#i dont even know anything about them this is for someone

[honeyryewhiskey]

mirrored souls

or, dean dreams of what he believes he can never have. warnings ! angst, hurt/some comfort, dean's feelings are hurt, unexpected pregnancy, tough conversations, two ppl with the same fears j's note ! hey so let's not even talk about the fact that this is neither of the two fics i posted snippets of lol idk what possessed me to write 5k fucking words for this i'm sorry i just want to baby trap dean winchester erm idk enjoy? it's sad but maybe pls dont take my word for it i'll continue this and let them be happy also i stopped proof reading half way through bc it is my bed time <3 5k words

He’s had this dream every night for weeks. 

The sun is golden, thick with warmth, stretching over endless fields of green. It settles on his skin like an old friend, seeps into his bones, loosening the ever-present tension in his shoulders. The air is clean, carrying the scent of wildflowers and summer, and for the first time in his life, he feels safe. Like he could lie back in the grass, close his eyes, and let the world move on without him.

Then, he hears her.

A laugh—small and weightless, like wind chimes in a summer breeze—rings through the stillness. It stops him cold, strikes something deep in his chest that he doesn’t know how to name.

He turns, and she’s there.

She can’t be older than four, standing barefoot in the grass, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes—green as polished emeralds, too big for her little face. His eyes.

But everything else—her delicate nose, the slope of her cheekbones, the way her wild hair frames her face—that’s you.

She tilts her head, smiling in a way that makes something inside him shatter. Then she reaches for him, small fingers wrapping around his calloused hand like she’s always belonged there.

And just like that—like the break of a wave, like the snap of a thread—she’s gone.

Dean wakes with a sharp inhale, the remnants of warmth already fading, replaced by the cold press of reality. His chest aches, heavy with something deeper than longing. A quiet, creeping fear slithers in, curling around his ribs.

Because she has his eyes and your face—a combination that will never exist.

You left. And you haven’t come back in months.

It was always cat and mouse with you—years of fleeting moments, an unspoken desire for more that neither of you had the courage to face. You’d cross paths, use each other's bodies to release some tension, but never linger long enough to ignite anything real. 

Until about eight months ago, when everything changed. You stayed longer than just a weekend. Dean had you in his arms for four months—four months that felt like a lifetime of stolen moments, of finally letting down walls you both had built so high. But when it all started to feel too real, when the weight of it all settled between you like an unspoken truth, you pulled away. You told him it was too much, that you needed space, that you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to breathe, to step back before it swallowed you whole. And with that, you walked away, leaving him to sift through the pieces of something that was never meant to last.

His heavy hand slams down on the bleating alarm clock beside his bed. The sharp noise cuts off, leaving only the ragged sound of his breathing in the dark. He drags a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his tired eyes, but it doesn’t do anything to clear the remnants of the dream—the sunlight, the laughter, the way she looked at him like he was her whole damn world.

Dean exhales sharply and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Another short night, another dream of something that doesn’t exist, of someone who will never be real. He tells himself it’s just a trick of the mind, a byproduct of too many years spent running on empty. But the truth—the one he won’t say out loud—is that the dreams never started until you left.

And maybe that’s what makes them feel more like a haunting than a fantasy.

He’s spent each day the past four months trying to shove it down, burying it under booze and hunts and half-hearted distractions. But it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he’s over it, that he saw it coming. Because he did. He knew you would run the second things got too real, the second you got too close, too comfortable, like maybe you wanted this life with him.

And then, just like his dream, you were gone.

You never said it outright, but he knew—deep down, you were always more like him than you wanted to admit. Built for the road, for the chase. Love wasn’t something you stayed for.

Except you never really left, not completely.

Every now and then, his phone would ring, and it’d be your voice on the other end—casual, distant, asking about a hunt, about a lead on something nasty you were tracking. Always avoiding the bigger conversation, never asking how he’s been, never giving him the chance to ask where you are.

And Dean let it happen. Let you keep him at arm’s length. Because at least this way, you were still something in his life.

But now, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, the dream still fresh in his mind, it pisses him off.

He stands, yanking on a t-shirt and running a hand through his hair before heading for the door. He just needs coffee—something to shake off the lingering ache sitting heavy in his chest.

But the second he steps into the hall, Sam is there, hovering with that anxious look that never means anything good.

“Hey,” Sam starts, lifting a hand like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Before you go in there, just—don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean’s stomach tightens, his muscles tensing. The look he cuts Sam with makes the younger brother’s eyes widen, searching for words to mediate and settle the storm brewing at either side of him. “Sam, what the hell are you—”

Before Sam can answer, Dean hears it.

The sound of pacing. Quick, uneven steps against the kitchen floor. His body goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t need to see you to know.

You’re here.

Dean’s pulse pounds in his ears. His stubborn rage choking out the glimmer of childish hope that sets his nerves on fire. He stares at Sam, waiting for some kind of explanation, but Sam just shifts on his feet, uneasy.

That’s when another sound cuts through the silence—your voice.

Muffled, pacing, like you’re muttering to yourself between shallow breaths.

Dean swallows hard, his jaw clenching as he pushes past Sam. His mind is already racing, his thoughts a tangled mess of you, his dreams, his heartache and the damn voice in his head telling him to grip you tight enough so that you can’t leave him again. Whatever this is, whatever brought you back, he’s not in the mood for it. Not today. Not after all this time.

But when he steps into the kitchen, the world tilts on its axis.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide, hands curled tightly around the edge of the counter as if you’re holding yourself together, bracing for something. For him, maybe. Your posture is rigid, your whole body taut with tension. You look… different. There’s an unreadable heaviness in the way you stand, the nervous bite of your lip as you chew it—like you’re preparing for a blow, for him to lash out, to reject you. 

A heavy silence falls over the room, thick and suffocating. His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no anger now, no easy target to aim it at. Just this painful, aching pull between what he wants and what he’s afraid to hope for.

“You…” He’s barely able to get the word out. His throat feels tight, words caught somewhere between anger and something much softer, something more dangerous. He’s not sure which one is scarier.

You glance at him, then quickly look away, the uncertainty in your eyes like a crack in a mirror he never thought he’d see. Dean feels something in his chest twist—familiar, painful, like it’s been waiting for you to come back and break him open all over again.

His mind is a whirlwind. He wants to be angry—hell, he’s had four months of anger built up over your disappearing act. But standing here, with you so close, he realizes just how torn he is inside.

He wants to scream at you, demand to know why you didn’t come back sooner, why you couldn’t have just stayed. But that’s not the real question, is it? Because deep down, a part of him knows it wasn’t just you who ran. It was him, too. He shut off long ago, convincing himself it was easier that way. He was easier that way.

But you? You always seemed to slip through his defenses.

Dean stares at you, struggling to find his voice, his hands suddenly feeling useless at his sides. The walls he’s built up for his entire life—years of anger, bitterness, and pain—are cracking, piece by piece, and he has no idea how to stop it.

Dean crosses his arms, trying to shove down the storm already brewing inside him. “Well,” his voice is rough with sleep and something dangerously close to hurt. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Your spine straightens, and just like that, the tension shifts. Whatever nerves had you pacing seconds ago are buried under the sharp edge of your own attitude. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it either.”

Dean scoffs, a bitter chuckle, the undertone to the eye roll he throws you. “Oh, great. That makes me feel real special.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers digging into the edge of the counter before you let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Dean. I don’t know if this is the right thing, or if I’m just—” you stop yourself, biting your lip again. You were never as good as he was at hiding your pain. It’s evident now, in the vulnerability in your eyes that cuts through him, raw and unguarded, and it makes everything inside him spin faster.

Sam clears his throat. “Why don’t I give you guys some space?” He glances between the two of you, clearly ready to escape the tension.

Dean doesn’t look at him, just stares at you as you stand firm, the scowl on your face trying desperately to cover the sadness in your eyes. The fact that you’re asking for anything at all should piss him off. After months of the half-hearted check-ins that only ever came when you needed something, after the way you left—why should he give you the time of day?

But he can’t say no.

And that scares him more than anything.

Sam nods to himself when neither of you protest and slips out of the kitchen, leaving you and Dean in thick, suffocating silence.

“Why are you here?” His voice comes out quieter than he intended, but the question hangs in the air, laced with something deeper, something that sounds too much like hope. A falsehood he’s terrified to acknowledge.

You take a shaky breath, your shoulders slumping just slightly, as if the weight of being in the same room as him is too much to carry alone.

Dean takes a step toward you, his feet heavy on the floor, his chest aching. His instincts shout at him to pull away, to protect himself from the inevitable hurt, but something else—something buried deep inside him—begs him to go closer.

The words come out before he can stop them, quieter now, barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this again, are we gonna keep pretending we have nothing to talk about?”

You wince, a flicker of pain crossing your face, and it rips through him. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop the fear, the resentment, that’s built up over all this time.

"I don't know if I can just act like nothing ever happened between us. Like you didn't leave me. Like..." His voice breaks off, his throat thick with emotion he’s been swallowing for far too long. He’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince anymore, you or himself.

His hands are trembling now, and he clenches them into fists, fighting to keep the storm inside him contained. But every time he looks at you, sees the way you’re standing before him, so tired and lacking the fire that he always adored. That you’re here now when he never thought he’d see you again, it pulls him under a wave of emotion he can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how to do this, not after everything,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to be okay with it.”

Your eyes fill with regret, but there's something else too—a quiet understanding. You know what you’ve done. You know what this looks like, but still, you're standing here. And that small, painful spark of hope flickers in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we just sit and talk, please?” Your voice is soft, pleading. And this time, you don’t look away.

Dean stands there, his whole body tense, his mind screaming conflicting words in the crosshairs—walk away, stay. But something in your gaze, in your quiet desperation, tugs at him. For a moment, he’s paralyzed—conflicted in the most unfamiliar way.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, he nods. “Fine. But we talk,” he jabs a finger at you, his brows set with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat, “really talk. No more running.”

You nod, your shoulders relaxing, just slightly, and Dean wonders, not for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—he’s still capable of believing in the possibility of this. Of you.

His eyes narrow, the weight of years of unresolved anger and hurt pressing down on him. But despite it all, despite everything you put him through, he can’t seem to dig his heels into this anger. Not when you’re standing here, so close, with those big, pleading eyes that always seemed to strip him bare.

The years of touch and go, the broken promises, the words left unsaid—they all float between you, a suffocating fog that neither of you knows how to break. But Dean’s tired. Tired of fighting this pull, this pull toward you he can’t seem to ignore, no matter how many times you leave.

With a frustrated sigh, he crosses the kitchen, the hard floor beneath his boots clacking louder than it should. He grabs two chairs from the worn wooden table, scraping them across the linoleum as he sets them down. Wordlessly, he nods toward the seat beside him.

“Sit,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You stand there for a moment, the air between you thick with things left unsaid. And then, quietly, you take the seat next to him.

Dean can feel the weight of the moment in every fiber of his being. He doesn’t want to look at you. Not yet. Not until he’s ready to hear whatever it is you came to say.

The silence stretches on, thick and uncomfortable, as you sit side by side, neither of you knowing how to begin.

Finally, you clear your throat, a small sound, but it’s enough to break through the tension. “Look, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything. But… can we just talk, like we used to? No games. No running away this time, okay?”

Dean stares at the table in front of him, his fingers tapping restlessly against the edge. Your words hit harder than he expected, and for a second, his chest tightens with something raw and unfamiliar.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore, you know?” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Every time you leave… it’s like you take a piece of me with you. And I’m just left here picking up the pieces, wondering if you’ll ever come back.”

You wince at the admission, and it hits him harder than he wants to admit. He doesn’t know why he said it—maybe because this is the first time in years that you’re actually sitting here, facing him. Maybe because it’s the first time in years that he feels like you might actually be willing to stay.

You reach out, placing a tentative hand on his, stilling the tapping. And for a brief moment, his breath catches.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean,” you say softly. “I never wanted to be another person who hurts you.”

to forget the months of silence, the aching space you left behind. He wants to pull you close, bury his face in your neck, and pretend none of it ever happened—that you never walked away, that he never let you.

But reality crashes down just as fast.

He can’t let himself go there, can’t let himself believe this is something he can have without it slipping through his fingers. So instead, he exhales sharply, shoving that fragile part of himself deep down where it belongs. His jaw tightens, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rough, edged with his angry armor.

“Then why did you leave?” he grits out, his voice quiet but commanding. He needs to know. Needs to understand why the person he thought he might finally let himself love disappeared without a trace.

You pull your hand back, lips pressed tight. “I—”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, like the weight of months spent apart. Dean’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, why you’re here, why you’re sitting beside him, but something shifts in your expression.

You take a deep breath, eyes falling to your lap before lifting to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words soft but full of weight. “I’m sorry for always running off. For disappearing when things got too real. I know it’s not fair.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t know what to say, what to feel.

“I was scared,” you continue, voice breaking just a little. “I still am. I…” Your words falter, but then you press on, searching his eyes for understanding. “I was consumed with this fear of losing it all. That I’d attach myself to you and this life would rip you away.”

The quiet admission sits heavy in the air. Dean feels his heart thudding faster beneath his rib cage. A pang of regret washes over him, for never admitting he shared that fear. That he thought he would be the thing that rips you apart. And maybe if he had, you wouldn’t have felt alone in those thoughts. 

You run a hand through your hair, a nervous gesture, and he watches the movement, the tension in your body. “I didn’t think I could do this. I didn’t think we could do this. I don’t see a world where something like that survives,” you shake your head, lost in the thoughts that shuffle through as you try to find your words, “Where… where we get a happy ending.”

Dean feels his chest tighten, his pulse speeding up as he takes in what you’re saying. The words hang between you, both of you holding your breath. And for a long, painful moment, the only sound in the room is the distant hum of the refrigerator, a constant reminder that time is still moving, even when it feels like everything’s frozen in place.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it, Dean,” you add quickly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t know how to believe it’s possible. But I didn’t come here to ask for you to take me back.”

Dean stares at you, his pulse hammering against his ribs. There it is—that damn crack in your voice, the one that always cuts through him like a blade. He wants to be angry, to hold onto the bitterness that’s been festering since you left, but it slips through his fingers the second he sees the way you’re looking at him. Like you’re scared. Like you don’t expect him to want this.

Like you don’t expect him to want you.

His throat tightens, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights the urge to reach for you. “Then what do you want?” His voice is quieter now, rougher. “If you’re not here to ask me for anything, then why come back?”

You open your mouth, then close it, searching for words. Your fingers twist in the hem of your jacket, your shoulders curling inward, like you’re bracing for him to tear you apart. And damn it, that does something to him, because he’s never wanted to be the reason you look like that.

Dean drags a hand down his face, trying to ground himself. His mind is a battlefield, waging war between the fear clawing at his insides and the need to fix this—fix you. But how the hell is he supposed to do that when he’s still not sure how to fix himself?

“You don’t know how to believe it’s possible?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, join the damn club.” His chest feels too tight, his voice breaking under the weight of it. “You think I had some fairytale idea of us, sweetheart? That I thought this would be easy?” He lets out a breath that’s more of a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Hell, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at this. But you didn’t give me the chance to figure it out, did you?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, a tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. And God, he hates that. He hates seeing you cry. Hates even more that he’s the reason for it.

“I was scared,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like shattered glass. “I am scared.”

Dean swallows hard, his anger flickering, giving way to something deeper, something more painful. He’s scared too. He’s scared as hell. Of not being enough. Of screwing this up. Of losing you all over again.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the way you’re trembling, barely holding yourself together—it hits him. He’s not the only one drowning in this.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair before finally, finally stepping forward. His hands hover for a second before settling on your arms, grounding you. Grounding himself.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, softer now, “I guess we can be scared together.”

You drag the backs of your hands across your cheeks, trying to contain the tears that just won’t stop flowing. “No, Dean, you don’t get it—” you cut yourself off with a groan. Your breathing is coming out uneven as anxiety pulls at your every nerve, and suddenly you can’t sit still. You can’t do this. 

You’re up on your feet again, pacing slightly as you try to steady your breathing. 

Dean watches you, his stomach twisting as you distance yourself. There’s a wild, frantic energy in the way you move, your arms wrapping around yourself like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Your breath is uneven, shaky, and those damn tears keep slipping past your lashes no matter how hard you try to blink them away.

His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach for you again, to do something—anything—to stop that panicked look from overtaking your face. It melts his resolve, steadies his rising temper.

His voice comes quieter this time, hesitant. “Hey—what’s going on?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head as if you can will away whatever storm is raging inside you.

Dean’s chest tightens. His mind is running through every possibility, each one worse than the last. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, the pet name easing off his tongue as if no time had passed since he last called you that, “talk to me.”

"I... I didn't catch it in time, I'm sorry." You start, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words thick with something he can't quite name. Your eyes squeeze shut as if the simple act of speaking is too much.

Dean’s chest tightens, a knot of confusion twisting in his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” His tone is gentle now, trying to coax it out of you, but the moment you raise your eyes, he sees it—the fear, raw and trembling beneath the surface.

He’s on his feet again, closing in on you like you’re a scared animal that’ll take flight from any sudden movement. 

“I just thought it was stress making me miss my period again, but…” You choke, your voice cracking as if admitting it out loud is tearing something inside you apart.

Dean’s breath hitches, and his heart races, but he doesn’t dare interrupt you, his own confusion giving way to a growing sense of dread. He takes another step toward you, but you flinch, eyes shimmering with tears that slip through your heavy breathing.

You finally break, the tears turning into sobs that shake your shoulders. You shake your head, wiping at your face again, as if trying to push it all away. But it’s too late now.

“I’m scared, D.” You gasp the words out, the weight of them crushing you. “I’m so scared.”

Dean’s chest tightens, a cold sensation creeping down his spine, even as his heart lurches in his chest. He can feel the tremor in your voice, the rawness in every syllable, but he can’t make sense of it. The world seems to slow, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place—but not quickly enough for his mind to catch up.

“What… What are you saying?” He asks, his voice quiet, strained with confusion and something that feels dangerously close to panic.

You glance up at him, eyes wide and glassy with tears. You open your mouth, but the words seem stuck, lodged in your throat. The silence between you is deafening.

Finally, you take a deep breath, almost like you’re gathering the strength to face something unbearable. “I’m pregnant, Dean.” The words fall from your lips in a broken whisper. “I’m pregnant.”

Dean freezes. His entire body goes still, as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. The weight of your words hits him like a freight train, and for a moment, everything goes silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

Pregnant.

His mouth goes dry, his thoughts scrambling, trying to make sense of it all. The pieces click into place—the missed periods, the way you looked at him when you walked in, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

His dreams.

 He takes a half-step back, his mind too far behind, too rattled by the weight of what you just said.

And then, slowly, it hits him—this isn’t just a shock; it’s a bombshell. One that could tear everything apart, and yet, at the same time, it pulls something from him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. The edges of his world begin to blur. He’s scared. He’s terrified.

“Are you… are you sure?” His voice comes out rough, almost panicked, like he’s waiting for you to tell him this is some sick joke, but he knows it’s not.

You nod, sniffling. "I took a test, I went to the doctor and they told me I was already four months along." you whisper, choking back a sob. "I didn’t know what to do."

Dean steps closer, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady you. But you flinch again, the space between you thick with everything you’ve never said to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you. I could have just called, I should have—” Your voice cracks, and you finally meet his gaze, eyes full of everything—regret, fear, and a raw, aching vulnerability that threatens to break him.

Dean's heart races, the panic starting to crawl up his throat. He wants to scream, to tell you that he’s terrified—that he doesn’t know how to be a father, that he’s too broken, too fucked up to raise a kid. The thought of something happening to you, to your child, terrifies him in ways he can’t even put into words. But you’re standing there, so small, so vulnerable, looking at him like he’s the only one who can fix this. And damn it, he has to be strong.

He closes the distance between and pulls you into his arms before either of you can second guess it. His hands are warm and steady on your back, but inside, his mind is a storm. His pulse is erratic, his breath shallow, but he holds you close, trying to give you the comfort he doesn’t know how to find for himself.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice like a lighthouse to steer your sinking ship. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head against his chest, a shaky breath escaping. “I’m so scared, Dean. I don’t know what to do.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression soft but full of intensity. His thumbs pushes away your tears, warm and rough against your skin. “You don’t have to know right now,” he assures you, trying to convince himself as much as you. “We’ll figure it out. One step at a time. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Inside, though, his mind is spinning out of control. He doesn’t know how to be the man you need. He doesn’t know if he can even be the father this child deserves. But in this moment, he’s all you have. And somehow, he knows that no matter how badly he’s freaking out, no matter how scared he is, he’ll find a way to make this work—for you, for the little life growing inside of you.

He gently strokes your hair, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, grounding himself in the act. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers again, his voice thick with the promise of something more than just words.

But inside, the panic churns, a rising tide he can’t escape. He holds you tighter, pretending for your sake that everything will be fine, even as the weight of the world presses down on him.

edit to add tags why do i always forget tags @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @ultravi0lence14

[madockisser]

lots of ppl have mixed opinions on cardan in the first book, which is fair, but me personally, just LOOK at how subtle he is at protecting her. and i don’t just mean when he stuck his foot in the water to scare the nixies away from jude when his buds threw her and Taryn in the river, i mean these:

This one, when he thinks that dains spies are about to beat Jude’s ass over who gets the pretty prince, so he cautions her away from picking a fight w them. And that’s AFTER she’s kidnapped him LOOLLL

And this. really cute and subtle way of saying “be careful babe!” but he makes it seem sorta like an insult. like she would be wasting his time if she went and died. he keeps himself so well guarded so as to not get himself hurt again PLS. guys i am normal about him.

him reaching for her after he learned that valerian tried to kill her AGAIN. 😐 i need him.

And then this one. imagine how he felt seeing her leave the tower covered in blood knowing that valerian was in there w her. and Hollys annotation here. yeah ok im so normal- this proves that he didn’t expect his cruelty to encourage valerians murdery lust for jude. to encourage Locke to take her as his prize, to encourage nicasia to humiliate the twins to get cardans and lockes favor.

AND DONT GET ME STARTED, on when he’s drunk and his families been murdered and he’s officially elfhames #1 most wanted and he’s telling Jude to be careful, that she shouldn’t be at balekins evil little revel 😭😭 he worried more for her than he did himself.

and i could just GO ON. and i shall:

when he sends her a dress made for royalty opposed to one that made her look more like servant/ would allow Taryn to outshine her (she could never tho)

When he told Locke to piss off and began dancing w her when Locke was abt to tell her that he’s been fuxking her sis the whole time.

When he saw her (canon according to Hollys annotations) after she stole Sophie (the human servant at hollow hall) and didn’t do or say anything AND PROBABLY EVEN TOOK THE FUCKING BLAMMMEEE IM SO SICK.

anyway I’m sure there’s more so feel free to add on 😭

But i just LOVE how cardan knows how jude is, the way that Taryn describes jude in her novella- as someone who doesn’t back down from a dare, who picks fights with anyone and everyone, who brings those that pick on her down to her level. he knows his wife so well, even in the first book, he knew her so much better than even her father. than ANYONE even Taryn. bc Taryn was all like “promise you’ll stop bothering them!” Like do you KNOW who you’re talking to lmao

anyway I LOVE TYEMEMEMMEMEHSIAPS someone sedate me fr

[crimeronan]

im a teenager with seasonal depression and a shitty fatigue causing disability and adhd currently still in highschool and: the way you talk abt minors right to autonomy, and How School Sucks, and everything related to that is. The Most Soothing Shit i hear all day. like. reading some of your posts abt how Good graduating early and being a Problem Child was for you was So Damn Calming.

most ppl immediately go to sooth me with the "but you Are smart, and you just need to try harder!! your life isnt entirely ruined today :) just go to school tomorrow and be Good and Learn and you'll be fineee. you aren't one of the bad ones, Dont Worry :))" and that makes me. invent new types of panic attacks and neuroses on the spot.

but having an Actual Adult whos like "no. school can infact be the fucking Torture pit for some people and it is So Utterly Fucked Up how Anyone can make you do Anything, actually. you arent a bad or damaged person this is Normal and your value isnt dependant on Schooliness. do whatever makes you least likely to kill yourself. you dont owe them shit, especially not being Good. be a problem, take up space."

is. genuinely the nicest thing Ever. to me. like. Makes me Kinda Want To Cry nicest thing ever. anyway yea. thanks for that.

ahh, this is lovely to hear. but i'm so sorry you're going through this.

i remember being in high school in 2011 when the gay teen suicides were national headlines, and everyone had Opinions on it, and the "it gets better" trend was everywhere, and -- while those videos did do a lot of good!! -- they just kind of made me more furious?? because i was so mad at all these adults basically saying, "yeah, high school is an institutional pit of death and horror, but eventually you'll be 18!!" i was like hey. Help Us Now.

it was actually the song "make it stop" by rise against that gave me any peace or sense of belonging, because. here was a band i loved full of straight dudes (as far as i know, anyway) who were just fucking MAD. they were righteously angry!! they gave a fuck what was happening!! and lyrics like "the gatherings hold candles but not their tongues" rang SO true to me, as someone who was dealing with endless "oh, so sad he died, but there was something wrong with his brain" discourse.

the memory of that has made it REALLY easy to hold onto my anger in adulthood. because sometimes kids don't need "it'll be fine, just hang on :)" they need "you're gonna be okay, but FUCK ALL THIS."

it's truly fucking Unconscionable to do what we do even to neurotypical, able-bodied teens with good home lives. i want to say i can't imagine being a teen with chronic fatigue and ADHD going to classes eight hours a day.... but i can!! i did that!! and almost died!!

i honestly think the lack of autonomy in the US school system is traumatic For Everybody. different levels of trauma, for sure! but i think that's part of why adults seem so disconnected from our teen years and can't remember the realities of being an adolescent. we overwrite the horrors.

the good news is: it Does get better after school. astonishingly so.

in the meantime: you don't owe anyone Anything. literally your only job right now is to survive. do whatever you need to do to not kill yourself or end up in jail. don't worry about anything else. i promise it Does Not Matter As Much As People Say It Does.

[freyito]

you asked for gallagher asks and as an official gallagher simp and death denier i am here to oblige. how about gallagher finds someone flirting with reader while they were waiting for him and gallagher gets all pouty and jealous as he picks them up and takes them away bc theyre his partner dammit!! i am a firm gallagher is a clingy baby in a relationship believer

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✩ inspo: Real Man by beabadoobee

✧ a/n: i took a little bit of a different direction with this... but its still jealousy all the same :D!! i, too, think he's clingy... but also like scary dog privileges and all that yk...

also! i have a strawpage now!!! i mainly made it for my selfship blog (that i'm still regrettably working on) BUT ITS THERE!!! ITS A THING1!! and also ASKS ARE OPEN NOW!!! YAAAAAY!!! remember to read my rules for asks... and since this seems to be a common theme, i DONT write for fem reader :), just gn and male. i also dont answer nsfw asks on this account.

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, the guy is a creep, mentions of alcohol, guard dog gallagher -> puppy gallagher p much, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.4k

ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴ

He finds it laughable that some people would even try. Gallagher knows full well what the people of Penacony are like, and yet he never expected for such things to happen. Or, for him to get as jealous as he did. Even if it was clear that you were the apple of his eye, when you and him were very clearly having a nice little conversation– about a date, no less.

Now, he understands that a lot of people– even you, when he first met you– thought Penacony was the perfect paradise. Underneath all that glitz and glamour, though, it was the lowest of the low, the highest population was the sleazebags. Assholes who would swoop in and try and charm their way to your heart, only to run off with all manners of things you wouldn’t want to part with. Or, they would try to use you, take advantage of your better heart. The smarter ones stayed around the longest, sucked you dry of all your possessions, wealth, and even kindness, and left without a word to find their next victim to drain.

But the bolder ones of that population; those are the ones that truly pissed Gallagher off. Like the asshole in front of him, leaning in so close to you that you could smell the alcohol on his breath, hurling all sorts of pick up lines and sickening names at you that bordered on insults. There was no way this man was that bold. The fact that he’d look over at Gallagher every couple of seconds, the fact that he would even include Gallagher in such talk was horrendous.

‘You’ve got quite the fine catch, here.’

‘Come now, I ain’t as bad as he is, I promise.’

‘I can make all sorts of dreams come true, sweetie.’

‘I’m sure your man here wouldn’t mind sharing a little…’

If Gallagher wasn’t on the clock, he’d make sure this man would get his jaw rearranged. But he isn’t a brute, and he’s much more sophisticated than that. Though, he believes if he shows this man mercy, he’d go find some other poor soul to harass. Then again, it is also his job to make sure such things like this get punished. How unfortunate for this man to have no Bronze Melodia to read him his last rites.

With a superficial grin and barely restrained anger, he leans over the counter and catches the man’s attention. He doesn’t say much, if at all anything. He really only gives the guy a look, furrowed brows, a scowl, and the man quickly got up from his seat and ran off with his tail between his legs. 

Once Gallagher’s sure the man has given you two enough space (and is avoiding anyone else in the bar), he looks over at you with a much more docile, gentle smile.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice a low, near comforting purr. He reaches for your hand and takes it in his own, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“I’m fine,” You nod, “I just think he could definitely brush his teeth better.”

“Well, if you want me to kick him out, I don’t mind doing that,” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Or worse. Whichever you prefer.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I promise,”

“Okay, okay. But the offer still stands,” He looks back over to where the man ran off too, finding him huddled in a booth, as far as possible from the bar. Yet, the man was still nervously staring over at Gallagher, his earlier bravado completely dissipated. Gallagher meets his eyes for a moment, and he can see the man flinch.

You follow Gallagher’s gaze for a moment, before he cuts you off with a kiss to your cheek. You open your mouth to say something, but he catches your lips with his, pressing a borderline sensual kiss to your lips. You don’t protest, and melt into the kiss. You could ask yourself why he was doing this, seeing as he was a man who would stop PDA at holding your hand. Usually, the kinds of kisses were reserved for your privacy… or when he wants to make a point.

When you pull away, you feel your head spin a little. Gallagher chuckles and squeezes your hand, looking back over to the booth. Before he cna gauge the man’s reaction, he realizes that Siobahn has rounded to the bar. 

“Oh, shift change, perfect!” He hums, pulling away all too quickly to greet Siobahn and clock out. You raise your eyebrow as he does so, downing your drink and standing up. 

Normally, he finds an excuse to stay just a little longer, just one more drink, and so on. But now, he’s keen to leave. Which you don’t mind, but you can’t help but wonder why he’s like this. Either he wants to get off the clock as soon as possible so he’s not liable for what happens to that man, or he wants to whisk you away from that man’s sight and make sure you feel better. Both are quite endearing, in their own ways.

He rounds the bar counter, coming to your side and placing a hand on the small of your back. He ushers you out of the bar with a soft ‘c’mon’, making sure to stay close to you. You were practically hip-to-hip with him, every now and then his hand would reach for your shoulder and pull you in closer when someone looked at you for a second longer. It’s kind of cute, the way he’s protective of you. At the same time, he feels more like a clingy puppy, nosing his way into your hand when you give someone else too much attention.

When you two get home, Gallagher scoops you up in his arms with a grunt of effort, he makes his way to the couch. You don’t even have time to react, all your mind can come up with is a giggle as he sits down, setting you down in his lap. He wraps his arms around you and rests his chin on your shoulder, hands splaying over your stomach.

“Mh, just like how it's supposed to be,” He murmurs, an air of… nostalgia in his voice?

“What do you mean by that?” You tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. In turn, he hides his face in the crook of your neck, muttering something you can’t quite catch. His stubble paired with his words succeeds in only making you laugh, squirming in his arms.

“Noooo…” He whines pitifully, pulling you up closer against him, like your squirming was an attempt to get away. “Lemme just hold you. For a minute. Max. Please?”

“I never said you couldn’t, you’re just–” You squirm again, reaching up and cupping his face. “– making it impossible to sit still.”

“M’sorry,” He apologizes for no particular reason. After another moment of hiding in your neck, he finally pulls away and leans back against the couch. “Y’know… I could’ve punched him. Probably still can, bet that asshole’s still at the bar.”

“I told you it was fine, I’m fine,”

“I know, but the offer still stands. I could find him in an hour. Or less.”

“Well I appreciate the thought, but I’d rather you not resort to violence,”

Gallagher tilts his head further into your palm, looking back up at you as if to verify that what you said was true. You simply look down with a smile, and his face softens, accepting your answer.

“Okay. But you know if anyone does anything like that you can tell me, right? Even if I'm at work and you’re… shopping, or whatever, you can call me. I can play the hero. I’d like to, you know,”

You laugh and lean back scratching at his scruff. This earns you a soft ‘hmph’ in return, eyes closing with satisfaction. He’s happy if you’re happy, it’s always been this way. Gallagher knows the beauty he holds in his arms at this very moment, and that knowledge gives him quite the ego boost. He’s a humble man, and he always does his best not to let pride or anything of the sort go to his head. But he can’t help it when some people get too cocky, when he’s able to chase them away with just a look. Not that it was enough for him– clearly, he had to make his point– but there is a certain pride to keeping one’s lover safe, and letting someone so bold know just who your heart belongs to.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | strawpage | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[sungkixx]

Nezushi Dance Scene Analysis

I was talking with a friend about how the way two people dance show a lot about the status of their relationship with each other. Then I decided to give my own thoughts about Nezushi’s Iconic Dance Scene and what was the dance scene trying to show.

This may be an obvious thing to some, but I wanted to express my thoughts anyway :)

In a scene before this, Nezumi passed out due to the Song of the Wind (Elyurias’s song) and later wakes up to Shion next to him. Shion then worries incessantly, checks him to see if there was anything wrong or if he was in any pain.

Nezumi sees his earnest worry about him and gets agitated and uncomfortable, since he’s not used to another person worrying about him. He gets especially narked when Shion tells him straight up that hes a human being and that he should look out for himself.

Having someone worry over you means more shackles on you, in order to put in the extra effort of being careful. Basically it means someone loves you.

To Nezumi, this was not necessary.

But even after his yell, Shion still continues to care. He then spontaneously decided to teach Shion how to dance.

To me, this dance was basically a show of their life together from the night that they met to now.

They start off with Nezumi asking if Shion has any experience in dancing, he says no.

Here I think it’s a reflection of his naivety of the world outside of No.6, with Nezumi saying he’ll teach him some basic steps, like he’ll give him the introduction of The West Block.

“Don’t look down.”

I highly imagine this being a direct reference to Nezumi saying, “Don’t look away, look at the world in-front of you.” We know he has said this to Shion many times.

Shion then says to cut it out, how it’s useless, and gives a few excuses on why they should stop dancing, like the times Shion would be on the verge of breaking down, saying how it’s useless, and was willing to give up. But a few words from Nezumi, became his guideline, and helped him overcome it. He stumbles and is slow to keep up, due to this being a whole new experience for him. It’s hard to take in.

As time goes on, Shion’s understanding of Nezumi and how he views the world becomes clearer and clearer. The more they dance, the more he understands. He is watching, seeing the world in Nezumi’s POV, he is empathising with him.

“Dance…dance, Shion.”

Nezumi encourages Shion to live in this new world.

After they finished dancing, Shion is out of breath, and laments how hard dancing actually is, saying he learned something new. Shion is huffing and puffing, while Nezumi is, assumedly, all right. This basically proves the point Nezumi wanted to make, to not worry for him, since he’s basically been doing this all his life.

He does not need the care and the love.

But even after all that, Shion still does anyway.

It’s a direct retelling of their story, and I had never noticed the underlying meaning behind the dance. I had first watched it in the anime and thought the scene was done so beautifully. I had recognised the purpose of them dancing through the West Block, like a show of their life spent with each other. Then I read the manga and novel, which I read through quickly without much thought since its a scene i’ve seen many times.

I played it off as a wonderful iconic scene in the novel, a show of love and intimacy. But what I didn’t know was how much it was a representation of the journey they had up to this point in time. Not only did it show their dynamic and connection, it was like watching them both reflect on the impacts they had on each other.

It was an amazingly written scene and I’m glad it is in the story.

｡.:*☆

If you have read this far THANK YOU SO MUCH GENUINELY um I really hope this was easy to read and understand, i still dont rlly know the mechanics around here, so if u had a hard time reading it, or some feedback, or maybe ur personal input on the dance scene, FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A COMMENT !! <3

i have a test tmr im supposed to be studying for and here i am talking abt nezushi sigh they have taken over my brain TvT

[hope-in-cloudy-skies]

In Jesus name I pray that this post will reach those who need it, and that those beautiful people will have the strength and trust in Christ to receive this message with willing and softened hearts… AMEN!!!

After a really difficult time in my feelings today, I just wanted to come on here and be real with you all for a moment. God does not rely on our feelings. And I know that in the times of despair, or suffering, or exhaustion… sometimes we might not feel like God is there at all.

But He is. God is always there. And today I learned a really, REALLY valuable lessons. To anyone struggling with your prayer life, this is for you. I read in the New Testament in the gospels that we shouldn’t say too many words in prayer because they become meaningless, and that less is more. And I took this to mean that I wasn’t allowed to tell God about my day, that I wasn’t allowed to rant to him about my feelings, that I just needed to say the things that needed immediate clarification and be done with it because anything else was TOO MUCH.

And as someone who’s been told her whole life that she’s too much, that really got to me. I got scared. I stopped praying to God with my whole heart and started being afraid to say the wring thing. But these verse are NOT to find shame in us!! When Jesus was saying “less is more,” he was talking to the Pharisees about how their mouths praised and preached but their hearts were turned away from God. They prayed long prayers not to gain the approval of the Lord, but to gain the approval of the people. And then I got to thinking. Jesus prayed ALL NIGHT to God!! How’s that for “long prayers?” So when you pray to God, pray what’s on your heart. I’ve been told to treat him like a best friend, but I say talk to him like you would talk to the perfect person. Why? Because he WAS the perfect person. When God the Son became man and lived his time out here on earth, he was COMPLETELY sinless. And if you met the perfect person, you would be able to trust them completely and honestly. And thats how you should talk to God. Completely and honestly. Tell him the deepest desires of your heart. Tell him about the little things in your life that are just crazy annoying or the little things that you can’t help but see his wonders work in. Tell him about your feelings, when youre angry, when youre sad, when youre happy… just dont stop talking to God. Because God doesnt want you to be perfect, God KNOWS that we are sinners and that is exactly why he sent his Son Jesus Christ to die for us on the cross!! God wants areal relationship with you. And what relationship doesnt have its ups and downs? Just because God is perfect and has no faults doesn’t mean that you are too, and in fact based on 1 John 1:8 (“If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” NIV Bible) if we claim that we are without faults and therefore not sinners, we cannot truly accept God’s grace because, in our minds, there is nothing to accept.

So take heart, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ. God’s grace is made complete in the acceptance of our sins, because without sin there would be no reason for grace. And that Holy grace extends to all of us, because as Romans 10:9 says…

From here on out if anyone needs prayers and/or support feel free to leave a note in the comments or even DM me anonymously if you don’t want anyone to see who you are!!! I am here for each and every one of you and will do my best to help you all individually as the Lord God guides me!! In addition to that we are ALL a part of the body of Christ, and as the Lord shared with me recently if one part of the body has a bruise the rest of the body works to heal it!!

~Hopey, OUT!!! ✨🕊️🫶🥰

[paingoes]

(long Paris apologia paragraph ahead sorry)

I love both Delta and Paris, and while Delta is infinitely more likable and I have more in common with Delta re: autism and child abuse, I honestly find Paris to be a more compelling character? (Part of this is because I'm also an alcoholic with complex trauma and I so very rarely see the worst parts of my trauma being represented in a sympathetic light.) I definitely get why people don't like him. he's a violent shithead, a menace to society and himself, not to mention he has the emotional intelligence of a rock.

You mentioned this in a previous post but I think you did a really good job with showing that a lot of Paris' worst qualities (his violent mood swings, his sense of entitlement, his power tripping abusive behavior etc) comes from a place of his own patheticness and refusal to change (especially the times when he breaks down after getting too drunk) and I think that's what allows me to sympathize with and like him more then anything. His childishness in his most monstrous and vulnerable moments really drives home that he's not really suited to the role of all powerful monarch he was raised to be, and who's abuse and status in the empire caused him both to grow up way too fast, while at the same time never allowing him to develop into a healthy adult and that he's in many ways, a kid in a grown person's body who sees himself as doomed to repeat the cycles of his childhood trauma that created him unless he chooses otherwise. (A horrifying and daunting task for someone like him)

Like the scene where he breaks Delta's arm and almost drowns him? It's scary as hell but what stands out to me it despite the horrible violence and long term consequences of his actions, is just how petty and childish his motivations for doing so is (which does not make them any less harmful). he's acting this way because he feels slighted and abandoned by Lorelai. You hurt me I hurt you. This gives me a lot of leeway into both sympathizing with him as someone with similar struggles while also reminding me that he's not the way he is because he's powerful, like he wants you to believe, but a very weak and jaded person who wants to feel powerful and is given the systemic means to. Which doesn't make him less dangerous.

Sorry for the long ask, I'm just very much enjoying your story, especially Paris's "being humbled by life" arc and I'm super excited about what will be in store for both him and Delta next ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

oh my godddddd this was such an amazing thing to wake up to. i kind dont even wanna post it i just want to hold onto it forever. this is so sweet.

i dont know if i can respond to all of this right now and i might talk more about the different points you brought up later. but generally i am so pleased with this analysis and im pleased you have gotten this much out of it? im gonna say more under the cut

pretty heavy warnings for child abuse. nothing explicit just discussion of institutional child abuse/complex trauma and how it affects people psychologically.

like i said i could talk about them basically forever but re: childishness and being pathetic. YEAH i mean i think it is very obvious that paris’s growth has been stunted as a result of abuse + neglect. in fact i think that growing up in empire alone is inherently stunting because it is a system very much designed to kill empathy and to breed hunger and greed in people. its a problem with the whole society, cruelty and selfishness are incentivized over developing more complex moral structures and even over developing your own identity.

[ people like lorelai are very much an outlier within Empire, but i think its clear that she is….also pretty immature? she has a lot of love and a desire to do good, which kind of makes up for it, but she is childish in the sense that her parents sheltered her and her own ideas about revolution and utopia are very very idealized. i think this delusional optimism is a good thing for paris tbh and it kinda balances out his own cynicism. but lorelai will need to grow up at some point too. its just her reckoning is allowed to be softer. ]

but paris’s case was particularly bad for a few reasons.

the most obvious is that he was prince and naturally the expectations placed on him were a lot greater and the consequences for not meeting them were a lot harsher.

paris was born with pretty severe ADHD and mood regulation issues and his symptoms only worsened the more that he was punished for them

paris at his core is a genuinely sensitive and intelligent person that understands right from wrong

and i think this alone provides a lot of context for how he is now but it also makes it easier to understand why his childhood was basically torture for him. like yeah exposure to complex trauma will kind of naturally stunt your growth at certain points but you also get the sense that paris’s growth was like. deliberately stunted or that the handicap was self-inflicted. paris acts dumber than he is. its how he makes peace with it. its cool to be a callous idiot because if you have to be a self aware and moral person in this environment you will immediately get one-shotted by guilt.

and for what it’s worth i think delta’s growth was also — obviously — stunted. but in a different way shaped by their respective roles.

it’s legitimately really gross for me to describe it this way but it does feel like one of the goals with delta’s conditioning was to make a forever-child. someone who will do what you say and remain perfectly ignorant and docile and obedient. he can be used but is basically incapable of putting up a fight. martino and simon both speak to delta like he’s a child and that infantilization is to keep him pliant and similarly trapped in that same sense of helplessness he felt when he was little :(

i think delta is very low empathy naturally and actually doesnt have an innate moral compass which is what made him such a perfect candidate for the job. but it also means he is super susceptible to getting someone else’s morals imposed onto him as long as he finds them logical and coherent. his ability to morally reason and his way of interacting with people is obviously very underdeveloped but its more immediately obvious why.

ive said before that i think delta is more emotionally mature than paris but i think maybe this paints an incorrect view of things? i mean. delta is not holding his tongue and regulating his own emotions because he thinks its a mature thing to do. hes doing it because he knows not to speak without permission and that if he ever had an outburst the way paris did, he would be beaten within an inch of his life. so i feel like maybe its wrong to attribute this as one of his virtues. (without totally discounting the fact that delta is very sweet and doing his best.) delta would very much struggle with like. setting boundaries, standing up for himself in any way, communicating his feelings. you can describe paris as childish but i think delta is childlike. in that he’s also suffering the consequences of abuse but his specific conditioning has made him more fawny in a way that reads as sympathetic and virtuous.

basically yeah my point was. they were both stunted at some critical point in their development and are both dealing with the consequences of that. paris was a victim but he was simultaneously groomed to be a perpetrator, versus delta who is mostly victim.

anyway thanks so much wow im gonna print this whole ask out ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[pain-is-too-tired]

Why Luke did have bad childhood, and definitely an interesting character, what he did is far from anything close to any of the other characters. Even Octavian(who lot more people hate more then Luke.)

We don't know Octavian's backstory but based off what we are told he likely came from an upper family who enforced the thoughts he had when we see him.

New Rome/CJ pushed anti-greek sentiment lot more than chb even thought about Romans. And then Leo's is possessed and attacks New Rome, his home, all that is confirmed in his mind. By BOO he's very clearly spiraling, but despite all that he truly wants to defeat Gaea. He just feels the greeks are another enemy to his home.

He was 18 when he died, and outside his blackmail tactics everything he did took place in a few month span of time. And he's already falling apart at the seems.

Luke is 23 when he dies. He's believed to be 19 in tlt. Which likely means when he leaves Percy to the very venomous scorpion that he just barely survives, he at least close to 20,as his birthday is probably end of summer but before Percy's.

In those years from 19-23 this is list of what he does-

-attempt murder on multiple children(as well as indirectly cause deaths of multiple children)

- was going to make Percy watch Annabeth and Grover get eaten alive before killing him just to make him suffer a bit more.

- sends unknown amount of demigods into the labyrinth where majority of them died/ went insane.

- Was complicit in what was pretty much human trafficking(both Di Angelos are nearly taken and forced into the Titan Army. Then the next year Nico is near sold to the army,as the ranch guy mentions Luke been offering payment to those who bring demigods to the army. We really dont know how long that been going on by botl)

- Manipulated and blackmail children into working with TA

- was pushing for Thaila to join knowing full well Kronos wanted her for his host(a fate described as worse than death-)

- only really seemed uncomfortable and wanting to backtrack when he was going become Kronos' host.

- we don't see him break through Kronos until he snaps at Chiron. Not even a change in facial expression or hesitantation when dozens of demigods on both sides are killed by Kronos. Not even when Annabeth is stabbed.

He maytrs himself. But that doesn't make all he did justified or to be brushed under the rug. He doesn't really get to face the consequences of his actions(if he is sent to Esylum/reborn, which personal don't believe. At least think he should go to the Fields. Even then they're not really all that aware in the fields)

Luke is a represention of someone so blinded by hatred that he looses himself. Looses his humanity. By SoM, maybe even tlt, he cared more about besting his father then anything. Yet in turn he turned and did the same onto those who looked up to and trusted him.

Percy and Annabeth are at the stage where their prefrontal cortex is less developed. That effects emotions, impulses, aggression and instinctive behaviour. And all have adhd so they're level in that regard. Yet feel as though in some cases they have much more emotional maturity and think through things more than Luke. But they're still gonna to make rash decisions and react more emotionally to things before thinking.

Trauma doesn't go away. But it's up to you to make sure you don't continue the cycle. And Luke failed at that. He failed at that for 3-4 years. But those qualities are what make his character interesting and why I feel just sweeping it under the rug is a disservice to his character. It's not naive to expect more from the grown adult then from the 12-16 yr old children. Trauma doesn't excuse actions. Especially when you have Jason and even Thaila as a comparison

not only did they grow up with a mother not at all present, but unlike May who went insane out of the love for her son and what she saw, their mother hardly gave them much love. Thaila had to raise Jason, and then Jason was abandoned just to please Hera.

Thaila later runs away and then dies. Jason spends almost all his life being raise to be nothing but a soldier for New Rome and Juno. He dies for his friends, not as a last minute choice but something he knew was coming.

Jupiter cared so little over him that Hera grieved more than him. The goddess known for hating children of her husband even says "your son" to Zeus. And in a way was more of a godly parent to Jason then jupiter

Why Hermes, who definitely wasn't perfect father to Luke, still loved Luke after everything. More than all his other children combined i argue.

I mean Chris doesn't get claimed until he's at the lostest part of his life why Hermes gets angry at a teenage girl for choosing not to trust and help the guy who nearly killed her friends and nearly had her eaten alive and crushed under the sky just cause he was upset over what happened his son(and also kinda emotionally avoiding both his own guilt and how Luke put himself in the situation he was now in- emotional avoidance i feel was a trait passed on to Luke as well)

And again,despite being younger, Jason never let's his anger be aimed at those who didn't cause his pain. He focused on making sure no one had to feel like he did.

Naive observation about PJO character flaws

I have noticed something very interesting in Percabeth and Luke discussions when it comes to flaws.

The common rhetic employed by Annabeth defenders against anti Percabeth arguments is that Annabeth had a traumatic childhood so she doesn't know any better and we can't blame her for the way she is.

But then I bet those same people will say Luke has no excuse for his actions and was evil trash who deserved to die...although his childhood was arguably worse than Annabeth's. Thalia seems to be the only one who came close to being his equal. Despite all the injustices the demigods face, Luke's anger and bitterness are waved away by PJO fandom it seems.

Pretty sure I saw someone say Percy's life was terrible but he didn't fall down Luke's path. Percy had trauma but he turned out ok, not like nasty Luke. Just another way to emphasize how much "stronger" Percy is compared to Luke. The same way Snaters will use Neville and Harry to downplay Snape's trauma.

So I guess based on that logic Annabeth is weak for letting her trauma influence her poor treatment of others?? Why does Annabeth's trauma give her freedom to treat Percy the way she does but Luke's trauma is irrelevant and downplayed?

I have a soft heart for characters with innate goodness who have been screwed over by life. Characters who could have been so much more but never got the chance to truly be happy and LIVE. I guess that's something Luke and Snape have in common. I guess another thing Luke and Snape have in common is that the hero protagonist gets all the glory for their pain and sacrifices.

[shellymarshdaily]

167. shut up

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[tubbytarchia]

I don't know what this is all I know is that LimL Joel makes me really emotional

[tenderjock]

I’m with you, my love The lights shining through on you Yes, I’m with you, my love It’s the morning and just we two

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[triglycercule]

alright,,,,,is this newyears gift,,,,,, i dont no. but maybe it's late enough that i'll be able to forget that i drew this 😁😁😁😁 mttpoly doodles. whoever sees this sees this

[deoidesign]

Hey when your art friends share their work with you, please take note to not turn that into a vent session about how your own stuff sucks... It's just gonna make your friend feel like their art is hurting you, and they're not gonna share anymore.

[moeblob]

Sorry I forgot Hanneman suggested Byleth undress after they show up with a different hair color. And I miss Hanneman. And also while swapping between Houses and Hopes and seeing Hanneman pop up to help in a Hopes paralogue is just devastating since he doesn't ever actually join you at all and I am denied my old man rights.

So I had to draw this. Thank you for understanding.