#anyways i might delete this later its just on my mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slu7formen · 9 months ago

Note

I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up”

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her like this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan blurb #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

717 notes · View notes

pinkyjulien · 25 days ago

Text

WIP Saturday 🙋‍♂️

Been slowly gettin' back into CP77 modding and wanted to do some comfy hoodie :3

First attempt was a port from Marvelous Designer

Everything was going fine, weight was decent, but trying to get the materials right was fucking my groove up

Wasn't satisfied with how it looked, the shadows were unpleasant, and couldn't find any materials that I liked - so I ended up tossing it aside (didn't delete it! Might rework in the future when I feel better about it 👀)

Instead, I decided to work from a Vanilla garment!

Pics from Khagan's Clothing Catalog

I love this hoodie and used it a lot during my PL playthrough - tho it's way too crowded for what I had in mind, a simple, comfy hoodie

Even if I was able to delete some of the additional bits, a big part of it is actually baked into the main submesh (like a lot of vanilla meshes)

After my unbuckled Aldecaldos jacket I feel more confident tackling heavy editing projects tho, so this wasn't TOO spooky 👌

First thing first, I deleted a big chunk from the left top side and kept the bottom part (to keep the assymetry and natural flow of the fabric) then I mirrored the right side and connected everything to the remaining left side

Fixing a mesh up means I also need to unwrap its UVs again - AND that means duplicating, moving and flipping the normal map to follow the new unwrapped uvs

Same with the mlmask layers, but that comes later 🧍‍♂️

The original Hoodie has a bunch of additional meshes; the sleeves and hoods variants are on a separate mesh that gets called by the OG entity

I decided to merge everything into a single mesh, easier to handle for me in the AXL structure later 🔎

Regardless, still needed to move the sleeves and hoods to match the new fixed left side (since its a mirror of the right side!)

Now that the meshes are fixed both model and UV wise, need to re-weight it from the OG garment 🤚 That concludes the 3D part

AXL side, I went with 4 different garment ent and apps to handle the 4 variants; default (hood down, long sleeves), hooded, rolled sleeves, and hooded + rolled!

A fun lil detail with this mesh is that the hood doesn't have any garment support - with this in mind I decided to use the T1 - inner torso - slots to allow us to wear vest on top of the hoodie

😫👌 Idk idk it scratch my stinky brain really good HGHFH I love it

With everything ready, t'was time to tackle the FUN part; the appearaaaaanceeeees 🤠

I first had 4 designs with 5 colors each - but it quickly turned into 6 colors each; first design being the "basic" / default one, that I named "edgewear"

Gotta keep in mind that each color has 4 mesh variants, so that's already 24 items

I then used the beloved "orange leather" vanilla hoodie with the white barghest face on it (the one I used through my PL playthrough! probably my favorite tbh) as a base for my next design, "quilted"

It has a cute skunk ass hood 🦨

And I'm currently still working on a third design inspired by Varsity Jackets, the... well gfhhg "varsity" design

All of the appearances are still Wips and might change 🧍‍♂️

and I'd like to maybe add one more BUT... that's already 74 items, I don't like having too much options hgfh but dynamic AXL makes it really easy to just go apeshit with variations

ANYWAY I felt like doing another Behind The Mod TM post :3 some of y'all like them and I like sharing my modding stuff!

#cyberpunk 2077 #modding shenanigans #modding wip #long post #ITS FUN ITS FUN I'm having fun with CP77 modding again 🐴#now that I'm comfy with heavy edits of vanilla meshes I have more ideas tbh #might stop porting for a while cause yeah not feeling it anymore atm

36 notes · View notes

hosuuuus · 23 days ago

Note

why does writing make u sad? are ppl being mean? pls don’t put any pressure into ur writing like its just a bit of fun. but like if its makes u sad then that can’t be helped. sending hugs x

was thinking of filtering my answer for a bit, but ahh screw it. personal blog anyways. if i say anything too raw or bitchy or kinda ..eh. i'll either delete in the morning, or just learn from it.

cw: rant. might delete later but ive been frustrated. (if my tone gets snipppy it's not you anon!! love you love you lots anon and im sending you the biggest warmest tightest hug on earth ;3;!!! you're so sweet <3)

Anyways anon i think that's why I want to stop. Exactly because it's supposed to feel fun. but it's not anymore.

I think I miss the times when my blog felt like i was just talking to a few friends online, bounce off each other's ideas, and then that. now that, that was fun.

but overtime, I guess with how other ppl saw how i bounced off everyone's ask with a full on yap session, they prolly think that i'd work always like that. Not to sound like im being specific about it, but I guess there are times where I can feel ppl just send in something short, and they sleep with the thought that the next day, I just barfed out a whole entire drabble for them ready to read. Like as i've said... some version of freaking chatgpt.

not even a damn please

just straight up

"this character doing this."

like okay that's it.

not that I don't appreciate anons sending in ideas and their thoughts, I really do. But there's a difference in the feeling you get when... let's say I've brought out some baked strawberry pie, and people have a slice and they like the pie and ask about it's filling, ingredients, if i have anymore strawberry or pie recipes planned.

versus someone just taking a slice, and instead of saying they like it or at the very least ask about it, the first thing they just go is

"when are you going to make oreo cheesecake."

or.. something like that? do i make sense??? ugh.

which okay the first few times, just ignore it right? who cares lol, it's your blog. do what you want. don't mind that. write for you, and the people who actually show they care.

but when you get spammed the next day with a few more asks like that, it does get a bit tiring when that's all your greeted with.

and i guess im confused about my feelings on it because my blog somehow feels overwhelming with ppl, but at the same time it feels like it lacks... ppl. which is so weird to say, but i do feel that way anyways. it's like the more people find out about it, the more empty it feels.

And idk, it's even worse when I've also said i kinda grew a distaste for strawberry pie now, and the very first thing, THE VERY FIRST THING i receive after i just post saying something like "hey i think im gonna take a little break from strawberry pie now.. it kinda makes me feel sick from the smell" is 6 more asks the very next day saying

"omg can you make more strawberry pie? i just found out about your strawberry pie. heres a list of more strawberry recipes."

like every single time.

and yeah. honestly i just choose to ignore these things. literally plug my ears and go on a break. vacation mode and all that. it's my blog, ill write when i want, ill make strawb pie when i want.

But i just can't help but long for when i actually felt like im talking to people and they're actually like talking to me. pie or no pie. the pie was just an extra. and i actually felt GOOD about giving my pie sometimes because people have made it clear that they loved it, and they really like it! and there's a connection because well... i like making pie now for you guys! i made it for my tastes, but its nice that it suits your tastes as well! :) ! yay!! i love the vibes going on, you guys are cool.

just gonna say it honestly: i miss feeling appreciated. i miss feeling like a friend, who just so happens to write/bake pie, and people get excited and say so when i tell them I have something I want to share.

because now all it feels like is the only way i can ever talk to people again is if i pick up those damn strawberry pie recipes and show up with a whole tray of it.

And as much as I want to think "oh you don't have to do that.", it's so undeniable how it's all they ever care about.

Like the only time people ever want to talk to me is when i make strawberry pie again. and which okay maybe that's an oopsie on my part because that's all my blog was about in the early days.

but the funny thing is, the FUNNIEST thing to me is: it's so damn rare to see people comment about my strawberry pie, despite the fact they've made it abundantly clear that's all they're here for.

"blah blah blah you shouldn't complain at least people are showing trying out your pie. there are some people out there who can barely get ppl to get into their stuff"

i am. im thankful, never forget that. I hold each and every person who atleast tried some of my stuff dear to my heart. I would go more insane if i just held all these thoughts on my own and got ignored. I love that I've gotten some really nice and lovely people to talk with!!! and i love that im even moots and even friends with them til now!

but i guess im so frustrated because: how many times do writers have to act nice and shy about "hey uh... if you guys liked my work maybe you can leave a little uh.. thing? a little note just saying you kinda like it? even an emoticon is fine :-) if not totally understandable haha."

I think my frustration is doubling over because it's not just me, i just don't like seeing anymore fellow writers or artists who work so hard, so so hard, and so lovingly into their craft, and have to act nice about asking for appreciation from time to time. measly crumbs of comments when they deserve so so much more than that.

because as much as we want to preach the "write for yourself" thing, there's still an undeniable sense of gratitude and loyalty authors/writers will always have with their audience. so sure, maybe we''ll throw a bone, you liked my stuff, i like your stuff, we bounce off each other, everyone's happy!

but holy shitttttttttttttttttt do people make u feel like sometimes that that's all you're good for.

which makes you get into this weird limbo wherein:

we are here for your strawberry pie and just your strawberry pie. will we grab a slice right in front of you, every time you make strawberry pie? yes.

will we ever talk to you and tell you that we like your pie, maybe even thank you sometime for the effort or even say how it tastes good?

fuck no.

in fact, how about we just ask you when the next batch will be. or how about we just ask you to make another one right here right now. we want one with a bit more whip cream.

Can we at least say please?

...no.

and its soooooooooooooo so funny too because when i stop making strawberry pies. im sure by now some people will just go:

"that's alright,.. at least we know what it tastes like. we'll just put your strawberry pie ingredients into some other writer, or some other machine and ask them/it to make the pie for us."

which makes me feel ??? i don't know?? because i stopped making those pies, but somehow. for some reason. they're everywhere. which i don't know if i should feel happy and grateful because "wow i guess ppl really like the pie...?" but then again, they make it very very VERY clear that:

we just like the pie. not you.

#which is why i want to just DELETE every single post containign strawberry pie until now. maybe the whole blog since it's full of it anyways #anyways ... yeah yeah. starting out my gratitude journal or something #obviously there are people who are very sweet to me. and its automatically assumd without being said that they are not who im talking about #but the others... y'all know who you are

17 notes · View notes

nerves-nebula · 2 months ago

Text

sa ramblings under here, specifically about sa and pregnancy

nobody is asking for my opinion on this but its something i've thought about all my life. which is that i'd probably carry a rapists baby to term if i had the choice and resources at the time. cuz i want a kid and i don't want to have sex or pay for fertilization or anything. and if it already happened then. well. might as well get something i want out of it.

this is not a take about abortion btw. it's just something about me that's always been the case. i know that conservative freaks want to force people to give birth to rapists babies which is like. awful and disgusting. but it's always made me uncomfortable how people will go to the extreme opposite and say shit like "who would EVER want to CARRY their RAPISTS BABY that's DISGUSTING and EVIL" like idk. me i guess. what happened to it being about choice. you don't have to paint it as an inherently degrading and repulsive and weak thing to choose.

obviously this is hypothetical to me right now, maybe if it actually happened i'd change my mind. but i've been repulsed by the idea of having sex with someone for as long as i can remember, i would think about it a lot as a kid because i didnt WANT to have sex, but i DID want kids, and i did want to get pregnant, and i never knew if i'd have the money to use a donor. plus donors are like, their own whole bag of worms.

so like as a 13 year old i was basically thinking it was the only way to get what i wanted i guess? like i'd get a kid and not have to be stuck with a partner. and yeah i'd get raped, but at the time rape seemed almost inevitable, because my dad was so obsessed with telling me that i specifically was going to be raped.

anyway i might delete this later cuz i know no one on the internet can read, but it's been on my mind i guess. probably cuz my friend told me about people getting mad about a mouthwashing fan comic where anya kept the lil fetus lmao. i haven't seen it so i can't judge it but as someone who wants kids, regardless of how they come to me, i find the knee jerk reaction that its an inherently disgusting, degrading decision to make or write about a little weird. as though it would be conceding to the rapist somehow to decide to have the kid.

to me the choice to keep it or abort it has always been key, and it's the ability to chose that turns it into something empowering. which is why you should always have that choice and not be shame for it either way.

like, if you abort it it's like congrats! you flushed the parasite out of your system and don't have to fear or worry about that anymore! and if you keep it, it's like, someone tried to hurt me and i turned it into something to treasure. but if you don't have a choice either way, that's when it's horrific and degrading. whatever :p

#nnstuff #rambling #sa tw #rape tw

22 notes · View notes

freshthoughts2020 · 6 months ago

Text

No More Big 3! What's Cole's Next Move?!?!

July 11, 2024

If you haven’t read my previous article, scroll down on the freshthoughts2020 tab and check it out. In that article, we discussed whether Kendrick’s feud with Drake might be pointless if he doesn’t aim for the commercial number one spot. With a clear task ahead for Kendrick (whether he follows it or not), we’re left to ask: What is Cole’s next move?

I.Cole's Strong Start in 2024

Cole came into 2024 in a great position in the power rankings and was a strong front-runner to take the lead. He outperformed Drake on “First Person Shooter,” went bar to bar with him again on “Evil Ways” from the “Scary Hours Edition of For All The Dogs,” and just completed a successful national tour.

II.The Apology and Its Aftermath

Cole was set to answer the call when he released his “Might Delete Later” EP. However, moments later, his infamous apology came, leading many people to write him off and not wanting to hear from him for a while. Then he reappeared on the bubbling New York sensation Cash Cobain’s track “Grippy,” which has been regarded as one of Cole’s worst verses. The verse wasn’t even bad, but if it wasn’t mind-blowing post-apology, any verse he penned was going to get panned anyway.

youtube

III.The Dismantling of the Big 3

The idea of the Big 3 has been dismantled. The world waits on a new K-dot album, ready to crown him as number one, while the Drizzy hive stands patient awaiting Drake’s inevitable return. Again, what is Cole to do?

IV.The Two-Part Plan for Cole's Comeback

I believe Cole has to do two things to ensure a great comeback and even get his name back into that front-runner conversation. We know he’s been hyping up his album The Fall Off, which is in a worse position post-beef. Here’s what he should do to make sure his album isn’t swept under the rug when it drops.

youtube

First, Cole has to address Symba. Why Symba? People may have forgotten about that freestyle he did on the “Control” beat, but it needs to be addressed. He sympathized with letting Nas down but went on to say he left Bas and Cozz down, the whole squad down. He slammed him for the apologies. Cole has to address how he didn’t have to clout beef with Kendrick, and most importantly, he has to spank Symba for even thinking he can say that. There are a few angles he can go with, but I probably shouldn’t reveal that. If Cole is capable like I know he is, he should know the angles too. There are plenty of lyricists who will probably make fun of that apology moving forward with general bars, but he needs to make Symba the poster child of what happens when you disrespect Cole.

He needs to do this because Symba has enough lyrical respect from peers and elder statesmen of hip-hop that he’s worth addressing, and because Symba doesn’t threaten Cole in popularity. It’s like Pusha T with Drake. Symba can scorch Cole until he’s blue in the face, but modern rap is a popularity contest, and Cole would never lose that. However, for this to be effective, Cole would have to scorch Symba as if he’s going up against JAY-Z himself—no mercy! If Cole does this, half of the two-part plan to dominance will be secured by everyone taking mental notes: “Maybe we shouldn’t mess with this guy; that apology stuff doesn’t really mean anything.”

The second thing Cole must do is very simple: hits on hits! He has to get into his Forest Hills bag. That’s far from my favorite project from him, but it’s his most commercially successful album, and his sound isn’t compromised! He should re-listen to that album hard while creating The Fall Off and study the singles from Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life. He needs smashes—songs for the radio!

With these two things working in unison, we’ll quickly forget the same people saying they “...never want to hear him again,” “he’s soft,” blah blah, will be the same people saying “oh Cole’s the G.O.A.T., Cole’s the G.O.A.T.”

These are only suggestions, and he can take these suggestions and stuff them up Rubi Rose’s ass for all he cares. But if he still cares and wants to get back in that conversation, he’s got to do something along these lines. It’s not even much, but it’ll be more than enough. Trust!

Visit gettothecorner.com

Follow me on twitter.com/onlyonejaevonn

#LIFE LOGS #LIFE LESSONS #jaevonn harris #jaevonn #j.#cole #j. cole #kendrick lamar #jermaine cole #j.cole #jay-z #hov #kdot #scary hours #for all the dogs #music journalism #hip hop journalism #first person shooter

21 notes · View notes

jedimordsith · 6 months ago

Text

Deleted Scene from Latibule

Luke looked up from his reading when the door to the Organa-Solo apartment slid open. Han wandered into the sitting room a moment later. His sense was warm and relaxed, and his attire matched. His formal jacket was slung over one shoulder, his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his spavat had been untied and hung loose at his collar.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted. “Pretty quiet in here. You didn’t sell my kids to the circus, did you?”

”Not for lack of trying,” Luke quipped back, marking his spot and tossing his data pad on the lounger beside him. “Ringmaster said they were too small yet. Since I have to wait and try again next year, I dropped them back in their beds. They’ve been out cold for an hour. How was the event?”

“Just like every other one,” Han shrugged and flung his jacket over a nearby chair. “Lots of fancy people who like to listen to themselves talk eating fussy hors d'oeuvres and drinking wine that’s more label than taste. Leia had a good time until she and Winter got cornered into a hush-hush meeting with Mon over something.” He frowned. “Why didn’t you go, anyway? You like museums.”

“I’ve already been,” Luke said casually, rolling to his feet and grabbing his glass from the side table.

”This was the grand opening,” Han objected. “What, did you get some kind of special Jedi tour?”

“Something like that,” Luke offered noncommittally, angling past his brother-in-law toward the kitchen.

Han’s demeanor turned smug. “Let me guess — it was one of your excursions with Jade.”

“It might have been,” Luke shot a sly look over his shoulder. “But I’d keep that suspicion to yourself if I was you.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

”Because you have a life day coming up, and if you don’t do anything to bring unwanted attention to Mara, a bottle of Whyren’s gold might find its way into your gift pile.”

“Gold label?” Ambling after him, Han whistled. “How’re you affording that on a Jedi’s salary?”

”Mara’s getting a couple cases at a pretty serious discount,” Luke confided, rinsing his glass and putting it in the cleaning unit. “Someone at the distillery owes her a favor.”

”That’s some favor.” Han cocked his head. “She seems like the type who knows how to collect ‘em, though.”

The Omega in Luke bristled. He immediately quelled the reaction, but not before Han caught it.

“Hey,” he said, lifting his hands, palms out. “You know I’ve got nothing but respect for Jade. The NRI might jump to tawdry assumptions, but that’s just because they lack imagination. Me,” he lowered his hands, pointing at his chest. “I’ve been around the system. Flesh is easy and cheap. You want to collect real favors, you have to get into the weird stuff.” Raising his eyebrows, he held his hands a short distance apart, palms parallel to one another. “Saw a guy trade a whole moon once for this ugly little statue — this big, looked like it oughta be a doorstop at a tacky cantina.”

Amused, Luke felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He clapped a hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder as he passed back toward the sitting room.

He’d known, intellectually, that it would take a while for the NRI to warm up to Karrde and, by extension, Mara. The Intelligence community was skeptical of smugglers as a whole and less than thrilled at how deftly Karrde’s organization had shoe-horned its way into the respectable echelons of the New Republic government. The fact that they couldn’t find a single record of Mara’s existence prior to her work for Karrde only exacerbated their frustrations. He didn’t begrudge them their caution, really.

But after three heats spent in Mara’s bed, the Omega in him had unavoidably begun to think of her as his, and he couldn’t entirely suppress the instinctive resentment that flared when she was disrespected.

Their secret Force-healing and training sessions didn’t help the situation. Mara was intensely careful about her shielding, only ever letting him into one small section of her mind or body at a time, but the anxiety singing at the edges of his touch each time left him profoundly aware of the risk she was taking, entrusting him with even that much. There was something incredibly intimate about extending his own control over the Force into her body, knitting together the fine sheathing around ravaged nerves or unraveling knotted scar tissue and seeing her entire body soften as a long-borne pain slipped away. About the way she smiled when they finished, as if he could see a little more light behind her eyes, a little more spaciousness in her breath.

Then there were their “excursions” as Han called them. Mara had grown up on Coruscant and, much to his delight, Luke had discovered that she had a mischievous streak. When the mood struck, she would appear from nowhere with a glint in her eyes that made his heart rate kick up with the same bright anticipation he’d known as a youth when he raced his skyhopper toward the canyons to Thread the Needle or when sneaking round bases during the early days of the war with the Rogues, intent on pranking another squadron. Ditching whatever he was supposed to be doing, he’d follow her at all hours of day or night. It was through those stolen moments that she introduced him to all the intriguing places that existed beneath the surface —often literally — of Coruscant’s glittering cityscape. Private libraries. Greasy cantinas whose menus were as obscure as they were mouth-watering. Junk shops whose backroom shelves mysteriously stocked the most hard-to-find parts for anyone willing to ask no questions about their provenance. And, occasionally, secret tunnels and camoflaged peep holes through which they accessed yet-to-open museum exhibits or dress rehearsals of the most in-demand new performances.

In her determination to prove her independence from her former master and the life he’d shackled her into, Mara was steadily, and entirely accidentally, achieving the one goal she’d believed wholly out of reach: capturing Luke’s heart.

It’s fine, he told himself for the hundredth time, gathering his data pad and bidding Han goodnight. It wasn’t like they slept together outside of his heats, and Mara was genuinely the perfect Alpha. She would never claim him, would never try to bind him or prevent him from keeping his vows of independence and service to the new Jedi Order that he was building. As an Omega, it wasn’t like he could claim her, and her traumatic past meant that even at his weakest he would never ask her to claim him. If she ever found another Omega to bond with, the loss might kill him. Unless or until then, however, he intended to enjoy every moment he could manage with her.

#my fic #deleted scene #luke skwalker #mara jade #luke x mara

20 notes · View notes

3motionally3xhausted · 1 year ago

Text

Kiss Kiss Fall into another old hyperfixation

Anyway, I randomly wanted to redesign the main cast of Ouran in my style/ with headcanons and my own embellishments

Here's a screenshot redraw, I'll put all the redesigns below the break bc I did all the main characters & wanna talk about the choices I made. Also I made up that uniform redesign on the spot bc I when I was doing the characters I just put them in casual clothes lmao

(I might do some others later, like Renge, Kasanoda, Yasuchika, Benibara, etc.)

Going in order of my least favorite to top favorite. And dont mind that I didn't color the clothes, that's not whats important here lmao

Mori is only at the bottom because I don't like the drawing that much, I still think the design is pretty good. Though, like right when I finished coloring, I decided a bun/top-knot would look better so it's a bit disappointing there. In my head, Mori is kind of struggling to figure out who he is & what he wants to do, which is why he follows Honey around and doesn't talk much. He does genuinely like being around the other hosts though.

Also, the undercut because A) he has the reputation for being the scary one & it kinda suits that, B) uh do I even have to say it? ...its hot He does lowkey look like Sokka from Avatar tho, especially with the blue accents

(edit: I accidentally deleted Mori's file so now this is the only copy so 😭)

Honey is next because again I think the drawing itself is a little off and the design is pretty close to Basil from Omori, which i didn't notice until it was too late lmao. One of the main things I didn't like about his character in the show was obviously how childlike he was & how girls still flirted with him even though he looked and acted 6; So now he still acts a bit childish but doesn't play it up as much & definitely has a more normal voice, not a fckn child's.

Haruhi! I definitely had to keep her glasses cuz they were really cute and kinda sold the whole 'commoner' thing in a way. But other than that I mainly wanted to balance out her femininity and masculinity to make her more androgynous/nonbinary/gender-fluid since she definitely has some of that going on in the show as is. I also gave her dark circles under her eyes to kinda show that she worked really hard to get into Ouran with low status.

Next up is Tamaki of course, getting into the characters I'm most happy with the designs of. One small thing I tried to do for each of them was give them varying hair tones; so even though Honey and Tamaki are both blond, I went very platinum-blond with him. When I started drawing him, my only real thought was "he has to be a pretty boy" so I dont have much to say about my choices, but i do think I succeeded. Don't mind the modern mullet thing, I can't stop it

Kyouya is definitely one of my favorite characters as is, seeing as he has one of the more fleshed out & heart-wrenching backstories in the show. I think the only thing I really wanted to change was getting rid of the Anime Bangs, so I just gave him this kinda sleek, kinda messy pushed-back look with a blue tint. Even though it's simple, I really struggled to come up with anything, until I found a page from the author saying smth like "I don't like the idea of him wearing neat clothes" with a picture of him in like a track suit so I did kinda the same outfit

My absolute #1 favorites, Hikaru & Kauru. They're honestly the ones that started it all because Kauru has been my favorite since I first saw the halloween episode (iykyk).

I don't know why, but I wanted their hair to be fluffier/curly and more of a natural(?) ginger color. I knew I wanted Kauru's to be redder and Hikaru's a bit lighter/blonder, but only subtly. I also gave Kauru a scar on his cheek from that time in Karuizawa, but most notably, I gave them blue and pink eyes as their signature colors. Lastly, their expressions are slightly different, because no matter how much they are in sync and try to match each other perfectly, Kauru's a much gentler soul than Hikaru, so I made Hikaru's smile a bit more snarky while Kauru's is soft.

Thank you for looking at my art/ reading my thoughts, here's an extra little design edit & comparison

(lol, I think they're mimicking Kyouya in this panel idek) (Also here you can see I tried the bun hairstyle w Mori, I think it looks good, but this is a really simple drawing so.)

#ouran high school host club #ouran hshc #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh #kyouya ootori #mitskuni haninozuka #takashi morinozuka #hikaru hitachiin #Kauru hitachiin #character redesign #my fanart #my art #screenshot redraw #im hyperfixating again #ouran redesigns #33xhausted art

84 notes · View notes

compassionatereminders · 3 months ago

Note

Lord. Today has been such a day. I hope it's ok to just rant about it here, if not obviously feel free to delete!!

Got woken up at 1am because my mom needed to go to the ER for excruciating pain. So we load up and I take her. It takes an HOUR for them to even pay her any mind- and it's not because it was busy. We live in a small town, and there was literally nobody there waiting to be seen. We think they were ignoring her because she looked like she was having drug withdrawals (shaking, pale, she couldn't stop moving/fidgeting). They only came out to see her when I brought my little brother in, and they realized that she wasn't just there to try and get meds from the hospital (this is all speculation ofc, but I really can't imagine any other reason that 'nobody saw her'). I'm still so mad because she sat there for so long, crying in pain (my mom NEVER cries, so that's how I could tell it was really bad) and nobody even bothered to check on her for over an hour. It took another hour for her to get any pain relief and while the nurses were all really nice, I'm still incredibly upset that she had to endure it for so long.

Anyways. Mom's going to be fine, she's getting flown to a better hospital a couple hours away to get the problem dealt with. That's all good. I'm staying home with my brother, and my aunt is going to pick her up later today (hopefully; it might take a few more days). The only issue is that I'll need to meet with my little brothers father (not my dad) to drop him off for the weekend, and I hate the guy, but I can easily ignore him so it's fine.

I think it's the stress of coordinating 4 different people's schedules that put me so on edge (my aunt needs to know when my mom is leaving, my sister is coming 1400 miles to Nevada from Texas, my little brother needs to do his homework/get ready to go/be dropped off). Family keeps calling me because I'm the one who lives with my mom, but I don't have any updates, because I'm home looking after my brother. I feel terrible that I can't tell them anything else, but it's still frustrating when I'm trying to get the house cleaned up, take care of a worried 7-year-old, and answer calls just to repeat the same thing.

The final straw though was one of my cats. When my brother and I finally got home around 8am, we were having breakfast. I look over, and my cat is peeing on my moms lunchbox. I freaked out, because that's disgusting, and he had NO reason to do that- their box is perfectly clean, he's not a serial pee monster, he's never been in competition with the other cats. I don't understand why today, of all days, he would choose to make a mess.

I've spent the past hour and a half trying to clean it by hand because I can't just throw it in the washing machine (it has a cloth outside, but its not removable). He ALSO managed to pee on my brother's homework tower (a short, plastic 'filing cabinet' with drawers we keep his stuff in), and of course, it got inside some of the drawers. Luckily the only stuff I had to throw away was some construction paper and white printer paper, and the rest was untouched, but I still had to clean up a MASSIVE puddle of cat pee on the floor, and empty + wipe out four of the drawers.

So. Anyways. I'm not feeling solution-oriented right now, I'm just really angry that this is all happening at once and there's not really anything within my control besides making sure my brother keeps to his schedule. At least he's not too worried, but I've kind of been avoiding talking to him at the moment because I feel like I might snap at him when it's not his fault at all. I'm also avoiding the cat because, while I would never hurt an animal for doing something dumb, I'm still so mad about it. I'd much rather he'd have peed on something of mine.

Now I just feel super on edge, and I keep waiting for ANOTHER bad thing to happen, because at this point it just feels like the universe is out for blood. It's not even noon yet. It's barely 10am

I'm so sorry about all of this. Anti addict ableism is completely unacceptable and literally kills people. It's not like an addict can't ALSO be in excruciating pain/genuinely need urgent care. I'm glad your mom will be okay, but it makes me furious that she was neglected for hours because of prejudices against a potential addiction. And I completely understand that you're not in a good place right now. I'm sorry about the pee situation also, though it's important for me to note that the cat didn't CHOOSE to "make a mess" just to bother you - either he was a bit ill or it was simply an unfortunate accident.

#chat with kat #addiction tw #drugs tw #medical neglect tw #medical abuse tw #bodily fluids tw #unsanitary tw #pee tw

8 notes · View notes

flowers-in-bloom13 · 1 year ago

Text

Another pjo fanfic I made and posted on AO3. This one is still being continued. Here are all the 3 parts of it!!! Btw it is Valgrace. And hurt/comfort<3

------------

Chapter 1. lonely hearts club

''--and then I said 'he's literally just a guy. hit him with your car' but it turns out she doesn't have a car so--'' Piper said, retelling an old story from the wilderness school. ''huh?'' Jason said. ''sorry I didn't catch that..'' Piper looked at him with a concerned expression, her eyebrows furrowed. ''you okay, Jase?'' she said. ''you've been zoning out a lot recently..'' ''yeah...yeah I'm fine'' Jason said trying to reassure Piper with a smile. ''if you say so..'' Piper tried to erase the concern from her face.

~~~~~Later that evening~~~~~

Jason was laying in his bed , starting at the celling contemplating his feelings...his feelings for Piper. ''do I really love her?'' he thought.

''oh no...why......why am I questining this? of course I love her!'' but did he really?

his heart felt lonely.

Chapter 2. Jason's google search history: Am I gay, Am I gay quiz, how to know if you're gay.

Notes:

SOMTHING IMPORTANT: in this fanfic Leo made phones and tech and things that don't attract monsters. why? because plot. ALSO: this goes for the whole fanfic but I'm really sorry if/when any of the characters seem ooc.

also a note to all my friends: if I ever get isekai'd you better be coming with me.

--------

Jason was understandably confused about the situation. ''I don't know what to do anymore...'' he thought. ''I should- I do like Piper...right..?''

why was he so confused. It's his feelings he should know how he feels, it's what he thinks. if only it where that simple...

Jason sits up and takes out his phone and goes to google. ''am I gay'' he types.

he's far too scared to press search, so he deletes it. he lays back down. staring up at the celling again.

contemplating his feelings. ever since the bitch Hera erased his memory he's not known which of his feelings are real and which are not.

does he love Piper? he's been wondering that for awhile now. he keeps ''zoning out'' because of it. Jason decides to google it anyway. ''how to know if you're gay'' he types but he's too scared to actually look at anything that comes up.

he types ''Am I gay quiz'' he clicks on the first result, its a buzzfeed quiz. he takes the quiz. he gets his result. ''Traditional labels are meaningless!'' he reads the description. ''"Gay," "Straight," "Male," "Female"... There's a lot more to the world than those blunt terms encompass! You get to define yourself, and you're free to celebrate your sexuality — or lack of — however you choose! Hurrah!'' Jason reads it, his heart beating, ''oh.'' is all that escapes his mouth. he hears a thump -the Stolls summoning a demon again, probaly- and gets scared and closes the tab and deletes his search history.

'Maybe I should go see Leo in bunker 9'' Jason says aloud.

~~~~~At bunker 9~~~~~

'Hey, Leo...I hope you don't mind me barging in here..'' Jason says closing the door to bunker 9. ''oh hey, Jase!'' Leo says with a grin on his face while he works on fixing the argo 2.

''sooo.....'' Jason doesn't know what exactly to say. he can't just come in here and say ''oh hey, man, I'm not sure if I like my girlfriend anymore, oh also I might like men.'' well...technically he can...

''soo...erm....I need to talk to you about something'' Jason says hesitantly

''oooo got a secret?'' Leo teases. ''you could say that..'' Jason replies.

Leo realizes that this probably isn't the time for teasing. Jason and Leo sit down on the floor next to each other.

''I...I'm not sure if I liker Piper anymore...'' Jason explained. ''In fact...I'm not sure if I ever liked her at all..'' ''hm...well that's a....problem...'' Leo replies. Jason looks down toward the floor. ''yeah...it is...''

''This might sound crazy but.. maybe you should tell her?'' Leo explains. Jason looks back up at Leo. ''but...I.. she'll be sad or mad..'' he says. ''She'll be happier if you do tell her'' Leo says. ''you think so?'' Jason asks hesitantly. ''I never think, Jase'' Leo replies.

~~~The next day~~~

Piper is enjoying the picnic her and Jason are having in the strawberry field. Jason...not so much...he's dreading telling Piper that he may not love her. ''It's such a beautiful(Selina beauguard much?) day, the clouds, the blue sky, the birds chirping, Clarisse threatening to kill Percy..'' Piper exclaims. ''yeah...it is...'' Jason replies ''you okay, Jase?'' Piper asks. Jason takes a shaky breath and looks down. ''the truth is, I'm not fully sure if I....If I like you'' ''Romantically I mean! I do know that I like you but only...as a friend, maybe? I'm still not sure yet...'' Jason explains ''oh...that's...erm....'' Piper says ''I'm glad you're figuring yourself out, Jase'' ''you're not mad?'' Jason looks surprised, maybe even a little shocked, ''you're not mad?'' Jason asks in surprise. ''No. I'm not'' Piper said. Jason starts to tear up. ''I love you, Pipes, I'm not sure if it's romantic or not but I love you'' Jason says. Piper pulls him into a hug. ''I love you too, Jase, I'm glad you're starting to figure out who you are after...Hera'' Piper smiles lovingly at Jason.

Chapter 3.

----

Jason was laying in his bed, wonding, how Piper was so kind and supportive of Jason maybe not loving her romantically - until he heard a knock at the door of cabin one.

Jason got up and opened the door. It's the Stoll brothers. ''Hey, Jasie!'' said Connor...or Travis. it was impossible to tell. ''erm...'' Jason exclaimed ''what are you doing here? and so late as well, It's what 10:30?''

The Stoll's looked at each other and laughed, then looked back at Jason.

''well we're having a...'event' over at the Hermes cabin!'' said one of the Stoll's. ''and we're here to invite you! trust me, there's alcohol!'' said the other butting in.

*so that's why they where laughing...* Jason thought, *wait...Alcohol...*

''uhm...I think I'll have to skip this one..''

''but...!'' the one on the left said, ''You can't skip itttt!'' the other one sarted to speak, '' yeah! you can't! come on Jasiee. stop being such a party-pooper!''

Jason sighed, ''fine. I'll come to your party...'' ''Great!!'' exclaimed one of the Stoll brothers.

Jason wasn't enjoying the party all that much so many...drunk people.. It remined him of his mother. she was always drunk

-----

I'm obviously not the best at writing...also for the "am I gay" quiz result,

I took an actual "am I gay" quiz and answered how I think Jason would and copy/pasted the result... Also I'm sorry it's so rushed- I just really want to get to a certain part. Also my username on AO3 iz "W_itch_With_A_B" if you want to find me on there. Also I wrote the fic in the early rif the morning...it's currently 00:23 rn actually!

#riordanverse #rick riordan #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #pjo #pjo fandom #pjo fanfic #hoo fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #pjo fanfiction #hoo fandom #hoo #valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean

24 notes · View notes