness and fog, so long as he could keep his family at camp safe and stable. That was all that mattered. Taking care of people was all that mattered. 

Three days at the infirmary. Pretty typical, especially given everyone at camp is recovering from a war. Rather short, honestly, in comparison to some of his other patients. Will does what he’s always done. He stays steadfast and hardworking. Nico isn’t his only patient, not by a long shot, but somehow in the blur of IV fluids, ambrosia, and bandages, he manages to stand out. It might be his smart mouth and hatred of being cared for and under chthonic power arrest. More likely, it is Will's persistent crush on the guy since he arrived at the battle of Manhatten flanked by three gods. But who’s to say, honestly? 

It’s a moot point anyways. He’s got a clinic full of injured kids and a cabin full of siblings who need his guidance. He really does not need to add a pathetic, one-sided crush on a two-time war hero to his plate. It’s almost too much, but he can’t bend, can’t show himself struggling to juggle his responsibilities. He just needs to get through this month. It doesn’t matter that he’s been saying that since before the titan war. It’ll be true this time. He will heal everyone who needs to be healed, ensures his siblings are all okay and taken care of, and then everything will be fine. He will feel fine. 

Kayla keeps looking at him. It’s that weird combination of soft eyes and hushed “Dude, are you sure you’re okay? I can hold down the fort if you need a break.” But he doesn’t need a break. He especially doesn’t need to pawn this responsibility and duty onto his younger sister. He’s got this; he always has everything under control. 

Austin’s next. He’s more subtle. He brings Will food and eyes him with that same soft, careful gaze as Kayla. It’s infuriating. Austin takes up more boring jobs around the clinic, filling out discharge forms, cutting bandages, and making sure none of the Ares campers have a cow over being admitted to the clinic for what they call ‘minor injuries’ (It doesn’t matter how many times the Will says it, they insist broken ribs and concussions are injuries that can be fixed with an ice bath and some vics vapor rub). Will wants to protest having his little brother take over these tasks but honestly? He’s just grateful he doesn’t have to power through his forming carpal tunnel to get the records on par with his standards anymore. 

Really he should’ve anticipated Chiron having a talk with him. With everything going on, something had to give, and Kayla confided in Chiron that Will was working himself like a dog. 

The talk was awkward. Will had never been much for lying; quite frankly, he didn’t feel like he was lying. He felt fine. Or at least. A little under his base level of shittiness that he knew he could get out of. Probably. It was disconcerting to have a concerned adult staring at him, prompting him to share his feelings, unwilling to just let him loose and tie up the situation with a nice bow. 

“Sir, with all due respect, I am doing just fine. We’re just busy with all the injuries, and I’m trying to keep all my siblings in check.”

Chiron, compacted into his wheelchair, studied Will’s sleep-deprived face. His eyes were crinkled with knowing concern, and his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Will, your sister came to me concerned about you overworking yourself. Now I know you are tasked with many responsibilities, but I am still here to offer assistance when needed.”

“Yes, but-

“Please, I am not asking about the other campers right now,” Chiron held up a weathered hand, silencing the young healer. “I want to hear about how you are doing. You do not need to carry this burden alone.”

Usually, those words wouldn’t have impacted Will. Usually, offerings of support or help stuck about as well as water on a duck's back. But standing in the big house, exhausted, worn down, and disrespected by the very campers he was trying to take care of, he caved. He broke down. He told Chiron about how he felt he couldn't rely on anyone, how he felt like a ghost walking through life, and how he felt like an outsider just trying to keep everyone satiated and happy. He’s mortified, unloading all of these feelings on an activities director with whom he has a semi-friendly but not close relationship, but he just can’t seem to stem the tidal wave of emotions that spill from his lips. He tells him about what his mother said all those years ago. About how he must always be strong and happy for his family. To be the guiding light that leads them out of the darkness. It’s all so personal, and he feels naked and vulnerable, but he feels. Opening up feels like a gaping knife wound across his chest, but there is some modicum of relief because at least someone else knows. At least someone else was there to witness his pain. 

Chiron sits through all of it. He listens. And when Will finally ramps down from his word-vomit speech and says,

“Oh Gods, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to just unload all that onto you.”

Chiron scoffs good-naturedly and levels him a kind smile, and says,

“As I said before, you do not need to carry this burden alone. You have people here who care about you. I am always here to listen to you, Will. You need to learn to trust your siblings. They worry about you, and your refusal to talk with them about what troubling you hurts them worse than you know.”

They sit and talk a little longer. Chiron recommends some readings to help Will proceed from where he’s at. And then Chiron pats his hand and sends him on his way. 

And it’s not all better. Not by a long shot. He still feels numb and sad. He’s exhausted, and his eyes are swollen from crying, and his nose is raw from the kleenex they have a camp. Things are still as they were. But he feels a little lighter. Like maybe the world won’t end if he lets Kayla and Austin take over the infirmary this afternoon so he can nap and have a good meal. And maybe sometime after the hectic aftermath of the war has dispersed, they can talk about everything.