#i apologize for the scant response

[givehimthemedicine]

time for my big lumax rantpost. I used to be way more of a shipper but upon reexamining some of my GA-era assumptions, I'm here to tell you why it sucks, and why I don't look forward to lumax endgame if it's the same lumax we've been getting.

lumax has fantastic potential, but needs lots of work to actually become the ship most of the fandom thinks it is.

I get the sense most on here consider lumax ST's darling perfect ship which is sullied by weak and/or racist writing. while I wouldn't argue at all that the writing does right by Lucas, I do think it's important to recognize lumax as an intentionally-written badly flawed relationship, NOT a poorly-written perfect relationship. (the writing for 5 has a lot to prove so we'll see)

lumax is obviously happening. no ending to Lucas's story makes sense other than him getting the girl. however, I don't like that from either character's standpoint.

from hers - Max is not a prize. and from his - Max is no prize.

Max is a pretty shitty girlfriend.

we've never seen her show Lucas any interest in learning anything about him. I can't remember a time she's complimented him, said anything nice about him, or done anything purely for his benefit. virtually all of their serious conversations have been about her, and the scant few that are sort of about him are inevitably just a lead-in to him offering support to her.

Lucas and Max's relationship - pre, during, and post dating - is 100% about what he can do for her. he's the one making 100% of the effort.

it seems like most of their interactions are him walking on eggshells trying to placate, reassure, or convince her, all for the reward of.... what. being allowed to continue existing near her? like yeah, she's a cool girl, but. that can't be it.

what good is getting the girl if the girl doesn't really offer anything?

. . .

through the seasons, semiquickly:

season 2

Lucas and Dustin both like Max, so they invite her trick or treating, offering to protect her from bullies and show her where the good candy is. in other words, the first Max / Lucas interaction is him offering something to benefit her. Max returns no appreciation or even response to the invite, yet still shows up to reap the benefits.

that pretty much sets the tone.

Max wants to be included, but that's a sensitive subject, so she puts on aloof airs to protect herself. it's an act, but nonetheless it's all Lucas receives.

the facade slips on multiple occasions though; Lucas is permitted to see her vulnerability, and we can see she's actually more desperate to make the connection than he is.

Dustin seeks Steve's manipulation tactics to use on Max, but Lucas wins her over by treating her like an equal and offering her genuine friendship.

he risks both his place in the party and his safety/life to include her, gives his undivided attention when she talks to him, asks questions that show his interest and concern, he reassures, uplifts and compliments her, and physically protects her.

in return, Max. uhh. well she does apologize for being a jerk, although she doesn't exactly stop, lmao. this is one of only two moments I can think of when Max reveals any regard for what Lucas thinks of her.

lumax is off-balance before it even starts, although s2 is when I think that dynamic is most permissible. since Max is a newcomer, Lucas has the advantage in many respects, and it makes sense for him to be the one extending a hand to her.

when Billy attacks Lucas for hanging out with Max, he could be gravely hurt if not for Steve taking the beating instead. Max joins in the momentary group hug but never says a word about this. (I suspect the writers mean for Max's bus apology to have proactively served as a veiled "sorry my stepbro is racist" but more felt needed in that moment.)

then they go to the dance and she kisses him and it's cute and everything is happy for ten whole seconds.

between 2 and 3

even though the summer of '85 is "the good days," this relationship is already careening downhill.

we learn that Max has dumped Lucas five times - such a regular occurrence that he takes it in stride and is well practiced at winning her back as a result.

unfortunately it's Lucas taking to heart the "happy wife happy life" policy from his dad that's set up lumax as something that seems to serve only Max. her awareness of the policy means she holds all the cards.

season 3

Max has secured her place in the party and the relationship, and now it's time for her to bring something to the table, but I honestly can't name one thing. it's still Lucas bending over backwards and Max sometimes being a bit of a jerk. (another act. we'll come back to this)

from the start of 3 we see an excessively secure Max and an obsequious Lucas. she doesn't show him any of the vulnerability that made her endearing in 2. they share fun moments, but we can infer that she doesn't treat him very well in ways that matter.

at one point she even plays mad just to watch him panic. you get the feeling this boy can never feel secure in his relationship. yeah she's just teasing, but do you think Lucas is allowed to tease too?

when El comes to Max for advice, she tells her that "boyfriends lie all the time" and this is before we see Lucas lie to her.

when Mike comes to Lucas for advice, he confidently schools him on how to get back in El's good graces by buying her a present - making clear he's been following his dad's advice all summer long and it's been working:

L: Dad? When Mom's mad at you, how do you make her not mad? C: First, I apologize. Then, I get your mother whatever she wants. L: Even when she's wrong? C: She's never wrong, son.

the mall confrontation is the first time we see Lucas really lie to Max, but even then, the girls don't actually have proof Nana isn't sick.

it's telling, actually, that Lucas's loyalty goes to Mike instead of Max in this moment. in s2 it was the other way around (Lucas pissed off the whole party by including her in the group and telling her the truth - a technically banishable offense). but now he's back to his s1 bros before hoes policy, and not only backs up but expands on Mike's lie. after dating almost a year, his loyalty to Max should be even stronger, but here we see the opposite. if Max had been at least as good a friend to him as Mike, I'm inclined to think he would at least have tried to be noncommittal here.

Max is so confident Lucas will have nothing on his mind but winning her back, as always - meanwhile who we actually see Lucas apologizing to is Will.

she may have had Lucas wrapped around her little finger all summer, but we're seeing that start to uncoil. if Lucas apologizes, it's offscreen.

when Billy tries to break out of the sauna to kill Max, Lucas slingshots him and body shields Max during the fight. next thing you know, Max is back to being cliquey with El in the bathroom (making fun of Mike even though he was the only one who did anything to save El's life?? girl you're being shitty to boyfriends that aren't even yours)

they seem to be a couple again by the end of 3, but the relationship is weakened...

between 3 and 4

..which sets the scene for how the two apparently drift when Max ends it once again. she's not playing this time - she uses the term "break up" instead of "dump" and Lucas has accepted that it's over.

depression makes it hard for Max to connect with him, but the way she treated him in 3 has likely also eaten away at his insistence on prioritizing her. if you push someone away over and over you can't be too surprised if they stay further away each time.

so Max withdraws socially and Lucas apparently doesn't go to his usual lengths to pursue her.

he's still making effort though! the "stalking" comment makes it clear he's been trying to approach her. we know he's been inviting her to his basketball games. him already knowing her favorite song as of 4x4 is more evidence of him taking an interest in her between seasons.

he clearly still cares a lot about Max, but good for him for pursuing his own hobbies and friendships as well.

season 4

Lucas finally asks Max to do something to support him for once (come to his game), but she shuts it down hard.

we know Max still cares about him, but that's just it - WE know. he doesn't. to his face, it's bristling rejection even while he literally begs for the chance to support her.

saving Max's life is a group effort, but Lucas knowing her favorite song is the key that saves her life, and it's only after that that she's friendly towards him again.

the only time I can recall Max expressing any concern for Lucas's wellbeing is when she asks if he's okay in 4x6 - and he only gets a few sentences to process Patrick's death before it's time for him to turn it into an apology to her. sigh.

Lucas is the only one of Max's friends to voice any objection to her suicide mission of a Vecna plan, and pitches for them to gamble a stranger's life instead. he once again risks his life to hang out in the Creel house with Max, personally taking on the huge responsibility of making sure she doesn't die.

Vol 2 Max finally shows Lucas some long-awaited appreciation ("you might have been there" and "I'm glad you're here") which is very nice to see.

I'm conflicted about the movie invite scene, but we'll talk about that later. textually: he asks her out, she accepts, it's totes adorbs.

unfortunately, Max being tranced out by the time Jason walks in means it's time for Lucas once again to get attacked by an older, stronger guy who's wrongly convinced he's a danger to her. (again not her fault, but kinda because of her)

everything goes sideways, Max gets Vecna'd, and Lucas holds her while she dies. we end on a bruised Lucas sitting loyally at Max's bedside, reading to her just in case she can hear it inside her coma.

Lucas hasn't been perfect but he has spent yet another season physically protecting and emotionally supporting Max at great personal expense, and with little appreciation and no support in return.

. . .

the movie doodle didn't fix lumax

Max has had an epiphany, but a change of behavior has scarcely begun. being nice isn't the same as making amends. they've resolved zero of the old issues, plus 4 (even if the plan had worked) has heaped a ton of new shit on both of them.

she's still a grieving, neglected, depressed and passively suicidal child of a triply-broken home. dating doesn't fix that. they already broke up once under the same conditions.

plus Max has new catastrophic emotional traumas, some of which which explicitly exacerbate those very issues. she has catastrophic injuries and disability to cope with (and this is a girl who withdraws under stress normally). with a shred of realism, she's waking up in less a mood for dating than ever.

Lucas has also taken on new traumas, between the basketball team stuff, getting beaten up and almost shot/strangled, and watching Max get Vecna'd and die. he already has a history of guilt about not being there for her enough, so he's going to have a lot more about failing her in that moment (definitely not his fault but he'll still feel bad) and will likely be even more focused on her.

to me, this all sounds like a recipe for the same old dynamic except worse than ever. if they get sleeping beauty'd directly back into lumax, it'll be a disservice to both characters.

. . .

now let's talk about why Max treats Lucas the way she does 🔬

she's not a conniving bitch, she's just a scared kid from a toxic home. that doesn't excuse her behavior but it does make it understandable.

Max CAN be a great friend. she's just not to Lucas.

Max absolutely showers El with the good qualities she'll barely show Lucas. in fact I could loosely say Max is to El what Lucas is to Max.

Max is suspicious and disparaging towards Lucas, even while trusting that he can be counted upon to grovel. meanwhile El never apologizes for intentionally hurting Max both physically and emotionally, yet the moment El acknowledges her (only because she wants help), Max is instantly forgiving, kind, gentle, caring, generous and supportive towards her.

she throws her loyalty behind a friend of 1 afternoon over her boyfriend of a year who's been the only person in Hawkins to show her any true kindness and emotional connection.

if Max was half the friend to Lucas that she is to El, she'd be a decent girlfriend. why isn't she?

we can name a few reasons why Max IS so nice to El, but why she ISN'T to Lucas is a separate question. kindness isn't zero-sum.

she told us why. boyfriends lie.

and it's ANY boyfriend, not just hers. Nana's sick? more like Mike's a lying piece of shit! Suzie from camp? fake! Dustin's obviously lying! the only one of the boys Max has never accused of lying is Will - the only one who's been single the whole time.

just. the state of being a boyfriend (or even just liking a girl is close enough), makes any boy automatically a liar.

Max believes "friend" and "boyfriend" are mutually exclusive

"Friends don't lie!" "Yeah, well, boyfriends lie all the time." <- it's all right there.

back in 2 when Lucas was her friend, she was more open and trusting. she gave him the benefit of the doubt that monsters were real and he knew a girl with magic powers. starting to date flipped the switch, and now she doesn't trust him about mundane stuff.

now they're not friends, they're boyfriend/girlfriend, and she expects to be treated in a whole different way, including all the baggage that comes with romantic relationships in her mind.

what baggage?

Max's childhood is full of examples of awful, manipulative men and abusive, broken relationships.

her dad: I'd only be speculating about why her parents' marriage failed, but in 2 Max misses California because her dad is still there, then by 4 acts like it's doubtful he can even be tracked down for delivery of what's basically her suicide letter. it's clear she desired a relationship with her dad but was abandoned. Neil: abusive asshole who rules the household with an iron fist. I'd be shocked if he hasn't abused Susan, and see little reason he wouldn't do it in front of Max (after all, we see him verbally and physically abuse his first wife in front of his son, in a bad fight over suspected lies/infidelity). in his grief over Billy, Neil and Susan have "bad fights" and he leaves the family. he's not missed, but it's still a second abandonment by a father figure. Billy: Max's peer example of guys in relationships: a sleazy, two-faced asshole who treats girls like trash and completely changes his persona to manipulate them for sex or whatever else he wants (Max appears to be all too aware of his sex life and is disgusted). abandonment issues with him too: a good relationship with a big brother would've meant the world to her, but he rejected and probably abused her for years; her letter at his grave reads "ever since you left" - same word she used for Neil.

Max desperately hopes Lucas is an exception to the rule, but these are the behaviors she would naturally fear from any guy she dates.

Max is especially terrified of being abandoned (and that she deserves it)

to be abandoned over and over can naturally leave a kid wondering if it's their fault, if this is the treatment they deserve.

Lucas is overall quite honest, and there's not an abusive bone in his body. the most realistic one of Max's fears to apply to him is that someday he'll leave her, too.

and that's the worst fear Vecna chooses to voice in Lucas's form: realizing he's been wrong about her, that she's fundamentally bad and he's glad she's going to be killed. a gutting abandonment from the guy she most wants to trust.

Vecna-Susan also tells Max that she deserves what's going to happen to her, that she's "broken everything" and that her letters can't make things right. because he's in full Vecna mode when he says it, I just took those as very general condemnations at first. but they hurt even worse when I remember they're still coming from "Susan" - revealing that Max feels she has broken her family.

she wanted Billy to die, and she figures Neil left because Billy died, so that's two of the abandonments being "her fault". if that's true, Max would also feel responsible for destroying her mom's life - having cost her her marriage, home, and financial security.

in her addictions Susans has, in an emotional sense, abandoned Max just like all her other family members - and Max fears she deserves it. how desperate she was for this hug... :(

anyway, back to lumax: let's reexamine those s3 dumpings

what exactly did Lucas even do? we never find out.

on first watch, I took "boyfriends lie" at face value and assumed Lucas got caught fibbing. but that doesn't fit so well.

he's maybe the party member most invested in "friends don't lie". honesty to his friends is a pillar of his character. again, he caused friction in 2 because he so strongly prioritized honesty to Max. to assume based on one line from an unreliable narrator that he randomly became a huge liar over the summer is unfair.

via their counseling of Mike and El, Lucas and Max tell us what's been going on with lumax

Max tells El:

He'll come crawling back to you in no time, begging for forgiveness. I guarantee him and Lucas are totally wallowing in self-pity and misery right now like "ohh, I hope they take us back!"

I think we all clocked that one: Max thinks that because El followed her technique, Mike will come crawling back - because Lucas has come crawling back to her several times now.

but I haven't seen much discussion about how the spying scene (which "he'll come crawling back" is paired with) shows Lucas assuring Mike that he's been dumped for an unfair and illogical reason because that's what Max has done to him several times now.

M: I just don't understand what I did to deserve this. L: Nothing. Nothing. That's my whole point. You are the victim here. Stop asking rational questions. M: I know, I know, you're right. Because women act on emotion and not logic. L: Precisely. It's a totally different species.

Max is pissed. but has she been irrational, acting on emotion and not logic, and dumping him for no apparent reason all summer? signs point to yes.

and I understand Lucas saying this. it's not pure misogyny out of nowhere; he's been told that his mother expects gifts and apologies even when wrong, Max acts that way too, and now so apparently does El. all of his examples concur that this is just how women in relationships are. (Charles Sinclair how many relationships will your advice destroy lmao)

both Max and Lucas are bringing preconceptions from home.

Max acts this way on purpose

I don't think she's dumped him over truly nothing (although that's how it looks to him). I'm thinking she blows real, minor missteps out of proportion.

any time Lucas does something slightly insensitive, it looks like the first red flag to her, and instead of communicating in a constructive way, she just throws up this "boys aint shit" force field and dumps him. of course she doesn't truly want to be rid of him, she's just sorta snapping the leash.

I think Max knows what she's doing. I think she wants to keep Lucas always on his back foot, because the relationship isn't as scary if she feels like she holds all the power.

she's always trying to cover up fear/sorrow with anger, because anger gives an illusion of control. and she's been conscious of that anger, and the fact that it's unfair to Lucas, since the beginning - that's what she apologized for on the bus. "I guess I'm angry too, and I'm sorry."

she was mature enough at 13 to see the error in her behavior, but still not mature enough by 15 to fix it. every season has just been a slightly different flavor of "leave before you get left".

so, that's my take on Max's relationship behavior. but again, explanations aren't excuses. Lucas deserves to be treated well, and that's not happening.

what needs to happen?

simply maturing more will help them both a lot. being 15 is a terrible condition in of itself.

I don't see Lucas dumping Max's ass, but she should take her own advice before the relationship continues: explain herself and fix the garbage parts of her behavior.

before Max can be the girlfriend Lucas deserves, she needs a substantial period of physical and emotional healing.

she needs renewed connections with her friends and family, and a lot of general growth in the area of communication and processing her feelings.

in regards to Lucas, she needs to work on her trust issues, and learn to extend him the treatment warranted by his behavior, not the behavior she fears from others. she needs to learn that "friend" and "girlfriend" aren't mutually exclusive, that real friendship is the key to their relationship, and is a two-way street.

any Billy racism/assault acknowledgement would be better years late than never, especially if grieving Billy continues to be a focus in front of Lucas.

Lucas could also use a little work

the relentless positivity doesn't serve Max well. often it turns out to be empty reassurances which make her feel let down (so, a soft version of the lies she fears). she let him know in 4x4 that this hurts her, but he kept doing it for the rest of the season.

but the big one is that "happy wife happy life" doesn't serve him well, and rewarding unfair treatment perpetuates the problem. yes, the ability to compromise, swallow pride, and be the bigger person are healthy parts of a relationship, as well as the willingness to extend grace to your partner/friend when they're struggling. but it always being on one designated person is a recipe for dissatisfaction and resentment.

Lucas should voice to Max that he, too, has struggles and needs support. I'd like to see him pursue outside interests unapologetically.

no, this isn't an exhaustive list, and I don't expect to see everything fixed at once, or explicitly processed onscreen. but I sure hope we get some evidence of change, and that this has all been part of an arc.

for instance, I'd love for the final lumax reconciliation to be Max asking Lucas to take her back.

I kind of hope not to see them officially together until the very end. in fact I'd so much rather see ST end on a good Max / Lucas friendship with an implied romantic future than jump back to the status quo.

l don't want to see lumax until it's a new lumax, based on real, reciprocal friendship.

[pokemon-ash-aus]

Not if someone has asked you this, if so, I apologize in advance… I have seen many interactions and related questions about how King and the twins get along but what I wonder is…Did Delia, King and his siblings (Sorry, I don't remember their names QwQ) ever talk about what happened the day Delia Did escape from the laboratory without them? If so, how was the talk, bittersweet, uncomfortable? I ask this because I think I remember you had not mentioned if they ever talked about that, apart from the fact that it generates genuine interest in how this conversation between them would develop. Btw, love your comics and your shitpost ❤️❤️

Thank you!

As for the quesiton, i dont think i ever got into it really... But the only one that tries to fogure anything out is King.

By the point Spot and Berry are there, they don't really have a point to question it anymore. It doesnt register. Yes, it's a bad memory but it's not one that they try to solve.

King on the other hand gets aggressive. He tries not to think on the past to avoid feeling remorse and guilt. But when Delia is right *there* to answer his questioms, he outright demands an answer.

And then he learns that his anger- his justifications- were for nothing.

Because Delia *has* her reasons and the worst part for King is that they make sense.

"I remember other scientists telling me that they would get attached to their little experiments." Delia hums, eyes vacant. "I never felt that, i didn't understand. Even when Indigo, Ash and Peach were created, i didnt feel that. I felt "Sad" that these babies were being used.... I didn't- i just couldnt stand to the side anymore."

"What about me? What about my sisters? Why didn't you see us as children? As babies? Why did you love them more than us!?"

"I never had the time. When you three were born, you were all born healthy and fine. You were with us for only a few scant months and then you were gone. But the Mewtwos weren't. They were dying by the truckload and i could do nothing but stand to the side because i wasnt allowed to help. I made sure that you three were healthy. But i couldnt do that for the mewtwos."

"You felt responsible for their lack of care?".

"After i thought i lost you three? Absolutely."

[scarred-but-still-smiling]

Jay's Odyssey (chapter 2 of 3)

So, you know how this all started with something cute and hopeful?

Oops.

Read here on AO3

"Am I going to have to push the entire way there?"

"It's only been two hours, Hermes!" Jorge laughed, looking out over the back of the boat, "I'm disappointed in you."

Hermes glared up at him, "your trip from Ithaca to America is gonna be a nightmare, mark my words."

Jay pouted, "Oh, c'mon, it was just a joke, I barely even scratched you."

"I'd apologize if I were you," He looked behind him, seeing Athena keeping watch at the starboard side. "He just cursed you." She said, "as a musician, I'm sure you heard it; that extra resonance on his words, that's an invocation."

Jay looked back at Hermes, and was met with a glare of genuine malice, a sinking feeling in his gut. "Okay, how about we make a deal." He offered, "you push during the day, from sunrise to sunset, and then during the night you can do whatever the hell you wanna do as long as it won't make the journey longer. Deal?"

"Fine." Hermes grumbled, "we're still not even, but I'll lift the curse."

"Thank you. If it helps, I'll buy you a bunch of candy when we get home." He walked towards the front of the boat, taking up position on the port side to keep watch.

"You're aware it's winter, right?" Athena said, "that's far fewer hours of speed than not."

"Yeah, but with the kinda speed we're talking about, that shouldn't matter all that much." Jay smiled, "besides, he seemed genuinely afraid I was actually gonna stab him, so I really needed to sweeten the pot."

The rest of the day passed without incident, they had lowered the sail when Hermes had started pushing to reduce drag, so as the sun began to set, he and Athena raised it again as Hermes climbed out of the water.

"So, what're your plans for tonight, Hermes?" Jay asked, finishing securing the ropes he was responsible for.

Hermes tossed aside the blanket he was using as a towel and began to dress himself, "I was thinking about asking Mason if he could see anything about the lotto. Any lotto, really, there's gotta be a few somewhere in the world this close to Christmas."

Athena's head swivelled to face them, rather aggressively reminding Jay about her connection to owls, "Christmas?"

Hermes put a hand to his mouth, playing at being scandalized, "Jay, don't tell me you've not told her about how religion has changed? Does she even know that only a small fraction of the world even believes in us any more?" He threw on his coat and laughed, "anyway, I'll see you two in the morning, ta-ta!"

Jay sighed as he watched Hermes disappear in a shower of sparkles, this was gonna be a complicated discussion.

It took a few tangents in their conversation as he ate his dinner to explain landmasses that she wasn't familiar with, and he himself wasn't an encyclopedia, so he wasn't able to give her all the details she asked for, but Athena took it surprisingly well.

She smiled, "I suppose as times change, and more is suffered, there will be need for different types of faith to help mortals to endure their many kinds of pain."

"I guess," he said, throwing the bones from his salted fish overboard and grabbing the spare blanket from the storage hut, "you know, I almost wonder if you'll be able to see the world I come from. Like, given that this specific version of you is one I wrote, it's not likely, but maybe we can find a way. I mean, weirder things have happened." Smiling, Jay took off his Epic sweater and bundled it up as a pillow, curling up at the edge of the deck, sheltered from the wind by the side of the boat, the rocking motion lulling him to sleep as it had the past two nights.

"Jorge!"

Jay jolted awake, the only light the crescent moon above and the scant torches along the edges of the boat, "Teagan!?" He looked around in a panic, looking for the source of the panicked voice, and was met with a face he didn't recognize inches from his own; feminine, but feathered and birdlike, sharp teeth in a maw opened in a screech. Then he became aware of the ticking, then where he was, then who he was with.

He scrambled out of the corner he was pinned in, fumbling for the dagger he'd been given and looking around for Athena. She was engaged with half a dozen of the bird women, clearly unable to come to his aid. He wasn't a violent man, he wasn't a warrior, but at this point, he had no choice.

The least he could do was make it quick.

Moving behind the harpy that was attacking him, he gripped the dagger tightly in his hand and drove it directly into the base of her skull, hoping he was right in remembering where the brainstem was.

He looked over at Athena as the first harpy crumpled, the harpies were still harrying her, and she almost looked like she was beginning to flag. There would be time for the guilt and nausea later; if anything happened to Athena, he was as good as stuck.

He grabbed his bow and quiver and moved to a more advantageous position, firing off one, two, three arrows in quick succession. One harpy fell, lifeless, into the water, an arrow piercing her eye. Another was hit in the shoulder, and fell to the deck. The third arrow barely grazed the leg of a third, succeeding in nothing but getting her attention.

The ticking faded, and Jay dropped the bow, pulling out his dagger again as the third harpy charged him, but without Quick Thought, she was far faster than he was, and before he could react, he was knocked backwards onto the deck.

His left arm had been pinned painfully beneath him as he attempted to break his fall, so all he had to defend himself was the hand he held the dagger in. He tried to swipe at the harpy with the dagger, but his grip wasn't strong enough, and it clattered across the deck as it met an incoming talon.

The harpy swiped at him again, and Jay cried out, searing pain blossoming as he instinctively brought his free arm up to block the blow, quickly followed by a very deliberate feeling slash down the length of his forearm that went from his wrist to his elbow. He felt blood begin to gush out of the wound rapidly, knowing in his gut that something critical had been severed.

Another slash, this one across his chest as his wounded arm fell, limp, to the deck, his hand unmoving.

Another, across his face, and one half of his vision went black.

Jay's remaining vision began to swim, the pain and fear and blood loss piling up as he realized that he was probably going to die here, die in the ancient past and never see his loved ones again. The harpy lunged forward, teeth bared, to tear out his throat.

But suddenly stopped, a spearhead protruding from between her eyes.

"Jorge? Are you okay?" Athena might as well have been speaking to him through 10ft of water, "Jay?!"

"Good," he murmured, letting himself collapse backward onto the deck, "you're okay." As his vision faded, Jay could see Athena dropping to her knees beside him, covered in harpy blood, face an image of guilt and fear as she tore strips from her cloak, desparately trying to bandage his arm.

And then he saw nothing at all.

Jay sat up and looked around, he found himself on the rocky banks of a large river, the water glowing an eerie green. Standing and looking around himself, he saw countless people wandering, aimless, through the darkness, barely seeming to notice each other.

He felt ill.

He knew where he was.

The sound of sloshing drew his attention back to the river, and he saw a tiny boat pull ashore, a cloaked figure with a long pole at the helm. The figure held out its hand.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and spun around. Before him was a tall, slender man with long hair and glasses, a headband across his brow. The man wore a dark suit with a yellow tie and skull-shaped pin on his left breast, and what looked like pomegranate earrings, with an odd two-pronged trident, a bident Jay supposed, in one hand. The strange man smiled at him warmly. "Not now. Your time will come, but not for a long while yet, Jorge Rivera-Herrans." Before Jay could question who the man was, how he knew his name, and why he sounded vaguely European, the man put a hand to his chest and shoved.

Suddenly, Jay felt something pull at the core of his being, like someone had attached a tow cable to his ribcage through the back and hit the gas, and, the next thing he knew, he was blinded by a bright light.

All his senses were being assaulted at once; the light, the sound of waves and speech he couldn't quite make out, the salty smell of the ocean, the rocking of the floor beneath him. He felt his arms had been moved, hands laid overtop each other over his somach, which led him to notice his tshirt had been removed at some point. He felt his wounds burning. He tasted a warm and tingling sweetness on his lips.

As his eyes adjusted, Jay could see Athena and Hermes looking down at him with fear in their eyes. He tried to speak, but all that escaped his lips was a pained groan.

"Oh, thank Asclepius, you're alright." Hermes swooped down to hug him, and Jay gasped in pain. "I was worried I hadn't been quick enough."

"Easy, Hermes, he's probably still sore. Mortal wounds are meant to heal slowly, so the rapid healing of the ambrosia probably hurts a great deal." Athena placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled gently. "I'm glad you're still with us, Jay."

Jay smiled up at Hermes, who had released him rather quickly and now looked like he'd watched someone kick a puppy. "Guess I owe you my life now." he croaked, "feel free to dangle that over my head forever, you've earned it." He looked over at Athena, "Are you alright? Those harpies seemed to be giving you a lot of trouble."

"Thanks to your intervention, I'm doing a lot better than I would have been. Though drawing that harpy away was reckless, you told me yourself that you're not a warrior, you knew the risks."

"I knew that, without you, there was a good chance I'd never get home. Besides, your new family needs you." He cautiously lifted himself up on his elbows, "How long was I out? It only felt like a minute or two."

"About a day. I tried to dress your wounds as best I could, but you were bleeding too much. You managed to hang on for an hour or so, but by the time Hermes returned, you were already cold. So I sent him back to Olympus to grab the only thing I could think of that could heal your wounds and bring you back." She hugged herself, looking away in shame, "I would have gone myself, but I couldn't bare to leave your body unprotected. After that, it was only a few minutes until he returned with it, and it revived you within moments."

"Which, I must say, is somewhat unusual." Hermes said, "normally, Hades takes anyone who enters his realm."

"You know, I think I met him. Like, I think he spoke to me." Jay thought back to the odd man he'd met on the banks of the Styx. "Tall, thin, dark suit and yellow tie?"

"Long hair and headband?" Athena offered.

"Glasses, pomegranate earrings and a european accent?" Hermes continued.

"That's the one." Jay nodded, "He said that it wasn't my time yet. Not for a long time apparently."

The two gods looked at each other.

"What? Is that bad?"

"I mean, it depends on your definition of bad," Hermes said.

"It appears," Athena continued, "that you have a Destiny."

"A capital dee Destiny." Hermes emphasized. "So, no pressure. Well, either that, or we're looking a simple case of the ambrosia lengthening your lifespan."

Jay let himself fall back with a groan. "Hermes?"

"Yes Jay?"

"If you tell my friends about this particular detail, especially my mom, I will actually stab you for real. The last thing she needs to hear is that I literally died."

"I owe you that secrecy, my friend."

"What do you mean by that?" Athena asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, you know how your trip had been perfectly smooth sailing up until now? With no attacks at all?"

"Hermes..."

"I'm so sorry, Jay, I didn't know this would happen. I thought Athena could handle a few little monsters. I just wanted to freak you out a little, not kill you!" Hermes' voice cracked, and Jay could see he was crying. "Please, I beg you, forgive me."

Jay smiled, "Let's call it even, then." He awkwardly reached across his body with his left hand and pulled out his phone, opening the front facing camera.

It didn't look nearly as bad as it probably should have; instead of his face being completely mangled, there were just three, faint, parallel scars running across his face. Other than that, the only indication that anything had happened at all was the slight golden shimmer in his right iris. "You said you gave me ambrosia?" he asked, sitting up fully and slipping his phone into the left pocket of his jeans for less painful access until the burning in his right forearm had faded. "That's not gonna have any negative side effects, right? Like, I appreciate it, I just wanna know what I'm in for."

"You'd already been dead for a few hours at that point. I didn't want to take any chances of not being able to bring you back." Athena gave him an awkward smile, "I swore that I wouldn't fail you, I intend to keep that oath."

Jay looked around, noticing, at last, the stickiness of the deck beneath him. He carefully hauled himself to his feet, looking at the spot where he'd been laying, and seeing a very large, dark red stain.

His stomach turned.

He staggered over to the storage hut and slid down one wall, sitting with his knees up to his chest, the cold sea air slicing through him as Hermes resumed speeding them towards Circe's island.

He'd died.

Like, actually died.

He needed to get home, quickly, before something permenant happened to him.

He felt Athena sit down next to him, "Jay," this was only the second time she'd called him that, the first being... well he didn't want to think about it. "I'm sorry."

"For what? You did the best you could, even gods have limits." He smiled, "besides, I think bringing me back from the dead makes up for anything you might think you did wrong beforehand." He looked at the scars along and across his forearm, watching them glitter slightly as the sun hit, it seemed as though someone had removed the makeshift dressing Athena had made from her cloak when he'd first fallen, "but if you really wanna do something for me, how about you help me think of a story to tell mom to explain these scars in a way that won't give her a heart attack."

Athena giggled, and Jay was satisfied he'd helped pull her out of her spiral, "You really don't have to change much," she said, "simply omitting the fact you died should be enough."

"That's true. I'll have to swear Steven to secrecy when I get back though."

"And who would that be?" Athena asked, curiously.

"One of my friends." He said, "Steven Dookie, the voice for Polites. He works in the medical field, so of all my friends he'd probably be able to tell that this kinda wound, in this specific place," he gestured to the scar, "would kill very quickly."

"You'll need to tell someone, though." Athena said softly, "keeping that kind of secret to yourself won't do you any good. Something I learned from Odysseus is that mortals need support when they go through something as horrific as what you did."

"Actually," Jay said brightly, rapidly changing the subject, "speaking of Odysseus, how did that adoption go down? I forgot to ask back at the palace."

Athena smiled, "Well, with Telemachus as my new Warrior of the Mind, I would need to train him regularly like I did with Odysseus when he was a child, and after being smited by my father trying to get Odysseus released from Ogygia, I was not in a hurry to return to Olympus." she idly raised a hand to trace the scarring over her right eye, "so Odysseus set up a bedroom for me. At some point after that, Penelope found out what happened," she chuckled, "you should have seen her; a true warrior's heart she has. She threatened to storm Olympus itself, on her own, and fight my father for my honour."

"Odysseus talked her out of it, right?"

"Eventually, yes. That was the point where she declared that I was her daughter." Athena looked up to the sky, smiling warmly, "Telemachus was overjoyed to have a new sister, and while it was slightly awkward with Odysseus at first, he said that I didn't have to treat or address him any differently than before."

"Does the rest of Olympus know?" Jay asked, "how did Zeus react?"

"Oh he was not happy, but all it took to dissuade him from attacking the palace was to remind him what Odysseus did to Poseidon, and he thought better of it. As for my siblings, a few of them have paid a visit. Ares, especially; he never had the best relationship with father, so I don't blame him. He always seems so happy when he's with us."

With how kind and welcoming Penelope had been to him, even with zero context of who he was and why he was there, Jay didn't blame him. The Queen really had a way of making you feel at home.

He shivered, he hadn't noticed until now, likely because of adrenaline, just how cold he was. He stood, and carefully made his way over to where his sweater lay on the deck as a pillow from the night of the harpy attack.

Picking up the sweater, he ran a hand over the scars across his chest, his insides twisting as he imagined how deep the slashes might have been. He pulled it on, rubbing his arms to try and warm himself up,

Images and sensations flashed through his mind in quick succession; the sickening pop as he killed the first harpy, the way the body crumpled to the deck. The sight of the harpies baring down on Athena, the sight of Athena, a goddess of war, struggling against the onslaught. The bloody talons of the harpy that killed him. The teeth as she went to finish him off. The spear protruding from her head.

Jorge felt sick.

He hunched over the side of the boat and heaved.

He really needed to get home.

Time began passing erratically after that; the sun rose and fell, he didn't sleep much, barely ate, every time he tried, he would remember that night.

At one point, Hermes had strung magical fairylights along the edge of the boat, promising him that they would protect him from anything else that tried to approach, and Athena would ask him about his friends, trying to keep his mind on less traumatic things. He appreciated that.

Approximately 3 days after the harpy attack, they finally caught sight of their objective on the horizon, and he was relieved to have something to actively think about again.

He walked over to the stern and called down to Hermes, "Hey Hermes, Circe doesn't hate you, does she?"

"No more than you do, darling," Hermes replied, smiling, "you want me to help you navigate to her palace, don't you?"

"If you don't mind. This island doesn't exactly exist in my world so I don't have any prior knowledge to go off."

Athena came up behind him, "So, Jay, what's the plan?"

He turned around to face her, "So far, the plan is to get to Circe without dying again, tell her what my whole deal is while specifically mentioning Talya since bringing up Penelope is what worked for Odysseus, if that doesn't work also bring up my parents, if that also doesn't work get some Moly from Hermes, sail into the underworld, find Chronos in Tartarus, convince him to make a time gate in conjunction with Hermes using his traveller mojo, get back to my world's Ithaca, do the Ithaca Saga launch stream."

She nodded, "And how do you plan on convincing Chronos?"

"Ah."

"You hadn't thought about that, had you?"

"I kinda thought you'd be able to?" He shugged, "I mean, if worst comes to worst, Hermes could just pester him into submission."

Athena smiled, "Well, you still have everything else planned out decently well, I suppose we can think on ways to convince grandfather along the way."

Within the hour, they finally made landfall on the isle of Aeaea, the sound of rustling foliage like music to Jay's ears after so long at sea. He vaulted onto the sand, wincing as he was forced to bare his weight on his chest in the process, the longest part of their journey was over, and he'd soon be back with his loved ones.

"Alright, darlings, this way!" Hermes crowed, barging past Jay as he stood on the beach, "next stop, the palace of Circe!"

Jay looked at the dense jungle in front of him nervously; the sticky heat was already apparant from here, and all he had was his sweater.

He felt Athena tap him on the shoulder and turned, "Here," she said, offering a tunic, "this might help."

"Thanks," he took it from her and replaced his sweater with it, choosing to tie the outer around his waist for safekeeping.

More suitable clothing attained, Jay and Athena followed Hermes through the jungle, Athena naming every plant they came across with the eagerness of a young child telling you about their favourite dinosaurs. He supposed that she'd found something other than warfare to learn about since Odysseus had returned. He liked that for her.

With Hermes' guidance, they arrived at the palace within the hour, the grunting of pigs and the laughter of nymphs announcing its proximity. As they entered the clearing where the palace stood, Jay watched as several nymphs darted into the brush, and one into the open door of the palace itself.

Standing at the door, Jay took a deep breath, preparing himself to confront a woman who was going to look and sound almost exactly like his girlfriend.

He'd got this.

He stepped across the threshold, trying his best to project enough confidence that it would give the enchantress pause, but not enough to appear as a threat. Athena slipped into the shadow of one of the columns by the door, and Hermes went invisible.

As Circe came into view at the opposite end of the entrace hall, Jay felt something familiar catch in his chest, and he tried to ignore it.

"Hey there!" He called out, going for something between casual and cheerful but not entirely sure if he managed to not sound afraid. "We're just travellers, we come in peace!" He screwed his eyes shut and swore at himself; god, he hoped this would go better than the last time that greeting was used.

Circe tilted her head, "My, my." she smirked at him, and Jay's ears fully went pink. Fuck, this was gonna be harder than he thought. "Is this who I think it is?"

As if sensing his struggle, Athena stepped forward into the light, "Lady Circe, this is not the man you think it is. This is Jorge Rivera-Herrans, and he is a man from a different time. We seek access to the underworld so that we may meet with my grandfather Chronos in Tartarus in order to help him return home."

"And why, pray tell, should I do that?"

Jay gulped, "Because I have a love to return to." He pulled out his phone, bringing it out of sleep mode to show Circe the lockscreen image of himself and Tayla. "I know she looks like you, there's a complicated reason for that, but that's Tayla Sindel; the love of my life." He looked Circe in the eyes, "Please, Lady Circe, I need to see her again."

He watched Circe study the phone in his hand, and could feel Athena giving him A Look, "Very well," she said, "but only on one condition."

"Anything!"

"I want you to explain to me that complicated reason why your beloved and I are identical." she smirked at him again, and this time Jay swore she was doing it on purpose, "and why you look so much like a man I met so many years ago."

And so he did; as Circe prepared the spell that would allow them into the underworld, Jay explained everything; how this world was a story that he and his friends had told, how the reason she looked like Talya was because she was the character that Talya had played and how the same thing applied to him and Odysseus. He explained how she is homaged in countless media in the future, almost all of those characters also being great sorceresses. He began pacing around the room, beginning to just list random facts he knew; he explained his phone, he explained electricity, he explained what little he knew about chemistry since he had a feeling she'd be especially interested in that. He gave her as much information as he could think of off the top of his head, hoping he was making it worth her while, hoping it would be enough to help him get home.

After about half an hour he ran out of steam, the only thing he could think of when reaching for more information was Talya and his parents and his friends and how he was gonna being entering the underworld for the second time this week, but at least he'd be alive this time, and how his chest was still sore and his arm wasn't much better and-

He felt arms around him. It felt so similar to Talya, he knew it wasn't her, that it couldn't be her, not yet, but for a brief moment he allowed himself to pretend. Just to get his racing heart to calm, just to get his growing panic to subside. "Jorge," the familar voice said, "you're going to be alright. You have the best protectors you could possibly have for this journey; a goddess of war, and the god of travel, there is nothing in the underworld you aren't prepared for." Circe held him out at arms length, "give Talya my best, dear."

Jay smiled weakly at her, "Thank you, I will."

"Wait, hang on," Hermes' voice rang out from nowhere, before he appeared behind Jay, "how did you-?"

"Hermes," Circe cocked an eyebrow, "you've snooped around enough over the years that even the pigs can tell when you're here."

"He does that to you too?" Jay said, incredulous.

"Why does no one ever seem to remember thievery also falls under my domain?" He flew up into the vaulted ceiling, "The only reason I don't steal from you, Circe, is because you actually intimidate me a little, and that's hard to do."

"Not hard enough if I managed it," Jay teased.

"Oh hush, you. You're an actor, that's cheating."

"Anyway," Jay was fighting back laughter, "thank you, Lady Circe. We won't intrude on your hospitality any longer."

Circe handed Jay a vial of a shimmering liquid, "All you need to do is pour this around the perimeter of your vessel, and you and yours shall be protected and allowed to cross through the barrier at the underworld's entrance."

After the appropriate goodbyes, the trio returned to their vessel, Hermes taking the vial from Jay as they approached. "I think I should be the one to do this part," he said, his voice abnormally sincere as he applied the potion, "for good luck. I want to give you all the blessings I can for this."

"You still feel guilty, don't you?" Jay said, climbing aboard with Athena.

"Of course I do! I got you killed!" Hermes wailed, "I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that!"

Jay sighed, "Look man, come here." Hermes fluttered over and he placed his hands on either side of the god's face. "If you really want to feel like you've been punished enough for this then we'll make sure you're there when I inevitably have to tell mom what happened. Does that work?" Hermes nodded. "Okay, good." Jay hugged him, "for what it's worth, I don't hold it against you. You didn't plan for it to spiral like that, you had no way of knowing I'd be a dumbass and try to fight a harpy with a knife."

Hermes giggled softly, "That was pretty dumb, wasn't it?"

"Increadibly dumb!" Jay agreed, emphatically, "just, the most dumb thing I think I've done in my entire life!"

"Almost as foolish as Odysseus telling that Cyclops his name," Athena agreed.

Smiling, Jay began to approach the oars to push them away from the shore, but Athena had already beaten him to it. So he just sat against the storage hut and watched the clouds go by, quietly humming Full Speed Ahead to himelf as Hermes pushed them on their way.

He was nearly home.

The day it took to get to the cave passed in almost the blink of an eye, and before Jay knew it, they were staring it down. Hermes was standing beside him, and Athena was at the oars, and he could feel the enormity of what they were about to do looming over him.

"Don't worry, darling, we've got you." Hermes reassured him, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze, the twinkling of the lights he had summoned a few days earlier giving off a comforting glow.

He took a deep breath, "Full speed ahead."

Athena nodded and slowly propelled them towards the barrier. "Brace yourselves."

They hit, and Jay was taken aback by how alike it sounded to the sound he'd made for the song; a sound and feeling like all the air being sucked out of a room.

And then there were the screams.

The screams were so much worse than what he'd had his friends record; these were real screams of anguish, of torment, of fear. He tried not to look around too much, not wanting to be reminded of the last time he found himself here. He hoped they'd be able to find what they were looking for quickly.

"Uncle!" Athena called out from the oars, "we seek an audience!" Her words rang dully, barely audible over the screams.

Suddenly, Jay heard a laugh echo over their vessel, and felt a presence behind him that he'd felt once before. He turned, and was met with the same face as the last time he'd found himself down here.

"Jorge, my guy," the god said jovially, clapping him on the shoulder, "I told you last time; you're not on the list." He walked around Jay and leaned against the side of the boat, looking down at Athena over his glasses. "Goddess of Wisdom, in my underworld? Colour me surprised."

Athena stopped rowing and looked up to bow her head in the the guy's direction. "Greetings, Uncle Hades. My friends and I were hoping you could help us. We're looking for grandfather."

Hades raised a hand to his mouth in shock, "Friends? Athena?" He looked around, "and yet, no ice. Fancy that."

Jay squinted, a hell freezing over joke? In Ancient Greece?

"Anyway, you say you want a day pass to visit Grandpa Chronos? Let me guess, you need his help to get Jorge home?"

"And you know this because..." Hermes raised an eyebrow.

Hades laughed, summoning a scroll, "Look, flyboy, you, of all gods, should know the importance of proper paperwork. While this thing might be a bit fucked up by him existing at a point millenia before he was even born, he's not due down here for a very, very long time. By this scroll, he's got at least a century left in him."

Jay's eyes widened in shock, "A century?"

"Back to the converstion at hand, Uncle, can you help us? Please?"

"Oh, sure. I'm glad you're here actually." Hades reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a smaller scroll, sealed with golden wax that bore the image of a sunflower, turning to, finally, acknowledge the third member of their party, "Hermes, after you get done sending this guy home, could you deliver this to Demeter for me? It's from Persephone."

"Sure," Hermes smiled, taking the scroll and stowing it away inside his coat, "I mean, I suppose it is my job after all."

"Well, let's go then!" Hades cheered. Turning to the front of the boat, he summoned his bident in a burst of green flame, waving it in a circular motion. Before them, standing upright in the river, opened a portal just large enough to accomodate them, "onward!"

With a nod, Athena resumed rowing, and propelled them slowly through.

As they came out the other side, Jay noticed how dingy it was in this area; like a root cellar where something had curled up and died about a year ago, somehow both damp and dusty and smelling faintly of decay. He briefly wondered if it wasn't a bit overkill to put Chronos here, then he remembered the infant cannibalism.

After a few minutes of travel, Jay squinted into the distance and saw something slowly coming into view. As they got closer, it became more recognisable as a very large man.

Athena drew them to the edge of the rocky outcropping closest to Chronos, and Jay gathered up his belongings for what he hoped would be the final time in this adventure; putting on his sweater over the tunic Athena had given him, slinging his bow and quiver over his shoulders and hooking the scabbard of his dagger into the belt of his jeans before following the others off the boat and onto the island. Only now, did Jay grasp, truly, why the word titan had the implications it did in modern day.

Chronos was enormous, put simply; just one hand was bigger than their entire vessel, one forearm alone rivalled the largest redwoods he'd ever seen, just one link in the chains of the inky black shackles around each wrist was about as big as Armando. From down here, Jay couldn't even see his face. He was almost too big to even comprehend.

"Ah," A deep, rumbling voice boomed around them, "company."

"Hey Pops!" Hades shouted, "could ya come down here a sec? I've got a couple of your grandkids here who wanna ask you a favour."

The ground began to rumble, and the form of the titan began to shrink. The shackles on his wrists glowed brightly with runes in gold, blue and green and shrank with him, ensuring he remained prisoner, and Jay shielded his eyes.

When he looked back, he saw a, still very tall, old man; probably a couple feet taller than him, in just a tattered loincloth, with long, neatly braided, white hair and a beard that had seen an equal amount of love. Jay supposed that, with nothing to do for millenia, he probably had lots of time to look after his hair.

The titan looked over the 4 of them, grey eyes shrewdly taking them in one by one. "It is not often I get visitors," he hummed, "what can the gods possibly require that they cannot achive themselves?"

Athena stepped forward, "Titan Chronos," she bowed, "I am your granddaughter, Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War, and this," she gestured to Hermes, "Is my brother Hermes, God of Travellers, Tricksters and Thieves."

Hermes also bowed, "And this is our friend Jorge, he's why we need your help."

Jay followed the example of the two gods and bowed, "I am," he paused, "not supposed to be here."

Chronos chuckled, a deep and hearty sound that made the dust on the ground tremble, "I can see that, mortal. You are a man out of time, are you not? And a hair out of reality, if I'm not mistaken."

He nodded, "Indeed, the reason we're here is that we, that I, hoped you could help me get home."

"Which is why you brought the god of travellers, I presume." Chronos said, "me for the when, and him for the where."

Jay nodded again, "If it's not too much trouble, of course, sir."

"As a thanks for your company, it would be my pleasure." Chronos smiled. "How far forward do you need to go?"

"Hang on, I hadn't actually figured that part out yet." He looked at Athena, "how-?"

"3202 years." Hermes piped up, "give or take a month." He looked at Chronos, "When I say the words 'Christmas day, 2024 AD' do you understand when I'm referring to?"

"Hmm..." The titan closed his eyes for a few moments and stood in silence. "Yes," he answered, eventually, "yes, I see when you mean. Around this time of day? It is approximately 2 hours past Apollo's peak."

"Oh, that will do marvellously darling." Hermes summoned his caduceus, "you first, I'll follow."

"Jorge," Jay turned around, Hades was stood over by the boat, looking at him with a serious expression on his face. "Can you come over here a sec?"

Jay, somewhat reluctantly since he was curious what the process of summoning a portal through space and time would look like, walked over. "You okay?"

When he'd made it over, he watched as Hades reached into his jacket and pulled out a tiny crystalline vial of what looked like water on a necklace-lengthed piece of golden thread. "This is for you," he said, holding it out. "It's a very small amount of Lethe water."

He took it, examining the contents, and saw how the water inside shimmered in the light from Hermes' fairy lights on the boat. "The river of forgetfulness? But why?"

Hades smiled sadly at him, "I know what it looks like when a man is haunted. You won't forget everything, it's not enough for that, but if the nightmares ever get to be too much, then if you hold them in your mind as you drink, they will be erased from your memory forever."

Jay stared at the vial, barely the size of his thumb, his right forearm twinging as he ran his thumb over its surface. He looked back up at the god of the underworld, "Thank you, Hades." He hoped he wouldn't need it, but he hung it around his neck regardless. "I truly appreciate everything you've done for me, today and last time."

Hades shrugged, "Nah, it's no biggie; you seem like a cool guy, you don't deserve to spend the rest of that long life of yours in constant fear and pain." He glanced past Jay, "Looks like your ride is here."

Turning back to where the others were stood, he saw a shimmering portal between where Chronos and Hermes stood, and, through it, a familiar set of ruins.

Finally.

He ran over excitedly, stopping just short of going through. Now he was closer, he could see Troy sat just across from them, leaning against a wall on his phone. Jay smiled, he supposed the others had chosen Troy to keep watch due to his newly aquired speed letting him go fetch them quickly when Jay returned.

He turned to the others to say his goodbyes, and saw Athena looking between Troy and Hermes with amusement, "You were being serious when you said you looked identical." she said to Hermes, sounding as if she hadn't believed him at the time.

"I know right? Whenever has a mortal been so blessed?"

Jay sighed, "Y'know, I'm kinda gonna miss this."

Athena brought her attention back to him, smiling at him fondly. "I think I shall miss you as well, Jay." She made a small swooping gesture with one hand, and, in her palm, appeared a familiar looking pendant; circular, with an engraving of an owl's face. Just like the ones owned by Odysseus and Telemachus. She handed it to him, taking his hands in her own and clasping them around the gift. "Perhaps, the gods of your world be willing, we shall meet again, my friend."

"I'd like that." he replied, securing it through one of his belt loops. "I really would."

He turned to Chronos and bowed, "Great Titan of Time, I cannot thank you enough for this gift. You will forever have my gratitude."

"It is quite alright," Chronos smiled, and he seemed to genuinely mean it, "as I said, I am simply happy to have had visitors." He looked to the portal, "I wish you all the best."

Jay looked at Hermes and grinned, "See you at the launch party?"

Hermes winked at him, "Wouldn't miss it for the world, darling."

He nodded, turning back to the portal. All his goodbyes had been said, there was nothing left to do but finally, finally, make it home.

He took a deep breath.

And stepped through.

[letters-from-dekarios]

(GAAAAHH I was so excited when I saw your response on my feed. You write Gale so well, I am so flattered to hear my little writings were entertaining <33 I have returned right away because I am whipped for this nerdy wizard. Thank you for indulging me. <33)

{Around a month after Gale had sent his letter, he finds himself letting out a breath of anticipation he hadn't known he'd been holding in when he catches the familiar name on the newly arrived letter.}

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

Warm Greetings, Gale Dekarios

Would you believe me if I told you I could hear your voice in my head as I read your letter? I've been rereading it quite a bit.

You will be relieved to hear that the pigeon that delivered your words is very much alive and well, she's a lovely little creature named Biscuit - I'm sure you could guess why.

I'm glad to hear from you. Very much so. As often as I repeated that I wasn't awaiting a reply from you, hope still flickered away like the candles in the corner of my room after a prolonged reading session.

Thank you so much for taking the time to respond to each of my writings, even that drunken slip-up that should've stayed in the confines of my desk. It means a lot to me.

Be sure to extend my dearest of wishes to Tara as well. I always loved to hear about what kind of shenanigans she'd been up to whenever we talked - or for whatever reason she scolded you every other time. I'd be curious to know how much she remembers of me. I'm prone to leaving rather scant impressions.

I assure you that you have nothing to apologize for. Secluding yourself from the world to safe them the spectacle of your own deterioration is a notion I am all too familiar with, which you might have figured by now.

In similar fashion I apologize for not replying to you right away either. The last few weeks have been rather cruel to me. Not to worry - better days will come. They always do.

I'm so sorry to hear what you have been through at that time. Being shunned by the very goddess that had guided you for so long in your life, and a subsequent year of isolation would take a toll on anyone, even the strongest of minds as I've known you to be. Which only makes it that much more gratifying to hear that you are doing well and are planning on keeping it that way. I'm very glad. I'd love to meet the new Gale Dekarios one day, should the opportunity arise. You've always been someone I had looked up to in the trials of perseverance, Gale.

As for myself - I suppose all I can say without dampening the mood too much is that I've been better. I realize that our interactions died down without as much as a word from me. For that I am very sorry. At the time, what was happening to me was all still quite new and I wasn't coping well. It felt like my world was crashing down on me and I didn't have a clue as to why. By now I have found my footing again. There are bad days, sometimes even weeks, but I always know a good day will follow just as the sun rises each and every morning to greet us.

I feel the need to explain myself at least a little bit, even if you might immediately tell me I don't owe you anything at all. (Yes, I know that, don't worry.)

The tamest way to describe it is that I have been afflicted with a case of chronic fatigue, not to mention the mental burden that would follow. Each task takes great might to complete and the worst days are spent in bed, usually. But treatment is a stable crutch of mine to rely on, the small community of friends I have been graced with being the other to complete my pair. I am faring well for the most part.

Though this unfortunately means that meeting each other face to face would be quite a challenge. Assuming you would have the time to visit Secomber or I the strength to traverse to Waterdeep. Perhaps we could meet in the middle - you are quite the inspiration for me to take on a few challenges myself.

My pupils are most forgiving, thankfully, and when I find myself too weak to be tutoring, (depending on the severity of the flare-up) I will take the time to work more on my other profession, which is analyzing and translating old scriptures for our modern, curious minds. I've always had a knack for those old, dusty tomes.

And I've never given up on magic either, though wielding it is only a venture I dare to take on when I've had plenty of sleep and a promising day ahead of me. It remains a treasured passion nonetheless.

Never you mind, as I said, my circles are quite caught up on the happenings along the Coast and you were always a topic I was looking quite forward for. Your success was occasionally a source of envy, but most of the time it only sparked more reverence in me for your dedication to your craft.

I would be most content to keep our correspondence a frequent occurrence if you could spare me the time. I'm not exactly sure what someone like you does nowadays after saving all of Faerun. Though I hope you haven't stopped writing. Your little poems and philosophical musing were a small delight in the usually stressful life at the Academy.

I wonder what your life entails now, as a hero and as a better man. How are Tara and your mother? Any recent ambitions you are itching to achieve? Made new friends, enemies or partner(s)? I fall into thought so easily. Concentration spells were always the trickiest ones to maintain.

Here I am, rambling on as well. I'll be sure to request a heftier pigeon to carry the bulk of my words. Once again, I was very pleased to hear from you. To learn that you are doing well. I'm glad to know I've been, and am, of importance to you. I'm glad to have the privilege of calling you a friend of mine, still.

I don't believe someone as bright and supportive as you could ever not be cared for. Be sure to remember it.

~ Dearest regards, Theo Rivershade

{though the pages were thoroughly filled out, the half-elf still found a way to cramp a small notation in the corner of it.}

"Having everything, yet nothing at all."

You truly know how to hit the nail on the head, dear friend. As much as life had turned upside down for me, that quote tumbled right along.

Now I'd describe it as having nothing, yet everything all at once. In a positive way, of course. I am at times basically impotent, and yet every corner allows me to meander through my troubles still. I am blessed with luck. I'll try to send some of it over to you for good measure.

⚝─⭒⭑⭒─⚝

(hugs !! <33)

Dearest Theo,

I would be as much of a fool as any if I did not admit I could hear your voice as clear as day upon reading all your letters. That is something one cannot simply forget about another.

Pay no mind to the tales of my past! My rambling on about former issues serves me no greatness. I share the story only to not lead your mind to wander. You deserve to know as much as any good friend, though lost to the perils of unanswered communication, why I had been dormant. It is not a past I look upon with great pleasure, but with an understanding of how it shaped me into who I am today. It is often said the perils of a man will mould him into fine pottery. While I’m sure I am still in the moulding stage, at least I am no longer a block of unused clay.

Enough of me, I have already spoken too much of myself. You might begin to think I’ve got an ego.

If we were sat having tea, I would tell you just the same that an explanation is not at all owed. You still know me well enough to note that. Though, I do appreciate your openness. It’s never easy to share those parts of yourself, I understand that from personal experience.

Despite your ailment, it sounds as though you are doing well for yourself. You can’t imagine how glad that makes me feel. I was often worried about you, where you had gone, what you had become, but it seems those worries were unwarranted. Though it pains me to hear of your fatigue, and how it afflicts you, it is comforting to hear despite that, you are pushing ever forward. You always had a knack for making it through difficulties with an optimistic outlook. While you claim I was your source of inspiration, I can only attune my eagerness towards your attitude you had with life. While I was a spry student, your optimism led me ever forward. In a way, I looked up to you, too.

Believe me, friend, my success was not easily earned! I’m still not quite sure if I would have preferred endless isolation or a Mindflayer tadpole with the chance of transformation, for all it’s worth. Neither affliction would be worth the penny toll it took on me had I not had the company I did. Without those around me, I fear I may have lost myself to myself.

Ah, here I go, taking the conversation and directing it towards me! I shall speak no more of my greatness, the lips of Gale Dekarios are sealed! Metaphorically, of course, you know I can’t help but chatter. I will, however, answer your other questions with as much humility as one can bring to the table.

Tara, bless the Tressym’s soul, is doing well! Though I scared her quite a bit with my sudden disappearance, then re-appearance with a tadpole within my mind, she has since calmed and returned to her ever-overbearing nature. Her purpose has shifted quite a bit now that we need not worry of the orb’s sudden explosion, and she has taken a liking to cozying up by the fire once more.

My mother, on the other hand, is also doing well. You’ll be happy to know she was waiting to scold me for my arrogance, though she quickly followed it up with her warm embrace once her son got past being humbled. If we get the chance to meet soon, I will bring some of her baked goods with me. She has been spoiling me rotten since I returned, I don’t know how much more I can consume on my own!

As far as achievements or plans for the future, I aim to resume my professorship in a few weeks at Blackstaff Academy. From there, we shall see where the tides of life take me. Hopefully not on another Nautiloid, I can only handle that trip once. I will be working in the illusory department, isn’t that exciting?

Friends, enemies, partners… where to begin? In my journey, I did meet a fair number of companions I can now safely call my friends. Though we had rocky starts, I am content with where my relationships stand with each of them. Imagine, two humans (one with a pact with a Devil, the other with a ticking magical time bomb embedded in his chest), a half-elf (originally sworn to Shar and now finding out the secrets of her past), an elf (with a vampiric plague of his own), a githyanki (just now coming to the realization her people do not have her best interests at heart), and a tiefling (once sworn and sold to Zariel from the now-deceased Archduke himself), all stacked in a single wagon… I kid, of course. Our journey was entirely on foot (I’m still recovering from that, mind you.). While we made quite the sightly group of adventurers, I have each of them to thank for our success. Enemies… well, I am sure we made plenty of those when it came to the hard-hitting decisions we made. Eviscerating a goblin camp, defying Gods and Goddesses, breaking Devil’s pacts and destroying their homes… the list could go on, I’m sure, but it was all for a good cause.

As far as partners go, while there were a few flitting moments of romance after victory, I have come out of our battle the same way I had gone in, as single a man as ever. I’m sure you’d joke and claim that, no, in fact, I’m married to my work, but even that does not fill my heart the way a significant other does. Every now and then I look, here and there, but it’s hard to find someone with whom I can connect with on such a level. It often makes me think of our relationship back when we were younger, in a way. I wouldn’t have wanted that with anyone else, no, as it was… sui generis; of its own kind. Inimitable. Bespoke. I hope the picture is painted clearly enough.

I cannot simply gain a romantic relationship without a foundation, first. I don’t believe that’s how this mind of mine likes to work. Either way, the answer in short is no, I do not have a romantic partner. But there is no need to be sad about it! I’m sure I’ll find that foundation somewhere. Perhaps it is closer than I think.

You’ve done well in tricking me into speaking more of myself, dear Theo. I swore I would not, and now here I am. I may have to bring this scroll to you myself.

I can spare as much time as you’d like to continue our correspondence. It is not something I am willing to take for granted now that my perspective of the world has changed so drastically. Faerún help us all when my idiotic ramblings are historical evidence of all my trials and are being taught as an example to the next generation. I’m not sure what I’ll do then.

You will be happy to know that I have resumed writing my poetry. My journey has given me much to think of and write about. I hope you’ve continued doing the same, especially with your annotations in literature. I always enjoyed seeing those in our studies.

I shall not burden you with traversing the unruly terrain on the way to this city. Even if only halfway, I can consider myself a gentleman in allowing you to stay put while I come to you. Besides, travel sigils are a man’s best friend nowadays! It’d do me well to come and visit you, anyway, do not take the strain in trying to make the journey. If you do, I won’t like the stern talking-to I’ll have to give you for not caring for yourself when I could have saved you the trouble.

My hand grows tired with my continued writing. I must save my words to continue this conversation, but I do swear we shall keep in touch. How is your family? What have you been up to besides tutoring and transcribing? Have you taken up any hobbies lately?

I hope to hear from you soon, Theo. I will wait eagerly for your reply, only to bore my quill to death with my own excitement as I write back to you once more.

Take care of yourself in the meantime. I will corroborate with my calendar as to when I’ll be able to come and visit you in person and include that within my next letter.

Wishing you all the best,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

P.S. I need as much luck as one can get nowadays. I fear whatever luck I did have has now come to pass, wearing off for the time being. I’m glad you can find solace in my confusion. You were always the best interpreter of my foolish philosophies. I may need to employ you for the school year if my students have difficulty understanding me. Would you be interested in a profession as a translator? Only kidding, of course.

[after flipping the last page over, theo would find the back half scribbled with words crossed out and overlapping. it was clear gale had attempted to scribe several poems that were now unreadable, though a section stood out from all the rest, in gale’s neatest handwriting. the sonnet read as follows;

In darkness deep, my heart did ache and bleed./Each day a battle, each night a groan./With courage each trial was faced, though I plead,/No solace found in sorrow's heavy moan.

I searched for light to guide me through the night,/But shadows chased away each fleeting hope./A beacon shining in the dimmest plight,/Brought back the courage I needed to cope.

In the midst of victory, a voice did call,/A friend long-lost but never really gone./Letters quick to write in a hasty scrawl,/I inscribed to bring ease of mind upon.

With joy does reading your letters overflow,/ I thank you for all your love, dearest Theo.]

text reads: gale dekarios

i will admit i did use multiple sources to write that sonnet (my google search is filled with ‘what rhymes with [insert word]) but it was 100% worth it. theo is so [gremlin noises]. i LOVE him. i love this letter. this is so cute i’m going to go cry now. ~kore

[broadcastbabe]

You have no idea how lucky you’re going to get. We are the only ones who showed up at the office for an in-person meeting. Circling each other for months, I have been waiting for this opportunity to let my desires be known. I’m wearing a business casual, checkered jacket, buttoned up as proper attire and disguising my shirtless state beneath. I sit across from you, chatting about details of a recent project. We’re already friendly and at ease with each other as we spar verbally… verging on affectionate teasing. You hear the pings from others logging into the Zoom room and attend to their entry. I disable my video with apologies to the attendees about my bandwidth limitations… and wink at you. Greetings and formalities are dealt with, and you ask for reports, still oblivious to my intentions. I volunteer to talk the others thru the slide deck we worked on together, while you commandeer the controls. As you share your screen, I unbutton my jacket… then slowly reveal my nudity for your eyes only. They widen and soften as the abundance of my breasts come into view and I let my fingernails graze my soft skin. I lock eyes with you and bite my lip… even as I describe the new product we’re bringing to market.

“Next slide…”

I make points about the advantages we’ll be able to take over our peers in the industry. Pulling one lapel aside, I cradle the plump flesh of the exposed globe and manipulate its heft and shape, while you lick your lips until I suggest

“Next slide…”

Narrating the animated chart, I speak of the touch points for rapid response as I roll my swollen nipple between my thumb and index finger. Adding there is much to be gained by tweaking these weaknesses for greater dominance over our internal systems. My eyes roll with pleasure as I work one, then tug the other lapel to offer the same treatment as I continue with the first.

“Next slide…”

More revenue and profit figures flash on the screen and I profess you would be better to explain the intentions the company has to manipulate this volatile sector. I continue massaging myself as you outline the plans you have waiting in the wings for an upstream shift in funding growth. Mesmerized by my movements, you mention how exciting it is to monitor the quicksilver changes on both sides. You stand to show me the bulge in your trousers as you stroke its length. When I wet my fingers past my trembling lips and then seductively drag them to the wet space between my thighs, you sit down with a firm grip on yourself.

“Next slide…”

In closing, I claim the slides are available for download and review to give everyone a deeper, more fluid understanding of the input and results looming for a rewarding success and culmination of this fiscal year.

During a Q & A you conduct, I stand to sit atop and pivot to your side of the conference table just off camera. I hike my skirt to my waist to show you the dewey juncture swelling with arousal. A scant lacy garter belt holds my dark stockings and it is more than obvious there are no matching panties… and never were since I arrived for the meeting. The premeditated nature of my exhibition brings a smile to your face as you address a question about unexpected developments that would force an adjustment of strategy. You assure them that the company is nimble and more than ready for all sorts of pivots and penetrations into enticing and emerging entities.

Impatient, I suggest we circle back after absorbing what we’ve seen in today’s meeting and explore the most seductive leads. I guide your free hand between my thighs, and you breech me with your fingertips. My gasp is warning enough to mute yourself, as I devolve into needy moans and squirming enough to threaten the frame of your video feed. You nod in my direction and wave a silent goodbye to the team members as you leave the meeting. Checking that the disconnect is solid, your fingers coax me closer to straddle you, standing. Upon withdrawal you cleanse your fingers thirstily, then dip your tongue to savor the juicing source. My whimpers grow to groans again, when you reveal your own commando mode and I am lowered upon your upright growth. Easing it deep, I am beyond exhilarated by the stretching your throbbing length is supplying, giving you an unending series of murmured feedback.

“Next slide…”

[cbk1000]

garglyswoof Wait what what's happening with current job? You just recently moved to it I thought ? I'm out of the jenn loop

You thought right; I got promoted about nine months ago to an analyst position, and do you know what I’ve spent 98% of my time doing? Basic data entry. I keep getting more and more heaped on me (often with very little notice) because I’m a super fast typist and very accurate, so I’m basically their dumpster for all the menial data entry that keeps falling behind. And I keep getting my old work yeeted back at me, which I had kind of expected to be able to move away from in a new role. I brought this up with my boss not too long ago about how I didn’t mind helping out or doing this work, but I didn’t want to do it all day every day and that I was very frustrated because I didn’t take an analyst role so I could do basic data entry and the same work I was responsible for in my old role, which I left specifically because I was bored and had outgrown it. 99% of the work I’m doing is not even within the scope of my duties, and it is NOT what the job was advertised to me as. Otherwise I wouldn’t have taken it. Rest under a cut because I’m long-winded when I rant. lmao

And my boss told me I was their ‘go-to girl,’ but that I was right and it wasn’t fair for all that to fall to me and that I should have some variety and be able to work on other projects, and that everyone was expected to pull their weight and so my coworkers could trade off with me or rotate weeks or something so that I wasn’t stuck with it all.

Then last Thursday, my boss messaged me and asked if I thought I ‘had the capacity to take on <more of the same old shit>’, and I straight up said I didn’t know that I could take it on without having to drop pretty much everything except the work that had already been established as something I didn’t want to/shouldn’t get stuck doing all the time. She said, ‘Yeah, makes sense; let me know what I can do to help support this work.’ Which I took as probably meaning that I was going to get stuck with it, but never at any point did anyone actually say, ‘This is your responsibility now.’ Then yesterday at our morning meeting, my boss asked if I had got to it yet. (Keep in mind that not only was I never told for sure that I would have to take on that work, it was never established WHEN. The person who ordinarily does it is leaving the role, which is why my manager asked if I could take it on, but I had no clue when their current position was ending.) I was a bit pissed but didn’t want to say, ‘No, I haven’t fucking done it since no one ever actually told me it was my responsibility or when I would have to take it over’, so I just said I hadn’t had time. And then I checked and there were over 400 charges pending, so my boss told me we (meaning me) would have to prioritize that and I’d have to drop all other work I was in the middle of, and if I was having trouble keeping up, they could see about people catching up my other work. You know, the scant bit of other things I have to do that actually give me some variety in my day. 

So I was LIVID and just said, ‘Fine’ in my Very Not Happy voice and got to it...but because the communication in this place is ass, the lady who I may be/possibly/who the fuck knows taking over for messaged me shortly after I started entering charges and said it looked like we were both working in the program, and wanted to know which patients I had entered so we didn’t duplicate anything. I apologized and told her I had no idea she would be working in there and had just been told that morning that it was my job to do it. So between the two of us we spent all day cleaning it up, and now I’m behind on everything else. It would have taken me a couple of days of doing nothing else to catch it up myself even with as fast as I work, and it’s not a one and done deal, of course.

I’m extremely pissed at the way that was handled, because there’s no reason someone else on my team couldn’t be assigned that task or at least help out with it, and that idea was never even floated. Plus, we’re in the middle of restructuring after our acquisition, but we’ve been in limbo for MONTHS waiting to hear what’s going to be done with us, if our job titles will change, if we’ll go to different managers, etc., and we still have heard fuck all about when we can even expect to get an answer there. Eventually my duties will change no matter what when we implement our new electronic medical record program, but that’s not till 2024, and in the meantime, how long am I expected to wait to do something that’s not so boring it makes me want to jump off the roof of my house? Also, I’m sick to death of constantly getting feedback from managers about how smart I am and then being given tasks a monkey could do.

So anyway, hopefully something will change, but in the meantime I’m keeping my eye out for other positions. The one I applied for today is pretty much the same role as what I’m currently doing, but with an organization that hopefully will give me something more to do than ‘copy these codes into this program and drool on yourself.’

Tl;dr Hide it as well as you can if you can type 100+ wpm, because every shit job will be pushed off on you because your productivity is triple the average person.

[transgamerthoughts]

"Heard, Chef."

If you know a millenial who has social media, you may have heard about The Bear. Hell, I'm sure many of you have watched it. The harrowing story of Carmen Berzatto's attempt to save his deceased brother's restaurant has met with astoundingly positive critical response.

Season Two focuses on Carmy and Sydney's attempt to turn The Original Beef sandwhich shop into a Michelin star worthy restaurant. In working towards that goal, many characters find joy in honing their craft while others unhealthily lose themselves in the work.

There's plenty of stories to tell but I wanna focus on the personal journey of resident asshole "cousin" Ritchie. I wanna talk about forks, bleeding for your work, and the ways we sometimes close ourselves off from others.

Ritchie Jerimovich (played by Ebon Moss-Bachrach) is a fucking asshole. Close friends with Carmy's deceased brother Michael, he's constantly positioned himself as the one motherfucker on the planet who knows how to run the restaurant. In Season One, he continually fights against any changes to the menu or the sloppy way the Original Beef was run. He's called "cousin" but he's not even Carmy's cousin by blood; he has wedged himself into the Berzatto family's life. And as season two drives closer and closer toward the restaurant's rebranding and grand opening, Ritchie has continued to push back on others.

Ritchie, again, is a fucking asshole. He swears and yells at others, he tosses out slurs liberally. In season one, he nearly kills a drunk patron in a fist fight during a bachelor party the restaurant is hosting. His mistakes mount up and it is only through chance moments of luck and fleeting self-reflection does he start to change.

The change is not complete at the start of season two. It comes with a scant few episodes left.

In the episode "Forks," Carmy sends him to stage in the high-class and award winning restaurant helped earn Three Michelin stars. As Ritchie works, mostly forced to fold forks into napkins, he reckons with the restaurant's high standard but eventually finds comfort in the work. He is learning to serve others, to be aware of people's needs, and how to listen to those around him. It transforms into into someone more open and receptive. He cleans up, wearing the restaurant's required suit for when he is observing the work in the dining room. He muses that it feels like armor.

Ritchie returns to The Bear ahead of opening and continues to wear a suit. Many people remark about the change but most note that it suits him. And in the lead up to a family and friends night soft-launch, he apologizes to others and helps them rise to high standards.

Meanwhile, Carmy descends into self-loathing even as other's require his attention. Sydney needs him to focus as a partner, the staff need him to teach them and lead. But Carmy can't step up. He can't even decide if Claire, the old flame he's reconnected with, is his girlfriend.

Even as he works to open his dream restaurant, he is in pain. He tortures himself with worry, rarely gives himself time away from things even if his ability to coordinate and communicate with Sydney deteriorates . He forms a confusing armor around himself and doesn't respond to the needs of those around him. He is bleeding for his work.

Ritchie doesn't bleed. Ritchie has discovered something else.

I remember, vaguely, a meeting we had at Kotaku around 2018. It's funny to say I remember because the context of the meeting is lost; my actual memory is terrible but I always remember embarrassments. I said that "you gotta bleed for you work." It was an offhand comment in response to how many reviews some folks, including myself, were taking on. I was a fast worker, so I took on a excessive amount of assignments.

There was a palpable discomfort in the room when I said what I did.

I was embarrassed and I always remember embarrassment.

The pace of journalism is one part dopamine and another part full on dry heaving. I had given myself in to the former because I love writing. It is my oxygen. It's part of why I'm writing this. I can't stop myself. back then i didn't notice how much dry-heaving I was doing to myself. how much I was physically destroying myself.

You can love too much and capitalism too keen to take advantage of that. This is known but it worth saying anyway. I ground myself into powder as a journalist. That's not bragging. It's a warning. i can happen to you and it can happen with any job. but you should not bleed for your work. You can bleed for others—workers should certainly bleed for each other if it means securing better treatment—but you can't bleed for the work.

To his credit, some time later, Stephen Totilo took me aside and said I should take vacation. Which I had never done because, well, news does not stop and there is always another game. I was bleeding and even my boss could see that I was running out of blood. Yes, there was incentive to asking me to take a break; there was risk I would produce poor work. So go take a vacation, right? That way you can return and be a Better Employee.

I could be cynical and see his half-order as a boss managing a worker so they could be more efficient but I choose to belief, against all realities of late-capitalist life, that it was it was a person looking out for a person. Contrary to the idea that age instills distrust I have found that it impresses the need to have faith in those around you.

I have faith.

I took staycation in New York visiting as many highly regarded pizzarias as I could. I arrived two hours early and waited in the snow so I could get a table at Lucali. In spite of taking time to love all the amazing cuisine New York offered and in spite of my own love of home cooking, I would go on to lose over thirty pounds while working at Kotaku. Maybe I didn't learn the right lesson; maybe the forces of capital are that strong. Either way: I make myself bleed again and it's only with the benefit of hindsight that I see how fucked I was. I had a problem.

sometimes, I still do. sometimes it comes back to me and I work on everything I can kinda of like why I'm writing right now and I do it because I have these moments where I can't stop and then I crash for months. sometimes I still make myself bleed.

Near the end of "Forks," Ritchie walks into the kitchen to find head chef/owner Terry (played by Olivia Colman!) peeling mushrooms for a lamb dish. There is no particular culinary purpose; it will not change the taste of the mushrooms. She is there early in the morning and peeling mushrooms because "it's a fun little detail" that lets diners know someone spent time with their dish. Strictly speaking, it is extra work but there's a difference between this gesture and (for example) the way I burnt myself out. It's generosity. It's truly done for others. It is service given willingly and while it does benefit the restaurant it's mostly done because she feels like it and finds comfort in giving a portion of herself to others.

You shouldn't ever bleed for the job. If there is any blood, let it be a donation. In spite of what faith I have, the universe has not seen fit to reveal any truth to us when it comes to the mechanisms that keep it spinning. The reflex is to find absurdity in our ignorance and in our fundamental smallness. Purpose cannot exist in any extant manner because the universe is indifferent to our works. Perhaps this is true and if so it stands to reason that all we have is each other and the having is a fleeting thing.

Knowing this, service takes on a fresh significance although this is perhaps not the more revelatory things to notice. Service is the means by which we insist against all odds that we are here. It is one of the most beautiful ways we reach out and touch someone and say "yes, we are here and we need not be here alone." And service can never be mistaken for work.

Ritchie puts on this suit and dons his armor so that he doesn't bleed for the work. His fellow worker Garret explains that before he worked at Terry's place, he had a drinking problem but he sobers up and learned "acts of service" and it gave him purpose.

he says there's a reason hospitality and hospital share the same root word.

One time I passed out on the new york subways because I couldn't breath. there were times throughout the day that stood up and nearly passed out. my doctor thought I was anemic.

sometimes work becomes like armor. you pour yourself into it because you think it's the only way you can reach people. sometimes, I still believe that. maybe the words are all I have

We all certainly have armor although it's sometimes hard to identify what it is. There's two kinds of armor though and I think one is probably better than the other. There is the armor we put on to protect us from others. There is the armor that we put on the protect us from ourselves.

The first is borne out of suspicion; the second comes with experience. The first is easy to forge and hard to take off. The second is more difficult to build but slips off and on easily as needed. For one and a half seasons, Ritchie has warded other off with bards and rudeness. He's lacked empathy, discarded it entirely. But when we watch him talk with his coworkers in this episode, it's clear that empathy can come easily for him if he allows it. He's a natural with people and it comes into focus the moment he starts shedding the old armor.

I have a propensity to overshare in my work and in my thoughts about other's work. I firmly believe we should be able to be honest with people perhaps to the point of being radically honest but I find it can be difficult to know where lines are. I often wonder if there are ways in which my own honesty has driven people away. if it's simply become angry bluntness.

it is hard to know if it has become an armor I've donned for that very purpose without knowing it. Maybe I pushed folks away because I somehow thought I didn't deserve their friendship. I'm not sure. what i know is that i certainly feel lonely and hardly feel comfortable in any group. i'm suspicious of every and unable to tell what is sarcastic or not.

I fear all I've done is wedge myself into different families.

Watching Ritchie shed his abrasiveness shook me more than anything else this season and this is a string of episode with perhaps the most nightmarish Christmas ever shown in anything I've watched. Ritchie's shortcomings are obvious and loud; his transformation is nothing short of astounding and a testament to The Bear's writers.

It has also left me wondering about my own shortcomings or if I might be able to perceive and understand other people's armor. so I can better empathize with them and their needs. so I can understand how I could better serve them. What are the moments where they are wearing their own armor? What are the moments where my own ill-forge set has driven people away? Hard to know!

Season Two ends with Carmy locked in the walk-in freezer during The Bear's friends and family night. it's the teams first night running the restaurant; this is their first shot to see if they can really work together. to see if everyone fits into place and is not wedged.

Throughout many episodes, Carmy's been reminded to call someone to fix the walk-in's door handle. He's failed to listen and failed to reach out. It might be self-sabotage but it is also a reminder of happens when we bleed for our work. We pour ourselves into something until we are locked away. we fail to act as we should. Carmy simmers in his thoughts while he is locked in the freezer. Eventually, he wonders if he's allowed to be happy and if he's allowed to allow Claire to love him. He wonders if she's just a distraction.

He craves the work, he wants to bleed.

And in the end, as Claire listens through the door, his words drive her away. His relationship crumbles. The work has killed one of the only good things he has taken a chance on. Trapped behind a literal wall and locked in a prison caused of his own neglect, he's not even able to help everyone in the kitchen. He's not there to lead and not there to share in their victory as the night end and they deliver outstanding service. Ritchie is there.

The episode ends in an argument between the two. It starts because Ritchie, empathetically, wants to know what Carmy said to hurt Claire. But Carmy can't open up and continues to lash out. As they yelled, Ritchie declares that he love Carmen. Even as he argues and they swear viciously at each other, he hasn't put on his old armor. And if Carmen could open the door, maybe he'd find someone there who would listen to him and be radically honest.

One of Carmy's biggest regrets is that he wasn't able to work. There is a dash of empathy there—he knows he has failed the staff—but there's still, the audience might fear, a need to hide in the work and bleed. Perhaps he'll discover the difference between work and service. Perhaps he'll end up peeling mushrooms in order to share a human touch with guests.

But for now? The door is stuck.

[ludo-nadir]

Hello, you seem to the type of person who takes legitimacy and appropriate argument building very seriously so I have a few criticisms for the post you made.

1.) Nearly every screenshot you posted was out of context, only a few barely had the original message Sai was responding to.

2.) The context we do see about most of these messages is Sai arguing about the usage of slurs, probably about the Q word (I say probably because Y’know, lack of context). Discussions about slur reclaimation *often* includes comparing the Q and N word.

3.) you ignore that the account’s name is in line with Taffy/Curly’s name as a more obvious evidence

4.) you give Taffy/Curly the benefit of the doubt that they aren’t lying and solely base their innocence on their written word. That’s way less evidence than Sai’s screenshot yet you treat Sai with way more bad faith.

5.) A lack of problematic behavior on a public account doesn’t negate any problematic behavior in private

6.) Have you ever pondered that maybe a third party might have impersonated Curly and Sai wouldn’t have any clue and thus assumed it’s Curly based on the username and typing pattern? Or more simply, pondered that Curly is lying?

You are well spoken and obviously put a lot of thought into the words you choose but please analyze the reasons you say it.

Curly/taffy has also gone on to draw a caricature of Sai with racialized features like a wider nose and hoop earrings screaming her head off.

Even if the account that sent that message to Sai isn’t Curly, I believe that drawing proves that their morals might not be too different from the person who impersonated them.

My sincere apologies for the delay in this response; it was such a remarkably strange message that I found myself speechless at the audacity of such claims. Understand, of course, that I will hence do my best to address your concerns in good faith, however this travesty is such that it may be impossible for me to maintain this position of neutrality entirely. Nevertheless, I will attempt as such.

1) Should you take care to examine the context of which I have illustrated in the post, you would note that the context matters little. That this individual is flippant about using the terminology at all is of concern. I am not making the claim that user Saiscribbles is motivated by racial hatred or distaste for others of racial minorities. To make a bold claim with naught more than scant fragments of their character on social media is far too egregious an overstep anyone can make. Rather, it is evident that there is a pattern of behavior that sees user Saiscribbles utilize inflammatory terminology with greater ease and frequency.

2) Again, the context of the messages matters not; the main proponent of my argument is to state that user Saiscribbles is shown to have a pattern of usage. That they frequently and readily use the terms in discussions and debate is what I wished to highlight.

3) A non-argument. For the sake of addressing this, however, I would point out that user Taffer/Curly has had usernames based off of fictitious videogame characters with no utilization of numerals, whereas user "l4ffyp1n3" does not fit this standard.

4) Should you reread my argument, I have stated no small number of times that it is impossible to readily determine the source of the messages in question and instead demonstrate through pattern of behavior that the possibility user Saiscribbles has reached is deeply flawed in nature, and as a result, can include many a number of possibilities, from ignorance to malice.

5) A nonargument. We are discussing the information exclusively present to us, and not the lack of information we cannot have access to.

6) Had you read my post in depth, you would have most certainly noticed that I had considered this very possibility. As it is, no one culprit has been identified nor alluded to. Rather instead, the purpose is to identify the inherent flaws in user Saiscribbles' logic (or lack thereof) in coming to a definitive conclusion whilst lacking any conclusive evidence to support or refute their claim. Moreover, as I've already discussed, the username has no identifiable pattern, and as speech patterns are easily replicable on the internet, it makes a poor form of evidence.

In addition, that you conclude such a caricature contains racial coding for a woman of whom, as far as I'm aware, is decidedly not a person of color, speaks far more about your desire to locate "clues" or "signs" that are blatantly absent from any one person seeing the material from an objective standpoint. Do try to refrain from radically gossiping conspiratorial speculation whilst we discuss tangible evidence, if you would please.

[hungryteeth]

hangdog humanity

"...i hear my mother’s voice. she’s praying for me. though i have proven to be forsaken by his lack of presence for me — for her sake, for her well-intentioned heart, that if he listens to anyone, he listens to her."

tw: dark.

chewing my cheeks. pulling up scabs on my scalp. feeling where my curse bores into each hand-wrought mutilation on my skin.

i hear my mother’s voice. she’s praying for me. though i have proven to be forsaken by his lack of presence for me — for her sake, for her well-intentioned heart, that if he listens to anyone, he listens to her.

if anything divine appears, it’s a contemptuous movement. dislodging my brain at the occipital bone. in layman’s terms, decapitation.

born as the representation of the lovers, i carry someone else within me. talking ghosts, whispers in my ears. scolding me, “you cannot have us both”. they hate each other. they fight all the time. screaming in the other room, hearing the audible kissed-fist connecting to the other’s cheek.

i try to call for help but my rapid shallow gasps numb my hands and lock my jaw.

throwing itself against the walls of my head is no savior but a killer-god. it works in my wounds, not like salt in a ritual, but as a flavor in the sacrificial feast. the lamb that i am, last seen with blood spilling through a toothy grin.

the threads i spin in my web in the avoided corner of the highest part of the ceiling. despite where i am, i am no closer to heaven, than the average woman with her scarlet letter bore on her chest. born naked, innocent, and unaware. only to be condemned to be burned alive in a bag.

all of you pull at my threads when i descend from my web. shouldering the curse of this existence, so that others may glue themselves to my ruin.

forget alchemy, even the gods in motions have doubts and they take out their hangdog humanity on me.

small, meek, and weak. when i return to my corner, i ask, “how do others pray?” bone, tooth, battered knees. formerly afraid, now it is october and i must wear the webs i’ve woven.

these lacerations are hard to catch, often scurrying, hiding under the couch to continue to hurt. falsifying the “innocuous” organic nature of sepsis being for the “greater good”. the aforementioned being the death mask worn in my regularly-scheduled programmed executions.

the outlying terrain of the exiled who foam at the mouth, out-of-touch, between promise and apology. the affection that i am afforded pricks at my skin like the euthanasia needle. viscera calcified, solidified.

if i spoke these poems aloud to all of you that i have fed generously, greedily, gluttonizing, with my undying love — it would reach you as quick as my kerosene-doused head could set alight. of course, your responses would not reach me in time, before i was burned to the fated ash.

these private things, these hidden closets of screams. the shape of my hunger must be horrifying to look at. since each time it is faced, desertion is the guaranteed, routine response.

my presence is unavoidable, devout belief in self-sacrifice. self-destruction. preferring death over eating too much of what i love, having to subsist. stripped, bare-boned, and hunted, unprotected by lack of purpose if i devour all of it.

to the raven awaiting me, as i grew close, just two-feet away — when we stared at each other for those ten seconds, sharing your prophetic gaze. dispossessed, burning your occupancy into my triple-chambered heart. lover, sinner, and the holy-spirit.

anguish pillowed and bedroomed as if customary. serving tear-gas, tears, and tea at the splintered dinner table.

the ritual slaughter is never pure. mangled by the same rabid dogs i was born into the same pack with. it didn’t hurt, since i had already died. no one noticed.

when it finally comes, betrayal began as a small intimacy, teeth against teeth. the scant pathway into the dark, pacing back-and-forth, contemplating the meaning of my unconscious-assured and troublingly-confident stride to oblivion. before stepping the second foot into the nihility — paralyzed like the doe in the headlights that i am, all because i swear i almost heard you call my name.

[jonathanvik]

Krisis - Chapter 2

“Tsk.” Police Chief Rolf scowled as his secretary brought him the daily report, chalky smoke filled his office from his cigar as he scanned the reports. He suppressed a yawn, quickly skimming through each paper to get home early. If anything important happened, he’d learn about it in the morning.

“Another Demon protest.” Rolf smothered his cigar against the report, annoyed he’d have to deal with that nonsense again. 

If they were so unhappy about their pay, why didn’t they move to Vanderfall? There, they’d probably treat that trash better. If the Demons lived in his country, they lived by UOP rules. They should be proud to be citizens of the UOP, regardless of their living conditions. Some hell gas should suffice to clear that rabble. The agony caused by the nerve agent would make anyone think twice about continuing their worthless cause.

“Sir! Apologies for the interruption, but there’s an emergency!” His view screen said, flickering on. Sitting inside its frame was a cartoon green-haired girl in a police captain’s outfit with flashing police sirens acting as hair buns.

“Phú. I left my monitor off for a reason. This better be good.” While he could have easily gone through his reports with the AI’s assistance, Rolf preferred the tactile nature of paper. The higher-ups had forced the damnable AI upon his department, believing it would be an enjoyable mascot for children.

But his desk rattled as he abruptly stood up when he caught the AI’s stark expression. “It’s your nephew, Joven. He’s in the hospital. He’s suffered severe brain trauma. The prognosis isn’t good.”

Rolf was already charging from his office to the parking garage. People scattered at the sight of their irate police chief. Above him, a flying monitor followed him, Phú’s hover engines struggling to keep pace.

“He was attacked?” Rolf demanded, mind racing as the AI explained the scant details. “And this Rocke Ralss brat is responsible?”

“Correct. We’re taking testimony from both witnesses.”

“Keep them here. Once I return from the hospital, I want to hear their testimony myself.”

“Sure thing, Cap!” Phú said, giving him a thumbs up. “We’ll squeeze them for everything they got!”

“Rawr!” A roar echoed around the main lobby, officers were struggling to subdue a suspect. The brute was massive and violent, resembling more a wild beast than a human. Even with five officers on him, they couldn’t contain him.

“One moment,” Rolf said, forestalling Phú with a hand.

“Gah!” The suspect howled as Rolf delivered a powerful kick to the face. Stunned, he was helpless as Rolf grabbed him by the skull with both hands and drove his knee into his chin. With a thud, the man collapsed unconscious.

“Thanks, Chief.” Sergeant Halkken said, giving him a thumbs up for the assist.

“Throw that scum into a cell, Jan. Perhaps he’ll calm down after a day or two without food or water.”

---

“By Solv, I...” Rocke shook his head, hoping to wake from this terrible dream. This couldn’t be happening. His stolen car increased speed, zipping between two trucks. Metal squealed as he clipped a truck’s side, leaving an ugly gash in the car’s rear end.

“I appreciate the assist, young man. How about slowing down before you kill us?” the prophet said wryly. “The Sovereign might have saved my life, but I’d rather not risk it again, if you catch my drift.”

“R-right.” Rocke tried to gather his racing thoughts. Had he just killed Joven? No, impossible. It’d only been an ugly head wound. He’d be fine, surely.

“Dear Solv! I’m in a stolen car fleeing from a crime scene!” The full impact of his situation struck him like a brick to the skull, hands trembling with pent-up emotion. He’d just ruined his life, hadn’t he? Rocke doubted his family would think highly of him throwing away everything for some bum. His uncle would be furious about his debacle, maybe even refusing to help him legally through this mess. And Rocke’s dad? He’d rather not dwell on that.

“It’s okay, son.” The prophet said, giving his shoulder a tight squeeze. “We can get through this. The first point, I would imagine, is ditching this stolen car.”

“You’re right.” Nowadays, cars have trackers for just such a situation. It wouldn’t take long for this vehicle’s theft to be reported. After taking a deep breath, Rocke guided Joven’s car to a back alley behind a warehouse. At this late hour, nobody was around. With a hiss, the vehicle parked behind a  bin brimming with trash bags.

An idea struck his dulled mind, and his fingers danced across the flying car’s controls. While people usually drove their cars manually, they had an autodrive function. He programmed a course that would drive the vehicle halfway across the city.

“Okay, now what?” A million scenarios passed through Rocke’s head as his feet landed in the dark alley, almost pitch black from the lack of moonlight. Behind him the car started up on its journey.

Should he turn himself over to the police and plead for their mercy? But Rocke trembled, terrified by the prospect of going to prison. How could this happen? The UOP promised its citizens perfect peace and prosperity. People like him never committed crimes!

“I have a friend who lives nearby. Let’s stop by there to rest. After your day, you’ll need it. Besides, I doubt good decisions are made in a foul-smelling alley.” The soothsayer wrinkled his nose at the alley’s smell of indeterminate bodily fluids. 

 Rocke watched as Joven’s car sped away to parts unknown. “Okay, lead on.” Some sleep sounded nice. It might sober him up for better decision-making tomorrow.

“Matthias Daliven.” The prophet said, extending his hand. “I haven’t properly thanked you for saving my life.”

“Rocke Ralss.” While a wiry fellow, the soothsayer’s grip was firm, a sharp contrast to Rocke’s more feeble one. Despite his father’s emphasis, Rocke had never attained an imposing grip.

After a slight smile, the prophet led Rocke into a district of Vladus he’d never visited. It shocked him how grimy it was. Didn’t the automatic robotic cleaners come down here? He even noticed some streetlights weren’t working. With palpable unease, Rocke followed Matthias to parts unknown.

“Matthias, is that you?” A woman said. She waved as they entered the shantytown, a makeshift village within his grand city. The lady was an Ottomon, her tribal markings stretching across her middle-aged face in a sharp, zigzag fashion.

To call these huts homes would be generous. They appeared more like tin boxes of thin metal than a house. It shocked Rocke that anyone could live in them. Did they even keep you warm at night? North UOP had harsh winters with meters of snow every year.

“Evening, Maple.” The prophet replied, limping over.

“By Sovereign, what happened to you?! You’re all black and blue! Did someone hurt you? Angry about your prophecies, no doubt.” Maple said, fretting over the older man. “And who’s your friend? A higher district folk, from the looks of him.”

“Rocke,” he said bashfully under the woman’s scrutiny. Her penetrating gaze reminded him of his grandmother. That woman’s stubbornness could force a building to move if she wanted.

“He saved me from a bunch of hooligans,” Matthias said, giving Rocke’s back a friendly pat. “The Sovereign sent him to save my sorry keister.”

“That’s very brave of him.” The woman’s smile was grateful and full of admiration. It made Rocke somewhat self-conscious, but the glow from her respect felt nice. “Come in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Maple. You’re a dear.” Matthias said, limping into the woman’s shack.

“Sure thing.” The metal hut was even smaller on the inside, barely larger than Rocke’s bedroom. Yet, its owner maintained it with obvious love, making do with whatever was available. The air didn’t smell as bad as he’d expected. Instead, the fragrance was of cooked vegetables. An old metal stove sat in a corner, and above it were stacks of shelves with different utensils and spices. Two beds sat in a corner, not giving the occupants much room for privacy.

“No use staring, lad. We might be poor, but we manage.” The older woman said. “But make yourself at home. I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve suffered quite the ordeal.”

“Sorry,” Rocke said, blushing. He found a stool next to a fold-up table and sat.

“You’re too kind.” The prophet said, groaning as he pushed himself onto the stool.

“Mom? Are you talking to someone?” A young woman said from outside. “Has Matthias come to visit?”

Rocke gasped as a familiar face slipped into the shack, recognizing the distinctive tattoo markings anywhere. What an impossible coincidence.

“Didn’t you give me a few copper coins a couple of hours ago?” The beggar’s eyes became suspicious. “Why are you here?”

“None of that, Kallane. He’s our guest. Please make him feel at home.” Her mother said.

“He got me out of a nasty scrape,” Matthias said, providing the backstory.

“What happened to you?” Kallane said, alarmed. She examined the prophet, making sure his injuries weren’t serious.

“Don’t fret. I’ll be fine.” The prophet said.

“The fool has been prophesying again.” Maple poured a thick broth into wooden bowls and placed them on the table. His mouth watered, despite being a simple affair made from vegetables, mostly celery from his guess. “Like those uptown fools will even listen to him.”

“Someone needs to warn them,” Matthias said, pulling his spoon to his mouth. “The Sovereign tells me they must be warned before judgment. They need time to repent.”

“Brave, silly Matthias.” The older Ottomon woman shook her head.

“And are you a repenter?” Kallane asked, eyeing Rocke with interest.

“Naw, I don’t believe any of that,” Rocke replied, trying the soup. It was excellent and flavorful, much to his surprise and delight. It helped remove any lingering effects of the drinks he’d had earlier.

“Yet you helped me,” the prophet said, raising an eyebrow. “Against your own friends, no less.” This caught their hosts’ attention, increasing their curiosity about what had happened.

Rocke’s hands covered his face, the futility of his situation crashing down on him. “I’m a wanted man now.”

“It was the Sovereign’s will. He put you there to help me,” Matthias said, his words kind.

“Thanks for ruining my life, Sovereign,” Rocke replied, not hiding his bitterness.

“This life is temporary. What we do for the hereafter matters more. The Sovereign will judge us for our transgressions. Being a good person isn’t enough. Unless we confess our sins, they hang over us like a noose.”

“Sure,” Rocke said noncommittally. He’d heard this speech countless times from his grandmother, too. She was the only person in his family that ever believed in the Sovereign. The controversy had gotten her kicked out of the family.

“Now Matthias, let’s not scare away our guest,” Maple said, scolding her friend.

“Tsk. Seems no one wants to hear the truth,” the prophet said, his tone going sullen. “It’s like I’m talking to myself. 40 days isn’t enough time!”

Why bother then? Rocke wanted to ask, but decided against it. It wasn’t his job to tell people what they should do.

“Well, I’m proud of you. Someone needs to speak out! The Uupies need to understand there are consequences for what they’ve done. Making us live in squalor while they live in palaces!” Kallane spat on the dirt floor, her tone venomous. “When judgment comes, they’ll get everything they deserve!”

While disapproving of her tone, the prophet patted Kallane’s hand. “I’m proud of how much you care about your people, Kallane, but don’t allow your anger to poison you. The Uupies are human too. I was once one of those snooty uptowners.”

The prophet was an uptowner? What poor luck drove him to become a prophet of a dead religion? Despite himself, it sparked Rocke’s curiosity. 

“Tsk. You’re different. You’ve always had a heart.” They’d clearly had this argument hundreds of times. Rocke shifted uneasily in his seat. He’d never realized how badly the Demons despised his people.

“Dessert?” Maple asked too loudly, trying to break into the awkward mood.

“That sounds lovely,” Matthias replied.

“Sure.” His host gave them each a sweet cake. Despite its simple flavor, and small size, Rocke enjoyed it. When Maple left with her daughter to do the dishes out of a basin, it left Rocke mostly alone with the person he’d lost everything to save.

“Are you okay?” the prophet asked, catching Rocke’s forlorn mood.

“What should I do now? I have no future.” While his uncle had money, he doubted he’d spend a copper to defend his disgraced nephew. Joven’s family had even more powerful connections. His father was a powerful local politician who aimed to become Vladus’ mayor. 

If Joven survived, Rocke would suffer only a short jail sentence. If the big man died, Rocke’s uncle wouldn’t dare fight that to save his own political skin. He’d consider it wiser to toss away his nephew like useless chaff. Like his father always said, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. 

“The Sovereign will provide,” Matthias replied cryptically.

“Sure. Thanks for the meal, but I should go,” Rocke stood up.

“No, stay the night,” Maple replied.

“You’ve been too nice. If I stay, you’d only get in trouble.” Where he’d go, Rocke hadn’t a clue. He couldn’t bear these good people getting hurt because of him.

“No, you’re staying. It’s dangerous at night in these parts, especially for Uupies.” Maple’s tone was emphatic.

“Yeah, everyone here knows Matthias is a friend and holy man, but a rich Uupie like you would get sliced to bits in seconds.” Kallane’s frosty glare sent a shiver down his spine.

“Okay.” Rocke’s tongue caught in his throat.

“We have a spare mat you can use,” Maple said kindly. She offered the same to Matthias too, and he accepted the offer with a grateful nod.

Rocke grimaced, disliking sharing a cramped room with three people. But it wasn’t like he had much choice. He’d lost any claim to comfort when he’d attacked Joven. He hoped by tomorrow, things would improve.

---

“Explain again what happened?” Rolf said, getting into the witness’s face. The young man was a scrawny thing that flinched under his piercing gaze.

“Like I told you. My friend Rocke went crazy and just attacked Joven. It’s nuts. There wasn’t any reason he did it!” Sweat trickled down Marshion Parra’s face.

“He messed up, you mean?”

“Sorry?”

“Last night, Joven was at the bridge for a purpose — discarding trash.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The prophet, kid. That’s the reason my nephew was near the bridge late at night. It was to dispose of a nuisance who's been disturbing public peace.”

“We’re just talking about that?” Parra said, surprised. “Openly?”

“Yes.” The boy flinched at the tone of Rolf’s voice. His men wouldn’t dare betray him. Besides, no one would care if that traitor died. “Answer the damn question. Where is the prophet?”

“Rocke stole him away. Took Joven’s car.”

“Better.” The picture of the scene became clearer. Joven asked his friends to join in the fun. But this Rocke kid wasn’t as keen about it. The situation escalated, and Rocke struck Joven with a baseball bat to defend the prophet. Panic struck, and he fled with the injured soothsayer in the nearest car.

“Phú, my nephew’s car has a tracker. Locate it.” 

“Got it!” The AI said, her monitor flashing before switching off. 

If the kid was stupid, he’d keep running with the stolen vehicle. It shouldn’t be hard to trump up some charges for the prophet so he’g get locked away in some cold prison somewhere. Death during a fake escape attempt was another promising idea. Still, it was nothing compared to when they caught…

“Sir,” Halkken said, bursting into the interrogation room.

“What? I’m busy.” But the sergeant’s face told Rolf everything.

“It’s your nephew. He didn’t make it. The brain damage was too severe. He passed ten minutes ago. I just learned about it.” Halkken said in obvious dismay. A lump caught in Rolf’s throat. Despite the grim prognosis, his nephew had still been alive when he’d left the hospital. His sister’s wailing still tormented him, guilt stabbing into his heart like a knife. It’d been his fault the boy had gotten hurt. 

After a brief silence, Parra uttered something stupid. “I’m sorry for what happened. He was a good friend.” The brat howled as a fist impacted his nose.

“You little brat. Don’t you dare speak of my Joven!” Rolf channeled all his rage into his words, an avenging angel. “He had a bright future. He was going to be police chief one day, but you allowed him to die. You allowed that Ralss kid to hurt my boy!” 

“I...” Parra trembled, words failing him.

“I’ll leave you be,” Halkken said, motioning to leave.

“No.” Rolf regained his temper. Although he'd enjoyed venting his fury on this pathetic whelp, he wasn’t Rolf's true target. “Throw him out of here, and none too gently.”

“Understood,” Halkken said, nodding.

“Phú!”

“Yes, sir?” The AI said as the room’s monitor reactivated. “I overheard what happened, Chief! My deepest condolences!” 

“Shut up. We’ve got work to do!” 

“What’s the plan?” PhúLAX, or Phú or short, asked, her voice chipper as always. “Are we going to hunt that murderous scum down and make him pay?”

“I like the sound of that.” Halkken said, amused. Rolf’s heart soured with pride at his officers’ sense of justice. 

“You read my mind.” A devilish smile spread across his features. “Put a city-wide APB on this Ralss kid. Shoot on sight with stun weapons, highest level.” The weapon was powerful enough to make an elephant twitch in erratic spasms. The agony would be pure misery. “But I’ll handle the rest myself.” 

“Of course, chief.” Phú gave a salute. “Your blood. You deserve to avenge him.”

“Damn right.” Rolf left the pathetic Parra whimpering on the floor. He had a job to do. He’d burn down half of Vladus if need be. No place could protect Joven’s murderer from him.

[devoutpriest]

wildmoored:

A wry smile turned up the corners of Godric’s lips, and for a moment he hesitated, for his disagreements were many, and most of those were not the kind to share with strangers. To explain those reasons would be to expose his magic, and he had no wish for that debacle at present. He was a wizard, friends with Helga, and had a wand from Ollivander's. “Forgive me, friend, but those are personal, and deeply rooted within my family. To follow the Christian god was to be dishonest to mine own heart and mind. And I’ve long believed that to acknowledge a lack of faith is better and truer than to promote false faith. I had little initial belief to even leave by the time I first came to Uppsala. Any good memories I have of the years when I called myself a Christian had little to do with the religion, and more to do with my family while my brothers and my father still lived.” Athelstan mentioned the statues and so Godric looked up at them, grand and impressive, certainly sights to inspire - and yet his response to his countryman was a simple “No.” He elaborated. "I never saw the statues until a few years ago – my first time here was maybe two years after the family I met had last come to the temple. I’ve work and other obligations that take me far from here – to the golden pyramids in Cairo and beyond even there. And I’ve spent most of my life going from one place to another. But still I carry the gods with me. I do not believe them stuck inside something carved by the hands of men - they are everywhere, and so too their strength does not leave me, even under the southern sun… when perhaps I need it the most.“ Godric nodded along with Athelstan’s story, HMMing or saying ’RIGHT’ in the appropriate spots. "I’ve heard a great many things about Earl Ragnar, though I’ve yet to meet him." He hears him speak quietly about Ragnarok, nigh whisper, understanding this man was confused about viking customs. Was he not met well with his curiosity in Kattegat? "The world passes by very differently here, compared to back home, doesn’t it? Our people were not always Christians - we used to believe in gods just like the Norsemen. To come here feels like returning to my roots - do you ever have this thought?”

Athelstan notices the smile on the man’s lips. It looked illuminated by the candles, and scant natural light forcibly dispersing into the temple.

He nods, accepting the man’s apology in stride, as blood was splattered on his face, as the priest spattered in all journeyers here. The priest had paused upon seeing him, sensing something different about him. Then he splashed onto his face, trickling into his goatee, hair on his chin. It was strange having more hair once more, as he had been used to tonsure during monastic time. He had cut his skull with a knife to shave, feeling lonely of God abandoning him, the monks abandoning him and mocking him in the darkness. Offence was not taken in any way, even if the man had not apologized for denying him.

“Of course, and I do not wish to intrude in any way. Yet, were you ever afraid what people may think of you, when acknowledging such? I am sorry to hear of your brothers and father’s demise, and I hope that they are at peace in Heaven.”

This man seemed so much more assured of where he stood in his faith than Athelstan.

“How was your experience in visiting the Cairo pyramids? Did you find them beautiful to behold?" He remembered painting sandy dunes in the desert, a light brown cathedral with a glass dome. "I have started to feel the gods’ presence as well. I have found that Thor is in the thunder, is the slayer of frost and fire–although I do admit that I may have felt his presence later than you. ”

Upon hearing the man’s question directed towards him, Athelstan pauses once again before answering. He thinks to the cross hidden onto his wrist and the crumbling Bible of St. John buried in a hidden compartment, things he could not bear to get rid of just yet.

“Ragnar is here now if you wish to meet him, although at this very moment, I think he may be busy. I have never been to Uppsala until now, but I do find myself interested by it. I recognize all these gods that I’ve learnt in Kattegat.”

[inca-oc]

Try Again

Keeva's world seems to be in a constant state of falling apart and it's become too much. Lan tries his best to get her through, unwilling to watch her become an echo of himself.

Apprehension had been as constant a companion to Keeva as her own eidolon when she’d initially made her way to the upper floors of the Avalon. An excruciatingly awkward encounter with Fiona had only put her further on edge after the unexpected appearance and battle with Móirín, and coupled with her witnessing Fiona’s brush with death, and adding even further to that with Keeva’s frantic effort to save Lancelot from a similar fate during that battle… It was so much. Too much. She could scarcely keep her thoughts from toppling over themselves in how dizzyingly overwhelmed she was. At the very least, she’d wanted to do something useful in her effort to escape her guilty conscience, and ensuring Tiarnán was actually okay seemed like the most reasonable option given everything that had just happened. So here she sat, begrudgingly holding a cup of tea she was too embarrassed to refuse while stuck in a place she hardly wanted to be in.

And then, as if fate found her circumstances to be funny and wanted to send her on one final push towards utter ruin, her eyes fixate on Tiarnán and Móirín’s joined hands, sending all of her thoughts crashing down around her as every façade she’d haphazardly thrown up shattered in a single instant. Her attention turns to their faces, seemingly unbothered, then their words, the final blow that cuts as sharp as a knife right through her soul.

It was love. It was always love.

This isn’t fucking fair.

She can feel herself wanting to crumble on the spot, further adding to the guilt that had made a fine home within her soul. Shouldn’t she be happy that Tiarnan can hold his beloved’s hand? That their love for one another is enough to overcome any discomfort they might face? Shouldn’t she be supportive, rather than filled with bitterness? Envy?

Had all of her love been devoured by hate?

Her world becomes a blur, her thoughts racing as everything around her seems to slow to a crawl. Nothing felt right, a cacophony of color and sound that meant nothing to her. She needed to get out. Get out, run as far away as she could.

I can’t do this anymore.

She’s only vaguely aware that she’s speaking, but she can’t hear anything over the sickening buzz of her own guilty thoughts, so intense it’s blinding. A tiny part of her hopes there was an apology thrown into whatever she said, that she didn’t accidentally break one of Tiarnán’s teacups, but the rest of her is too upset to care, and then more upset that she doesn’t care.

I’m sorry.

Every footstep is like a jolt of thunderous noise in her mind as she sprints away from Tiarnán’s room, but even that is not enough to drown out her thoughts.

I’m so sorry.

In one moment, Keeva had been sitting at Lancelot’s side, relatively fine considering the circumstances if not understandably anxious, and in the next she’s suddenly on her feet and shouting something he can scarcely understand in a near frantic state. By the time Lancelot realizes what’s going on she’s already gone, but the eidolon is quickly on his feet and out the door after her, leaving no time for even a scant apology.

She’d already made it a significant distance down the hall by this point, but he quickly gains on her. "Keeva?” Lan tries to get her attention, speaking first out loud, then through their mental link. ‘Keeva, talk to me.’

She speaks, not in response to his worried call, but rather with a quiet hiss of words he cannot quite hear and a sudden jerk of her hand, an action he instantly recognizes as her casting a spell. In the next moment he can feel their link go muted, her constant presence more distant in blatant evidence of what she had cast.

"Keeva!" he exclaims, quickening his pace to close what little distance remained between them. As he reaches for her arm, his gloved hand closes around nothing but empty air where Keeva stood not a second before, the distinct sound of a pop ringing in his ears. She’s gone, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

With him now unfettered from her, she could theoretically be anywhere within Hadreon, and all at once he feels panic seize him. Lancelot was well aware of just how emotionally fragile she was right now. If she decided to do something stupid, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

He needed to find her.

‘Keeva, please. Please,’ The eidolon mentally pleads, trying to choke back his anxiety long enough to keep from adding to her own overload of emotions. ‘Keeva. Keeva, where are you?’ His attempts to reach her through their link are met with a brief jolt of guilt, of sadness that is quickly stifled, and then silence. Despite the absence of words, her message was clear: leave me alone.

Lancelot slams the side of his fist into the wall, uttering every curse in every language he knew. He’d encouraged her to come here, and like everything else lately, of course something had to go catastrophically wrong.

“I’m so fucking stupid.”

It was going to do him little good to stand there and curse. After overcoming the worst of his initial panic and frustration, the next few minutes are spent frantically running through the Avalon as fast as his legs will allow, looking everywhere that Keeva could be on the ship. He figures that it would be most likely for her to stay where she was most familiar, so after checking the usual spots — the kitchen, the shrine, and then their house — he then spends the next hour looking all through the forest layer in the faintest hope that she might be somewhere within. If not, if not… In the least of things, he would possibly feel a pull from their link once the unfettering ends if he was close enough, or be killed outright if she were even farther than that, but in any case he would have confirmation of her whereabouts at that point.

Whether she would be willing to resummon him is a different story, however, and although she was nearly always willing to comply with his requests, she may not be so inclined if she’s feeling bad enough. The situation with Fiona comes to mind immediately; even when she was stabbed, she would not let him out and forced him to remain in her soul, unable to do anything. He couldn’t protect her if he was trapped in her mind. No, he had to find her before time was up. He had to help her.

It was a vow he had taken as an eidolon, but one he honored as her friend. To protect her, always. He would not fail her again.

Running through the plants and trees was proving to slow him down far too much for his liking, so he eventually makes the switch to flight. Time seems to fly alongside him all too quickly, however, and he can feel that panic returning, building upon itself more and more with every passing second. Any mental prodding he attempts is met with continued silence from Keeva, but he tries regardless. If nothing else, it lets her know that he’s thinking of her. At least, he hopes it’s what she takes from that.

Somehow, despite all the terror screaming inside him, there is a sudden thought that occurs to him amongst the noise; he recalls a faint memory of a trek they’d embarked on one day when she’d expressed interest in exploring the forest layer, and then Keeva’s quiet voice. She’d pointed out to him a specific group of flowers and vines, commenting that the arrangement of them, they’d reminded her so distinctly of the plants she’d had growing on her home in Tír na nÓg, and how much she missed those flowers sometimes. It had been a brief exchange, one he hadn’t given too much thought to at the time, but given how much she’d expressed feeling homesick lately… Perhaps she would be there. He hopes his hunch is right. It’s the only idea he has left.

Please be there, Keeva.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to arrive at that spot once he gets his bearings, retracing the journey to the best of his recollection. As he lands amidst the overgrown flowers, his eyes quickly scan his surroundings but to his dismay, she doesn’t appear to be there after all. Fuck.

Fuck.

Maybe she was still somewhere on the ship, but there was always the possibility that he was completely wrong about that too. What if he was wrong? Was she really somewhere else in Hadreon? Where could she be? What if she was in danger somewhere and he couldn’t do anything?

His thoughts suddenly come to a screeching halt as he happens to catch the subtlest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, and all at once his attention is caught on the last bit of hope he has. He turns fully to catch a better look and finally, finally he spots her; blended in amongst the foliage lay Keeva’s still form, her the slightest quivering of her wings the only observable movement. Laying there she looks as though she could be a flower herself.

In that moment, the sight of her was sweeter than any flower he’d ever seen.

The relief that washes over him in that instant is so intense he would cry if he had the capability to do so. It takes every ounce of willpower in his body to not scoop her up in a crushing hug right then and there, but startling her was not going to do her any favors. Instead, he slowly approaches, stops to move the plants, to make an open space in the plants, then lays on the ground facing her. An eye opens as he settles in place, sees him, then closes again as she curls even tighter into herself as if to make herself invisible within the blanket of flowers. He makes no attempt to speak, and neither does she.

There aren’t words he can say that would give her the comfort she deserves, so he waits.

Eventually their link is restored in full as the spell that unfettered him fades away, and although she was still shielding her thoughts and feelings from him, it isn’t much longer after that when she steals another glance as though checking if he were still there. He offers a blink, and the faintest trace of a smile.

“Are you ready to talk?” he asks, finally ending the stretch of silence between them.

The hesitation in her is obvious, but does not last long. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she counters flatly, what little expression he could see betraying how gloomy she still was despite her empty tone. “Why don’t you check on someone else? I’m fine.”

His eyes narrow the slightest bit, then close as he feigns a sigh. “Well, you see, I would,” he says, waving a hand almost dismissively, “except you’re the only person left for me to check on.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she mumbles, turning her back to him.

He frowns, dropping the carefree façade that was clearly more irritating to her than helpful right now. “Keeva,” he urges as he pushes himself upright, staring steadily at her tiny form, “you are the only person on this ship who needs me to check on them. That is a fact.”

“What about Iris?” she counters sharply, glancing at him from over her shoulder. “Or Alex, or–”

“What about you, Keeva?” He gazes at her with obvious concern. “When are you going to let someone care about you for a change? Your friends are worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

She grimaces, letting her head drop back down so he could no longer see her face. He waits in silence, and just when he’s about to speak, she finally replies, “I’m fine, Lan. I’m fine.”

“If you were actually fine,” he chides, “I wouldn’t have felt the need to search half the Avalon to find you.”

Her wings twitch, and in the next moment she’s turned back to face him, pushing herself up to sit upright. “You didn’t have to do that, Lan.”

“Well, you weren’t exactly telling me where you were! I was terrified for you, Keeva.” Lancelot runs his hand through his bangs, gripping at his head so tight some of the hair comes undone from his ponytail. He tries to keep his emotions tamped down, but frustration bubbles to the surface despite his best efforts. “What was I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and pray to every single pretender that you were safe? You teleported away! I count my fucking blessings that you were still on the ship instead of the middle of Hadreon somewhere!” He stops, noticing a strange look of fear that flashed across her face. “What?” he questions flatly, an uncomfortable knot forming in his chest. She doesn’t immediately respond, averting her eyes, and he presses with sudden urgency, “Keeva, please answer me.”

She falters, but complies with his request for an answer. “I…. I did. Leave the ship.”

His entire body tenses, and any self control he had slips as he shouts, “What? Keeva, you what?” He instantly regrets his loss of composure as she winces away from him. You fucking idiot, she’s not the one you’re angry at. Do better. “Keeva,” he tries again after a brief silence, voice dropping to a pained whisper. “Keeva, what if you’d gotten hurt? Would you have called me to you? Where did you even go?”

Her fingers dig into her arms so hard they meet her mannequin, her face scrunched up so much her eyes are slivers of green. She can’t bring herself to meet his gaze, her words coming so haltingly she has to stop, try to recompose herself, but even still her voice is frail as she forces herself to reply, “I-I went… I went to, um, Ellara. Near where we… we came here. Hadreon.”

“Keeva,” he starts, but she swiftly interrupts.

“I just… I just wanted to go. Home. I wanted to go home! But I… I couldn’t do it. I thought about it. A lot. Almost did, but I… I couldn’t. You kept… talking to me, and I felt more guilty about it, and I… I-I just… I came back to the ship. Here.”

Every word is like a vice that chokes him more and more. “Home?” he repeats, to which she nods. Her homesickness was even worse than he’d known, but to go that close to the loyalist sidhe, to potential danger that he knows she’s well aware of… “You– We can’t go back there, Keeva. You know we can’t.”

That seems to set something off within her, and all of a sudden the restrained emotions within her explode all at once. “And I can’t do this anymore, Lan!” she screams, burying her face in her knees. “Everything was better back home! Everything! I was helpful there! I was happy there!”

“They… Surely they must know you’re a rebel now, Keeva. They might kill you if you try,” he tries to explain, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he feels nothing but the still building frustration and distress from his summoner.

“Like what you already said you would do to me?” she snaps, lifting her head to stare pointedly into his eyes. “What does it matter if they kill me, Lancelot? I’m never going to be able to help anyone like I am now! Not since I’ve changed into this!” She gestures angrily to herself. “At least I’d still have a chance at being what I’m meant to be if I was reborn now! You said it yourself, it’d be better if I do it before it’s too late for me!”

A stab of guilt makes him feel suddenly sick. Why did he ever tell her that? What the fuck had he been thinking? "Keeva, not every word I say should hold weight, especially if you’re only going to take them and place them upon your shoulders like it’s your burden to carry,” he says, but Keeva appears unswayed by his words.

“If I can’t hold you to your word, how can I trust anything you say?” she shouts.

His gaze is firm, but his voice strained as he answers, “I know what you’re asking for, and I won’t do that, Keeva. I refuse.”

That flame that had been ignited within her wavers like a candle in the wind, and he can clearly see the conviction that had been fueling her fading fast with his refusal. “If… If I commanded you?” She suddenly cuts her hand through the air as one would with a sword, leaning forward with the movement. Her eyes are more frantic but steadily staring into his own with expectation. “You… Would you do it then? Lan?”

His sword hand tightens into a fist, and he makes a concerted effort to move it even further from the weapon on his hip. “No.”

She looks at him helplessly, shoulders slumping. “I… I want to go home, Lancelot. Please.”

His voice is sharp but pleading, consumed by a pain he can’t bear any longer, “Stop it, Keeva! I can’t lose you too!” He suddenly reaches for her hand, gripping it so tightly he’s trembling from the effort. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Keeva! I was a fucking fool to even suggest I could before, but I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

Finally, this seems to be enough to break through her adamant desire as she can’t bring herself to demand more from him, instead staring with wide, scared eyes. Realization at how far she’d pushed Lancelot.

"You're doing the exact things you discouraged me from doing, Keeva,” he continues, earning a pained wince from the summer sidhe as her head drops to stare at the ground. “It isn't right! It wasn’t right when I would do it, and it’s not any more correct when you do it! Would you not be worried for me if I were doing exactly what you are currently? I know you would be, because you have been!” He pauses for a single moment, but does not wait for her to respond. “I care about you, Keeva, and I’m not going to help you make the exact same mistakes I’ve made. You're never going to move forward if you continue following the footsteps left behind me."

What little fire that had remained within the summer sidhe dies completely, and within the broken pieces that made up Keeva in this moment, he could see slivers of himself staring back at him. The isolation, pushing anyone away no matter how much they wish to help because he’s not worth the effort anyway. The spiraling self-loathing. The disregard of his own well-being for the slightest taste of helping someone, of redemption. All of it a reflection of what his influence had imprinted on her.

His hands had once been gentle, many lifetimes ago. Perhaps he had fooled himself into believing they might still be yet, but a hand wielding a sword was always bound to cause harm. He had sworn to protect Keeva and instead he had pushed her blindly into the very danger he meant to save her from.

His eyes soften with shame, and for a brief instant, he finds himself unable to meet her gaze. “This is all my fault.”

Immediately she’s put on the defensive, unwilling to relinquish her burden of guilt to him. “No, no you… You didn’t do anything wrong, Lan, it’s my own fault–”

“No, Keeva,” he interrupts, frustration of his own clear in his tone. Keeva quickly goes silent, and Lan continues, “This is my fault. I put that idea in your mind when you never once would have considered it before, all because I–” His voice falters, his eyes betraying just how pained he is as he continues, “I was… afraid. Afraid of losing you in the same way I lost another I cared about. It was wrong. I was wrong, and all it did was make the very thing I feared all the more likely.”

“But… But I–”

His voice softens as he gently takes her hand in his own, eyes filled with a sincerity he reserved for save few in this life, or any life he’d ever lived. “I’m sorry, Keeva. I’m so sorry.”

Her shoulders stiffen, eyes flitting from side to side as though looking for something. An excuse, an argument, anything to dispute him, but there was nothing to be found. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but stops herself, and for a moment Lancelot is certain she might retreat completely in the absence of a defense. To his surprise, however, the uncertainty gives way to the most pained look he’s ever seen in Keeva’s eyes before she throws her arms around him in an agonized wail. Her form is unstable under his hands, somewhere between wispy and melting, almost as though her entire soul had become tears that barely held themselves together under the weight of her sadness. He would wait as she crumbled to pieces, ready to help her put them back together again no matter how long it may take.

It takes a long time before she begins to come down from the height of her anguish, but eventually she falls silent, face buried in his shirt as her form slowly stabilizes into something slightly more solid. He gives her a slight squeeze as she puts her hand over his, weakly returning the gesture.

“I know I cannot take it back as much as I wish I could,” he says quietly, “but I will do all I can to do better by you in the future. I promise.”

“You’ve been better.” Although her voice is faint, there’s a certainty in her words. “Already. You have been, Lan.”

His embrace tightens around her, face buried in her hair. “Then if someone like me can do better, believe me when I say that you can too.”

He feels her wings twitch against his arms, and she whispers, “What if I can’t?”

“Then I take your hand, help you to your feet, and we try again. Just as you’ve done for me. Just as you do for your friends.”

There’s a brief shudder of uncertainty he feels from her, but despite this, he also feels her nod.

“Try again,” she repeats softly. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

[valentinabloodfallen]

Into The Abyss

"Why me?" 

A question I have asked myself numerous times. Whether it was my own doing, an outside influence, or even a curse I wouldn't know. Each day is more of a struggle than the last. Facing Trials and tribulations the burdens of this world bind me to despair. What is the point of going on? What is the reason for being? Why live a life that is filled with this monumental pain? Slowly day by day the darkness inside consumes my soul. The light is fading. I am falling.

The descent requires no effort. Let it come. Let it be. Give me what I deserve. Surely I must deserve it. Shrouded in shadows, I yearn for an escape. Heart and soul weighing me down. I drift away.  Perhaps God will give me the mercy of this being my last sleep.

I slowly awake though this time is different than usual. Something is not right. Something is amiss I cannot explain. I look around to survey my surroundings. To find only darkness. No trace of scant light to be found. Not a sound to be heard. Yet my heart echos each passing thump chills my blood. Though I cannot see I can feel myself bound. Unable to move I shift to and fro met with only the sound of metallic scraping.

I begin to panic My mind plagued by anxious thoughts of how I came to be in this situation. Fear coursing through my veins. Dread weighing down on my chest. Despair constricting my breath.

Abandon all hope you who enter here.

With a faint click Brilliant radiance illuminates from above. It's was God. It has to be. That is the only reasonable explanation. God has come to save me. The beauty of the light was awe-inspiring.

"So I have died" i mumble. A smile and sense of relief washes over me. My wish has finally came true. I am finally free from despair, free from the pain.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding. You are not going to die. Death is a mercy of the deserving " A voice gently speaks out from the darkness. A calm almost sympathetic  tone that does not reflect what has been said.

Thunderous footsteps approach with purpose. The momentary hope ripped away. Fear. That is all that remains. Like prey being hunted I try to make an escape. I cannot move an inch. Is it the fear? is it the panic? No remembering before I look down and see my naked body bloodied bound and bruised. Feet shacked in wrought iron chains. Blood and rust mix in blackish brown sludge. Hands bound behind me in what I can only assume to be the same chains on my legs. The footsteps have reached me. A black silhouette displaces the light. An imposing figure it was. Towering above me it didn't move. It's gaze fixed on me.

"Who are you, what do you want" my voice a trembling guttural squeal.

There was no response. Pleading with the figure in every way imaginable. Begging for release, for answers, for something. My chest heavy as if there way a pallet of bricks placed atop it. Tears well up and continue to fall. Sweat leaking out of every pore. I cannot breath I cannot think my head is filled with static as my blood is ice cold.

"Do not be afraid little one" with that the silence breaks. An outstretched hand caresses my face. Like a parent trying to console a child. The hand devoid of any source of heat. With that small exchange the figure steps back reaching out to the darkness, dragging a cart into view. Filled with various tools. It raises each item to showcase them to me before placing them in a neat orderly fashion. Pliers. Box cutters. Garden sheers. A saw. The final tool is a hammer.

Standing there contemplating the figure picks up the sheers with delicacy inspecting the tool giving it a few snips and a nod. Slowly it approaches me. Snip. Snip. Snip.

All sense of escape evaporates. All hope has been snuffed out. Naked and bound how would I fight. Can I fight?  Why is this happening? Why wasn't anyone coming to save me? What did I do to deserve this.

"Why me?"

[pansexualkiba]

...okay, so i'm just going to delete this post. that's what you wish, isn't it. not to have a constructive dialogue, but to berate me into deleting what you take as a bad faith post that was mainly just me, as i've admitted, misremembering several things in a vent post and conflating it all into me thinking that, yes, confirming things outside of the main show isn't good representation for people who may be unaware that said extended material isn't very accessible.

there's one more thing, though, before i move on from this rather annoying thing. "plethora". the show knows who its main characters are, yes. the show knows where the characters are, yes. it does not have a plethora of lgbt characters. my count remains nine characters. that is less characters than the amount named in the emerald forest episodes. there have been several magnitudes more characters since then. if you wish to continue to angrily go "um, actually", and rant and rave on someone who has admitted they were wrong already, go ahead, but please do not misconstrue things i've said. ilia had a crush. adults get crushes. a "crush" is not implying juvenile feelings about anything. to imply so is, in itself, juvenile, and removes how people actually experience attraction. "ilia had a crush" is not diminishing that she fell in love with blake. it's a statement of fact. she had feelings. she had a crush.

jaune was, in fact, given a startling amount of time on-screen early on. he is the only non-team rwby character who ends up in the ever after (until it turns out neo was there the whole time, but i digress), and is in the opening for the whole volume. he kills penny (at her request). pyrrha dies for his story arc. jaune arc is a main character. you cannot just pick and choose who is a main character for your argument to work. coco and scarlet were not in the show for seven volumes, counting the first volume where they would have no reason to show up at all. by all rights, velvet has more screentime than her team leader. so, counting the main characters - rwby, ornj, and arguably qrow, that's... 2/8 or 2/9 main characters who are confirmed lgbt. if we include salem and cinder, the main antagonists, that's 2/10 or 2/11. i'm not counting emerald or neo, in this count, because that would just inflate those numbers even further.

i'm being critical of the show. i still enjoy rwby. i just have several things to point out of it that personally bug me. i was fully willing to just tag this as rwde if someone pointed it out. the fact of the matter is, you've dragged this out to a point i grew angry and tired just thinking about it, you began insulting me when i tried to clarify on points i thought you perhaps misunderstood, and yet you claim i'm the aggressor here when i made a post on my own blog about a distressing pattern i had noticed in the shows, frankly, scant lgbt representation. it would have been remarkably easy to have a scene where qrow realizes he's fallen for clover. it would have been remarkably easy to have weiss get flustered around ruby as she reconciles her mental image of ruby with the person she's becoming. it would have been amazingly easy to make ruby get a crush - my apologies, get feelings for penny. it would have been very easy to get canonical ace representation by having ren just not be interested in nora or anyone. if weiss had a little framed photo of pyrrha. if emerald actually had a confirmed crush on cinder. if sky lark was dancing with, i don't know, brawnz ni in the background of the prom episode.

if you had just told me that the post does belong in rwde without feeling the need to correct me in such a condescending tone, and then doubling down on it when i decided to accept that i was wrong and try to point out where i thought you were reading too negatively into my wording, i would not be typing out this response.

i think you're too defensive, is my point. please, for your own sake, ask yourself if this sort of behavior is actually conducive to a good atmosphere of discussion. i didn't think this was a rwde post because, it is my understanding, rwde is for explicitly anti-rwby content. a simple reply would have been enough for me to re-tag it.

anyways, goodnight. the original post will now be deleted.

okay i'm doing a recap of all of rwby's lgbt characters and of them:

blake and yang are together, but in that weird way where blake was interested when yang wasn't and vice-versa, and then they got together in canon. and then roosterteeth shuttered and was bought by viz. so we'll see how long that lasts.

Ilia, who has a crush on blake but got over it and was a villain for most of her screentime.

jaune's sister Saphron married a woman named Terra Cotta. as a reference to how Sappho of Lesbos would paint terracotta lekythoi. and then we never see her again after her one (1) episode.

may marigold, a minor character, has a throwaway line about being a trans woman and we never see her again (only trans character in rwby btw)

coco was confirmed in a book to be a lesbian. she is in no relationship, is no longer in the show, and is named after Coco fucking Chanel.

scarlet david, a side character who does not reappear in the show, is confirmed in a different book to be gay and has entered a relationship with nolan porfirio, an even less-relevant character. they are both twinks.

for fun trivia: three of team NDGO (nebula, gwen, and dew) - who are a team of canon fancharacters who appear minorly in the show - are confirmed by their creators to be asexual, but not by the showrunners. all four members of NDGO are then written to be bullies in the book where they reappear (same book where the twinks get together).

not counting the animals as nonbinary (because animals don't experience gender the same way humans do), that leaves us with:

1 bisexual (blake, because a lot of people forget her awful relationship with sun and try to forget that weird retcon with adam)

1 pansexual (yang, and i'm not sure if there's a meaningful difference in this)

4 lesbians (saphron and her wife, ilia, and coco. note that terra is essentially an accessory to her wife and all three are minor characters)

2 gay men (scarlet and nolan, who are minor characters and get together in side material)

1 trans character (may, who has a minor role and vanishes after confirming she's the only transgender character in the whole show)

this isn't meant to be, like, a rwde post btw. genuinely this is me compiling information. if the tone gets a little snippy, well. i guess i'm tired of gay men only being one body type and all the gay women being incredibly minor characters who show up and have no plot relevance. congrats to bumbleby tho, i think.

[strywoven-moved]

@reno2ndgun​ asked : “  Talk to me.  ” Was all Reno said as he sat shoulder to shoulder with his twin. Axel had seemed out of it for about a week now and once Reno had a moment away from missions he was right at the other's side, voice quiet.

PROMPTED . 

          Something was certainly AMISS ; vigil fire stoked seems to be wheezing , gasping and h e a v i n g on fumes ( some ends , however , are intentional— some ends , we understand , tend to be self-made ).  And whatever it was , it had a tremendous v i c e on him.

          Digits flex idly , the too-familiar BURN working its way through his palm and coursing through his fingertips . . . Axel closes his fist , quieting it down ‘fore it goes further.  Footsteps approach , and his twin’s voice sounds from somewhere f a r off ( was he even here anymore ? ).  Words go unheeded at first , gaze distant – distracted – DISTRAUGHT ; green depths narrowed on some imperceptible horizon.  Drawing a breath and leaning back in his chair , the redhead turns to acknowledge Reno.  A n y t h i n g , he knows , they could very well tell each other anything , that was the perk of being FAMILY .  But what was he supposed to say ?  Axel raises a hand and gives a dismissive wave , “‘S nothin’ ,” Lies come easily , they were second-nature.  Huffing a sigh , he shakes his head.  “Jus’ been tired , that’s all.”  A meager honesty , at least.  “Really , you don’t hav’ta’ worry ‘bout it.”  

[galkyrie]

"Roses of May" for the fake fic title game

Jaytim flavor 👁👄👁

I know you did something with a flower hoping for something hanahaki flavored, so here you go! Jason woke up coughing up roses- small little buds that looked just like the ones climbing along the trellises of Alf's garden in the spring.

The night before, Tim and Jason shared a break during their respective patrols and a hastily-bought dinner from an all night Mexican place. He'd said something- he couldn't even remember what, just that it was mean and about B- and Tim had laughed so hard he'd almost fallen off the roof.

He should've figured some stupid shit like this would happen, when he'd made Tim actually snort horchata through his nose and not managed to find it a little bit gross. The sneezing fit that had followed as cinnamon, in Tim's words, wreaked havoc on his nasal cavity, had only made him laugh.

He stared down at the flowers, and could only muster surprise at the fact that that was what had finally done him in- when there were countless other moments he could point to that would be much better to look back on as the culprit.

Moments like that day when Tim had invited him for breakfast, informed him he didn't give a damn about Bruce's approval when it came to Jason, and forgave him for the shit he'd put him through but hadn't yet worked up the nerve to apologize for all in one conversation.

He could've fallen in love with that surprised, sincere little grin on his face when, months later, he did work up the courage to officially apologize for his past actions.

Or- the time Tim had been the one who found him after Scarecrow had managed to dose him, had held Jason's hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat until Bruce had managed to synthesize an antidote, talked him through both the onslaught of flashbacks from being murdered by that fucking clown to helplessly watching himself go through the motions of trying to pay that forward on Tim.

He could've fallen in love with him when he woke up from that haze and remembered Tim carefully having him touch his throat to demonstrate its complete lack of blood- the long-healed over scar barely a whisper against his fingertips. Letting him feel his even, unafraid heartbeat and breaths, offering him a mantra that he was okay.

But no. He fell in love when he made the man laugh so hard he almost died twice over it- when Tim leaned into him with a grip on his arm to prevent himself from falling through the whole ordeal.

When Tim had looked at him after he finally regained his composure and playfully said, "you haven't gotten that close to killing me in a while", like it truly was water under the bridge.

It- sucked, now that he had all these moments with Tim in the scant few months they'd been on good terms- to know he was gonna have to lose them. He blinked down at the flowers again, thumb tracing over the delicate petals before dropping them in the trash by his bed.

He grabbed his phone, flicking through the various contacts until finding his quarry. "Hey, B."

"Jason, what's the matter?" Bruce knew something was wrong, if he was calling him- but Bruce knew their whole history- had been the target of most of the anger for which Tim had served as collateral. He'd understand how much better it'd be if he got this taken care of before Tim even got the slightest idea.

He knew that Tim deserved better than to even be burdened by the idea, that he'd just try to make himself the cure for Jason's sake.

"Uh, so it's kinda an awkward problem- anyone in the Justice League know how to cure hanahaki or should I go to Leslie?" Distantly, he heard a cup shatter on a cold cave floor and the screech of bats in response.