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unholyhelbig · 6 months

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oversight part 6 ??

Title: The Oversight [Part 6/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 6237

Warnings: SMUT UNDER 18 DNI, oral (r recieving), Dom/sub dynamic, slight mommy kink if you squint, fingering (r recieving), and horrible grammar

[A/n: This took literally all day because I hadn't started it until this morning, and it's now 12am. Good thing it's -15 degrees outside and I physically cannot leave my home. I haven't written Nat smut... ever. Go easy on me.]

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Natasha Romanoff knew how to handle a gun. She tested its weight; the mix of metal and plastic was familiar to her as lungs were to breathe. As ocean was to water, as sky was to rolling thunder. Handling a gun, especially while loaded, was a delicate process. She’d stroke the trigger, ghost her fingers over the barrel and expertly tease the weapon into doing exactly what she wanted.

Natasha Romanoff was not one to do anything without calculation, not one to do something without complete control. But, the soft noises that escaped your throat as she nipped across your jawline and licked over the burning bites to soothe the smallest bit of pain made her stop thinking. Stop calculating. It threatened to take her control.

Your back was up against the cool mahogany of her bedroom door. You’d barely gotten a chance to close it before her hands were all over you, and that floral scent invaded your lungs. You were frantic to pull her as close as possible, to feel her body fully against yours. You needed Natasha Romanoff more than you needed life itself. You needed her inside of you.

She seemed just as beside herself. Her nails ran up and down your sides, brushing against the exposed skin that the slit in that beautiful emerald dress provided. You were enamored with it earlier in the night. Now you were grateful for all the exposed parts of you, the hot touches and breathless kisses.

“So needy, malyshka” Natasha whispered between kisses. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you?”

Yes. You wanted that more than you could vocalize. Instead, you let out a groan that was muffled by her lips against yours. You understood the irony, feeling so safe with a woman who was one of the most feared within the city.

She reminded you in a gentle growl “words, baby, use your words.”

“Please, I need you.”

Natasha didn’t need another green light. She hauled you into her arms in a feat of strength, backing you onto the bed. The sheets were cool against your bare legs. The last time you’d been in this bed, you were in much worse shape. You preferred this, coming undone with Natasha’s wandering hands and damp kisses.

You hungrily pushed her jacket from her shoulders, brushing the pads of your fingers over her defined muscles. She smiled against your lips, throwing the expensive garment to the floor. You made quick work of the buttons down the front of her waistcoat, barely exposing the curve of her chest before her fingers reached up and grabbed yours.

“You’re far too clothed, darling.”

The objection was soft, and you were quick to comply when she pulled the dress up to expose your thighs. You lifted your hips and she moved the dress the rest of the way over your head, tossing it to the side. Her eyes raked hungrily over your dips and curves, hands caressing your sides, watching as your pulled air in and let it out in excitement.

“You knew this was going to happen?” Natasha said with a wolfish smile as she took in the lacy bra and panties that you wore.

“Hoped, really.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“Do I need one?”

Her smile widened as she expertly slid the buttons from their proper place and pulled her waistcoat off. You were met with tanned skin, with a toned stomach and breasts that you itched to palm. She started to kiss along your neckline, down your chest, and the very start of your stomach. Expertly, she unhooked your own bra, tossing it in the same direction as your dress.

Natasha bit and sucked in the right places and your back arched in eager response. It distracted you from her wandering hands. You shuddered as she pushed past the elastic of your underwear, she brushed her finger up the length of your slit, and a breath got stuck in your throat.

“So wet already, just from a little teasing.”

“Natasha,” You moaned her name.

You squirmed as her touch moved lower, she kissed along your waistline, moved your underwear down your legs until you were fully exposed to her. She let out a content breath that was hot against your center, you fought the urge to press against her.

“Zaychik, I have a few rules,”

“Anything, just… anything.”

She kissed against your thighs, ever so close to you. It was driving you nuts, and while you trusted Natasha with your life, with your sanity, it was you who was struggling with control. You craved her touch and then resented how much you relied on it. You had never wanted anything more in your life.

“You belong to me. And that means, you can only cum when I give you permission.” You whined under her soft ministrations, bucking your hips forward. She bit hard against the expanse of your skin, enough to bruise. “Am I clear?”

“Y-yes, yes. Clear. Crystal. Baby please.”

Natasha hummed against you. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks heated at the positive reinforcement and your fingers curled into the expensive sheets. A gasp escaped you when her tongue met your folds. She licked expertly across the length of your center and an entirely pornographic noise left your throat when she stopped at your clit, sucking softly.

You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, pounding against your ribs in a perfect rhythm. Natasha slid a singular finger into you. It was painfully slow, and far from enough to fill you up. You resisted the urge to grind further into her. Another finger, another soft noise.

A combination of her quick movements and attention mouth brought you close to the edge embarrassingly fast. You had thought of this moment for months, how skilled she was, how your naked body would be writhing under her touch exactly as it was now.

When Natasha added a third finger, your mind started to grow foggy. You had known for awhile that you would do anything for her. It wasn’t a feeling that you shied away from in the slightest. Excitement was building in your core, breath coming quicker, sweat slicking against every inch of your body.

“Remember your manners, baby girl.” Natasha’s words vibrated against your core, making your squirm. “Not until I say.”

Her fingers curled inside of you, your walls tightening expertly around her. It took everything in you not to give in to her. There was an impossible pressure building inside of you. You gasped in as much air as you could muster.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” the answer came without hesitation. “Only you,”

“That’s right. You’re all mine, my little toy.”

Her words only worked you up more. You wanted to take care of her, wanted to worship her. You’d do anything she commanded. The word slipped past your lips without a second thought. She was working so hard to undo you. “Natasha… mommy”

Natasha let out a moan at the title, her pace increasing. She returned her hot mouth to your clit, circled it with your tongue expertly. She mumbled against you, words vibrating. “You can cum, princess.”

She didn’t’ have to tell you twice. You tightened around her fingers, arching off the bed as pure extasy washed over you. You clenched every part of your body, groaning into the crook of your arm to muffle the noise. Pleasure rolled over you, through the pit of your stomach.

Her mouth continued to work throughout the lingering pressure of your orgasm, threatening to build to another one. Natasha pulled her fingers from you with a wet noise. She breathlessly moved herself next to you, kissing your neck, your jawline. Natasha pressed her fingers against your lips, and you were eager and ready to accept them.

You could taste yourself on her, sucking them as she nipped at your earlobe. She whispered, feeling hot against your skin. “Such a good whore, so willing and ready to suck anything. Take anything. I can’t wait to give you a strap.”

Your heart began to race at the thought, and she smiled against you, clear that she could feel the increase of the rhythm from your closeness. Natasha removed her fingers, she kissed you hard, and you kissed her back with just as much passion, pulling away slightly to stifle a yawn.

“Tired already, Zaychik?”

You chuckled “you wear me out. Though, I’m not too worn out to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you’ve already made me feel good. I think we should get some sleep.”

You wanted to fight her on it, body still trembling from the rolling orgasm she had given you. But exhaustion was fighting too and Natasha readjusted you both until you were settled gently into the crook of her neck, one arm lazily over her midsection. She was gentle and attentive with her movements. Brushing strands of your hair behind your ear. Who knew Natasha Romanoff was a cuddler?

A spring storm had taken full effect by the time you had crossed back into the city, but it seemed that nothing could dampen your mood. The clouds that formed in dark clusters and released sheets of rain were something of beauty, not despair. The day was still warm, the breeze cold to cut through the sweat that formed on your brow. You’d cracked the window, allowing stray drops to cool your skin.

You stopped by the mailbox on the bottom floor, wiggling the smallest key on your ring into the lock until it opened. You barely checked the mail and it was stuffed full of coupons, advertisements, and the occasional statement from Veronica’s after-school daycare.

You tucked the papers under your arm and started the long ascent to your floor. You avoided the nails that stuck up through cheap wood. The spots in the carpet that had been soaked through with water damage. None of it seemed to bother you.

“Good morning, Miss Baxter.” You mumbled to the older woman who always perched in front of her door in a busted lawn chair. She had a perfect view of her neighbor across the hall. Her little, crusty white dog barked in morse code at you.

“What’s so good about it? Raining buckets and everything in this godforsaken place leaks.”

“Well, I suppose that’s where the buckets would come in handy.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat but you were already a good portion of the way up the final flight of stairs. You pressed your shoulder tactfully against your apartment door pushing it open before you threw the mail on the table and flicked on the kitchen light. The air conditioning chilled you to the bone, drying the damp spots on your clothes.

There was a click in the far side of the room, one that was unfamiliar from the ticking of the air unit, or the settling of an old building. You were used to those noises. This was entirely too human for your liking, so you drew your gun in a fluid movement, much like the other night.

Without hesitation, flicking off the safety and aiming.

Darcy was sitting in the beaten recliner in the corner. There was an upturned book on the side of the chair. You weren’t sure how long she had been sitting there, but from the bags under her eyes, the way her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, you knew it had been awhile.

You instantly lowered the weapon, hands suddenly shaking. “Darcy, what are you-?”

“I… I knew that something was up these last few months. I thought you had started seeing someone, a regular at the diner, or, or God forbid the dude who works behind the grill. But when I went to the diner you weren’t even there. They said you hadn’t been there for months. And can you please put that thing away?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry” your words were pinched as you rebolstered your weapon. “I can explain.”

“Can you?” She stood, closing the distance between you both now that there wasn’t a loaded gun in the middle. You straightened up, heart pounding haplessly in your chest. “Because Monica Rambeau came up to me at work the other day and told me that you were lying. She… she wouldn’t tell me what, just that you weren’t being truthful, and I defended you, y/n.

“I defended you because you’re my best friend. You have been for years. I’ve stood by you through everything. Through meeting Ronnie’s father, and getting pregnant and comforting you when he left you- because he did leave both of you!”

“Darcy,”

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish. I’ve been here for you every step of the way. Every single step and the only thing that I’ve ever expected from you is honesty. Don’t you think I deserve that? Don’t you think Ronnie deserves that?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching her carefully as she caught her breath, and her bearings. You had only seen Darcy this angry once, and it had been years ago. Sophomore year of high school when her parents decided to split, and her father tried to get her to move to Washington state with him.

She fought and fought because they waited until the last minute to tell her. They weren’t truthful, and you hadn’t been truthful either. More importantly, in both situations, she had been right.

“The y/n I know, can��t draw a gun like that, and doesn’t come home covered in bruises, and doesn’t flinch into action at every little noise. The y/n I know wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place. So, what is going on?”

“Can we… sit?”

You didn’t entirely trust the strength of your legs right now. Parts of you were sore, you had realized that as you climbed the stairs. You could feel them trembling now and fought the urge to curl up on the carpet that was right under your feet.

“I’m fine standing.”

“A drink, then? It’s uh, it’s five somewhere, right?”

“y/n.”

“Right, yes. I know.”

And you did know, but only to a certain extent. If Monica hadn’t gone to Darcy, would you have? It was a single night of drunken lovemaking followed by a less-than-graceful exit into the cold of autumn. There was a tightness to seeing her again, and the underlying fear that this would happen. But so many things were happening.

“I am sorry that I haven’t been truthful with you, but you have to believe me, it was for your own safety. For Ronnie’s safety. I would never lie without a good reason.”

“Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it?” Darcy’s breathed “You always think you know what’s best for me, what’s best to hide from me. But you don’t know what I can handle.”

Okay, you absolutely needed that drink. Darcy wasn’t going to leave now, not without answers she was pushing so hard for. Ronnie was getting too tall for her own good, so you hid the good liquor in the cabinet above the fridge.

Bourbon, warm or not, was your choice and right now you couldn’t bother with ice, just a mug that you had gotten from a thrift store. It was from Cabo and had a little white sand beach and a flamingo wearing sunglasses on the front. You’d never been to Cabo.

The first sip went down burning, and the second soothed the first. “I took a loan.”

“Like, from a bank?”

“From a shark. Technically. They don’t call them that, but that’s what they are. I didn’t realize it at the time, or else I wouldn’t have, but I was already two months behind on rent and I refused to ask you to cover me again. That’s not your responsibility. You already do so much for me and Ronnie.”

She opened her mouth to object, to rush in and say that she would have given you anything and you knew she would. But that didn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t have asked her in the first place.

“I didn’t pay them back in time and they weren’t very lenient. They took me under their custody to persuade me into coming up with the money.”

“Persuade? Their custody?”

“Kidnapped… beat within an inch of death. Whatever way you look at it, I was on their bad side.”

With horrible judgement you filled up another two fingers of whisky, only swallowing half but making eye contact with Darcy as you had done so. Simmering behind her deep blue stare was a mix of pity you were desperate to avoid. It soon dwindled back into discontent and that made you want to continue.

“I was spared on account that I wasn’t their usual clientele. Natasha, she called me… shit, what was it? An oversight? I was a blip in the system. I wasn’t supposed to happen and for that reason, and that reason alone, she offered me an ultimatum.”

Darcy sidled up to the counter that rested like a drawn line between you both. Her fingers tapped nervously on the surface but some of the tension had drained from her shoulders. “Natasha? That.. woman from the fair? The one with Clint?”

“Oh, Clint, you remember?” You smiled.

“He’s strong. Rugged.” She shrugged, frowning “That’s not the point. You’re telling me he’s a part of this sharking business? You’re telling me you let a known criminal that close to your daughter? To me?”

“I get how that sounds bad, Dee, but he’s really not a horrible guy. He’s a father himself and you’re right. You’re right. It’s not the point.” You swallowed the second half of your drink and placed the novelty mug in the sink to stop yourself from polishing off more of the bottle. “They gave me an ultimatum.”

“An ultimatum?”

“I could kill myself working at the diner everyday for the rest of my life. Twelve-hour shifts with most of the funds feeding right back into their palms. It would take decades to give back the money I took from them. Or, I could work for Natasha and pay off my debts in a quarter of the time.”

Silence filled the room. The only type of silence that you knew, that was filled with the sounds of the city. Your neighbors to the left were having a fight that seemed bigger than the one you and Darcy had now. A boombox blasted reggae music across the street and certain beats bled through the thin glass windows.

You swallowed the acrid flavor on your tongue. “For the last four months instead of the diner, I have been with Natasha. With Clint. They’ve been teaching me, and at first, I hated every single second of it. I was scared for… for weeks. But, Darcy, I’m starting to enjoy it and that scares me more than anything.”

“I need to sit down,” She mumbled.

“I offered,”

“I know.”

She flopped down onto the sofa that folded out into a bed. You’d slept there for a month when Darcy’s apartment was being fumigated and you refused to make her take the couch. It was hell on your back, but Ronnie had never been happier to wake up to the both of you each morning.

It carried a familiar clean scent. Darcy pulled a blanket into her lap and ran her fingers over the bumps in stitching. You cautiously lowered yourself down next to her, starting to feel the effects of an empty stomach and too much liquor for the afternoon. You were suddenly nauseous and starving all at once.

“There’s more,” Darcy said, “What you just told me was a lot, but there’s more. I know you, y/n, and I’m giving you an opportunity here to tell me everything.”

You sighed, slumping on the couch. You could feel the bar in the center of the couch push against your spine. There was a crack in the ceiling next to a gray and brown water stain that looked like a Rorschach test.

“Natasha. I think I’m in love with her.” You could hear Darcy turn her head with a dizzying quickness. “I’m not supposed to be, it’s the last thing I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to be protecting her and that’s incredibly hard to do when I’m distracted by her eyes.”

Darcy was laughing and it lightened the mood in the room. The tension was still thick enough to slice with a knife, but it was enough to get you to look at her. “You’ve got it bad, huh?”

“The worst.”

“You really think this is what’s best, huh? Putting yourself into the line of fire like this? Handling a gun?”

“I do. I really, really do.” You picked up her hand, relieved that she didn’t pull away so you squeezed it, just to make sure that it was real. That she hadn’t run at the first sign of trouble. “I always tell Ronnie that I’d get us out of here one day. All of us. And I never knew how to do that on $2.00 an hour.”

Darcy sighed heavily; she leaned her head on your shoulder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But some risks you just have to take.”

The sun had broken through the clouds for the first time in days. It streamed through the windows of Natasha’s private office, nestled at the back of the large house. In the past week, you had been here twice and each time your heart thudded impossibly fast.

This time, she had summoned you before you were through the doors for your normal shift. There were no extra caveats. You weren’t meant to head down to the docks, or to one of the many storefronts that were rented from the Romanoff family. Instead, you were simply meant to be here.

The home was empty, you knew from the lack of cars that were outside. Natasha’s was the only one in the lot besides yours. There was a certain quiet to the day and the French doors that led to her private office were ajar to strengthen the airflow.

She was focused on the work in front of her, hair in a messy bun and two strands falling from her haphazard job. There were black frame glasses on her face. Her face was scrunched up in a frankly adorable expression. It softened when she glanced up and saw you, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Much to your dismay, she removed her glasses “Come in, close the doors behind you.”

You did as you were told, letting them fall with the subtle shake of the blinds. They’d been closed but a small stream of golden light was splayed across Natasha’s desk. It caught the intensity of her eyes, the sharp green color that only came out when she was surrounded by these walls.

“Sit,”

Obediently, you moved to do so, pulling one of the leather chairs out from its spot on the other side of the desk. You felt shame, despite last night. She was still your boss, still the person you were meant to protect. That’s what you were being altered for.

“Not there.”

You lifted your eyebrows, halting in your spot. Natasha pushed back in her rolling chair, ever so slightly. She gestured vaguely to her lap. She can’t be serious? This had to be some type of test? It didn’t seem like one. You certainly wouldn’t mind having her arms wrapped around you, her scent enveloping, intoxicating.

Cautiously, you did as you were told, lowering yourself onto Natasha’s lap. There was an overwhelming warmth, a destined comfort to being in her arms, so much safety in the simple gesture of her pulling you close.

She guided your chin until your lips were close to hers, not quite touching. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” You responded before closing the distance. She hummed into the kiss, her tongue running over her lips, against the roof of your mouth. You could taste her morning coffee and a hint of mint.

“I missed you.”

“It’s been two days,”

She hummed, pressing her cold nose against your throat. The weekends were reserved for relaxation, and as much as you wanted to stay with Natasha in this giant house, you had a life within the city; a daughter, friends, responsibility.

“I don’t want you work for me anymore.”

You frowned and pulled slightly away from her, your arms still circling her neck. This certainly had to be a test but there was no indication to such on her face. She had nothing but a tender expression, a quiet one that left no room for argument, but you weren’t built like that.

“What?”

“I,” Natasha dipped her gaze, pressing her forehead against your cheek. Her words were a whisper. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You can’t get hurt if I don’t put you in the line of fire.”

There were a few moments of silence aside from the large clock on one of the bookshelves that clicked with each passing second. Natasha had never been vulnerable with you like this. There had been moments of soft expressions, but never this.

Gently, you lifted her chin, forcing her to look at you. “Natasha, I can’t do that. I can’t just stop protecting you. It’s all I’ve been training for these last months.”

“I want to offer you something more, y/n. You and Ronnie both. I want you to have a home here… with me.”

You breathed her in, your forehead against hers. Your eyes were closed, but you could feel her watching you for any kind of reaction, anything that would give your feelings away. She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture making your shudder against her.

“I want that too. But more than anything, I want to keep you safe. I still want this. I still want to be there for you like I have been. Behind you every step of the way.” You chuckled sadly, “While being a trophy girlfriend sounds amazing, I want to earn my keep.”

Natasha smiled at you, “Girlfriend? That’s quite the title.”

“I mean it,” you played with her necklace, an equally as small gold chain. “I want to keep training. Girlfriend or not. If you’re going to keep me around.”

She moved forward, kissed against the small expanse of skin behind your ear, down the side of your neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mmhm, but I was serious about you and Ronnie.” She pulled back, brushing her thumb over your flushed cheek. “I like you, y/n. You make me happy.”

Before you could respond, her lips were against yours again, her hands tracing up your sides. You were well aware of how close the two of you were, of how easy it was to get heated in this position, of Natasha’s cold fingertips as they ghosted under the hem of your shirt.

“I brought pizza from that place on the corner that you like,” You balanced the large and greasy box on your hip. It wasn’t your favorite place, the man behind the counter was always rude and the line was out the door. But it was for good reason, you had to admit, because the food was always delicious and made you forget about all the complications.

Darcy ate pineapple on her half the pizza like a criminal. You and Veronica were content with pepperoni, but you’d have to sprinkle extra parmesan cheese on her slices, cutting them into small pieces and providing her with a fork.

There was quiet to Darcy’s apartment. One that reminded you of the many times you had pulled your weapon in preparation. Your hands were full with the box, with a plastic bag filled with off-brand soda and two-dollar movies that were on the shelf at the corner store.

You struggle to swallow your own fear at the sight that lies in front of you. The television is muted, but a cartoon continues to cast the living room in a pale, blue light. Darcy is sprawled on the couch, her chest rising and falling in what seems to be a heavy sleep.

The light above the oven is on and the kitchen table is far from unoccupied. Ronnie looks up at your entrance, content with the array of markers, colored pencils, and crayons that are scattered in front of her.

Carol Danvers sits in an adjacent chair, working on staying in the lines of her own picture. You weren’t close enough to see what she had drawn, but based on her track-record you were sure it was something ghastly.

Monica Rambeau sat in the recliner, a mug of something steaming in her hand. Her eyes were trained on the television despite the lack of sound. They didn’t flick to you when you entered. She was confident that you weren’t going to make a move. Cocky.

“Is that from Ginos?” Carol asked, capping the marker that she was using. “God, they have the best pizza.”

“Yeah, it is.” You whispered.

Cautiously, you let the door close behind you. With an almost domestic way about you, you set the box and the bags down on the counter before wiping the sweat on your jeans. You made quick eye contact with Monica. She nodded at you, regarded you quietly.

“Sit, I was just telling Veronica that she’s very good at coloring. You’ve got a real artist on your hands, Y/n.”

“So, I’ve been told.” You sat down, keeping both of your hands on the table. Kate told you that it was a sign of trust. That if you were quick enough, and she was sure that you were, it wouldn’t matter how far away your weapon was. “What did you do to Darcy?”

“Oh, she’s just so exhausted. Sometimes working a nine-to-five will just take it right out of you. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning after some much needed rest.”

You nodded; mouth incredibly dry. Carol was watching you carefully. She had scribbled something that looked like a mass of color but the more you stared, just like the stain on the ceiling in your own apartment, the more it looked like something more.

She laughed, shaking her head “I’m afraid I’m not as good of an artist as your daughter.”

Ronnie looked at you, her eyes searching your face. It was easy to read her. You had for years. There was curiosity there, but no fear. Carol had probably led with something along the lines of I’m friends with your mother.

Or maybe it had been Monica who forced her way in first. She’d wandered into the kitchen and opened the box of food. Her nose scrunched up at the prospect of fruit on pizza, but she made quick work of picking off the offensive items.

Carol pushed the sheet of paper close to you. “Tell me, y/n, what do you see?”

“I… I don’t know. It looks like a duck.” She lifted her eyebrows, looking or more, and you confidently pointed to each element. “The beak is right here, and the eye is here.”

“Right.” Carol made a swift movement and flipped the photo. “What does it look like now?”

For someone that claimed not to have a good eye for art, Carol sure had a high opinion of a diagram she’d created with a few waxy crayons. It wasn’t the best drawn creature, but you got the general idea.

“A rabbit.”

Carol beamed at you and it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Clever one, aren’t you? Do you see how the world can be viewed in more than one way? To you, this could be a duck, or a rabbit, or just a poorly drawn abstract painting.”

“It’s very well done.”

“Don’t flatter me. I know what I’m capable of. I know what I’m up against. More importantly, I need you to know that sometimes, perspective can change everything.” She leaned back in her chair, rolling a crayon under her fingertips. “The Romanoff family is on the wrong side of an ongoing war, and by association, so are you.”

Veronica got out of her chair then, finally losing interest in the activity that was given to her. Monica and Carol tensed, as did you. But your daughter gave you a look that indicated television. Something else to occupy her mind. You let out a shaky breath.

“Sure, baby. Keep it low, okay?”

She nodded at you and scrambled over to the living room. There were soft noises from the cartoons afterwards. She sat patiently close to the screen to she could hear. She minded you well, hugging a throw-pillow close to her chest.

“It was very easy to track you down. Did you know that? Almost as easy to get in here, to have full access to your life. The life you had before you met Natasha Romanoff.” Carol reached into her coat pocket, she pulled out a business card. “You need to choose a side. If you’re going to stick around in this town, you need to choose a side, or get better locks.”

She left it on the table along with the smattering of art supplies and her crudely drawn photo that was supposed to teach you about perspective. Though, you were certain you knew all you needed to. There wasn’t even a question.

Carol stood and gestured for Monica to follow. She clapped you on the shoulder before she left, her words just the quietest of whispers. “I understand her allure, y/n. But there’s more than one force to deal with in this city.”

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fushigurro · 29 days

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𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨𝖨

𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘐𝘖𝘜𝘚 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (nsfw future chapters likely) / an interpretation of "came back wrong" gojo (he's not necessarily wrong, just different) / yandere!gojo vibes / disabled-coded gojo with reader acting as caretaker; it's essentially a learning curve for everybody involved / some dubcon physical affection moments, but nothing serious / 3.4k words

well... we have made it to a second chapter!! this overall idea just really resonated with me, and after learning how it affected others as well, i just knew i had to do my best to keep it going. this is the first ever "part 2" of anything i've ever written, so i beg for just a shred of mercy! i'm trying my best, and thank you to everyone who has said kind things about this story so far. i hope you enjoy <3

The winter air is brisk and a little volatile, but you feel blessed to have it whirl past your skin—even more blessed to watch Satoru’s flesh prickle at the sensation. Alive.

You had done your best to rummage through the expanse of his closet to find a suitable coat for him to wear—one that would cut the chill of an afternoon breeze when it inevitably brushed across his body. January could be unforgiving at times—the harshest of winter moths. You wondered how cold death must’ve felt.

“Satoru, where are your shoes?” You inquired, voice muffled in his closet as you sifted through garments, multitasking in an attempt to compose an outfit for him.

He sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on your movements as they often were, mind turning at your question for a moment. He stood then, paced towards the shoe rack that stood outside the closet door, and reached gently for one of your busied hands. Satoru points your fingers towards the collection of shoes.

You paused your movements, eyes curious as they followed his guidance before landing upon their intended target. “Oh, that’s right,” you said with a small shake of your head, bearing a self-defeating smile and feeling rather silly for your oversight.

It was a challenge to become acquainted with someone else’s home amidst everything else, responsibilities stacking upon responsibilities. However, Satoru continued to prove that he could recall more than you initially thought, that he could act as your guiding light when called upon. A little ironic, you think. A little pathetic, too? No, you are human, after all. Just as he is.

He smiled in return. You swore there was even a hint of a familiar light-hearted, teasing glimmer in his eye, unless you were seeing things.

(You weren’t.)

For once, you are grateful for the rather serene nature of the school’s grounds as you stroll across them side-by-side with him, much like in days from a not-so-distant past. The remaining fallen leaves from the trees dressing the mountains rustle with the wind, colored by the touch of death but still beautiful all the same, just like something else you know.

“We can always go back if it gets too cold,” you say as a reminder to Satoru of his agency, his home on campus easy to circle back to should you take the notion. You fear he might choose to freeze himself into another early grave if that’s what you wished, and you can’t fathom the idea of making him suffer simply because he thinks it pleases you to do so. Your happiness is somehow his, and although this is a new quality you have yet to decipher, there’s still something about it that strikes you as indulgent and rather characteristic of a gluttonous Satoru Gojo.

He doesn’t respond, gaze flitting across his surroundings as he walks, nerve endings and six eyes absorbing a litany of information. A silent Satoru used to be a rare occurrence but is now the default, the air somehow punctured by the lack of his voice riding along it. However, his presence is still stark, his being brimming with energy as if to make up for the words he can no longer speak.

Unbeknownst to you, he communicates with you not only with his physical body, but with his feelings, too—waves of energy that he projects outward on instinct, hoping you’ll have the means to grasp what he is trying to say even if he isn’t always sure what it is. It has been rather unsynchronized and sloppy thus far, but with each day that passes, your ability to hear him grows.

You can hear him now even with the only sounds being the breeze rushing in your ears and leaves crunching beneath the soles of shoes. There is something somber about him, more than usual, mixed with that same sense of being lost in a world that feels brand new.

All of it is familiar to Satoru on a physical level—the paths, the buildings, the foliage—but what prickles his mind is attempting to piece together the myriad of strange feelings that arise as he is faced with more and more reminders of a past that he can’t fully recall.

It’s as though the memories are trying to surface but can’t quite fuse into something tangible, something concrete, like when you feel a word forming just at the tip of your tongue but it never arrives. He can sense them deeply in his body, almost experience a brief image flashing like lightning through his mind before it disappears. Satoru’s frustration is palpable, and he reaches for your hand.

Icy-cold fingers nipped by winter intertwine with yours, tethering him in place as his fractured mind aches with the burden of obscurity. His physical affection is new to you, but you allow it—welcome it, even. As much as the earnest displays contrast with his previous tiptoeing around connection, it is yet another thing you can’t bear to turn down, not after everything that’s happened.

You hope it isn’t simply guilt of all things compelling you to accommodate him, but wouldn’t it be equally bad to do it for selfish reasons? Could one misconstrue it as taking advantage, of feeding off his need to satisfy some part of you that had always wanted him?

The various implications make your head swim with conflict, so you force yourself to shut them down for the time being. Satoru is only holding your hand, nothing more, at least for the moment. There had of course been instances of his lips pecking against your own, wandering down to your neck, his hand settling on your waist as if to draw you closer… but you’d always managed to divert his attention in one way or another, severing the connection before either of you could become too engrossed in it. He never seemed overly perturbed to shift direction, but you couldn’t help but wonder just how long his patience might last, and if you’d be able to figure out what you even were to him before then.

Needless to say, nothing could have ever prepared you for something like this. What drives you forward more than anything is your contentment with the fact that he’s here walking the earth with you, as whole as he can be after having been stolen from the arms of death. And despite the abundance of challenges, part of you can’t help but feel special for being chosen to face them.

When your feet bring you near the school’s entrance, gates opening way for a path down the mountain, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, alert like an animal that’s suddenly caught a scent. His grip on your hand tightens, heart plummeting into his stomach as something takes hold of him, something he likely couldn’t put into words even if he had the ability to speak.

You turn to check over him with your gaze, concern etched upon your features at the immediate change of pace. “Satoru…?” you call softly, yearning for a chance to be able to peek into his mind. All you can do is feel the chill of his demeanor.

His name drifting upon your voice earns a split second of his attention, but he is, for once, captivated by something else.

Pierced gut. Blocked throat. Summer sun and the sounds of buzzing.

It’s a memory that lives in his body but not his conscious mind, an instinct telling him to heed the surroundings for a threat that once was. He relives it with a rapid heartbeat, knows it bears importance, but he can only recall shreds of information that don’t merge together to form a full picture. He simmers in mounting frustration.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Boiling blood—the brink of death.

Satoru turns on a dime and faces a figure in the distance, on guard and brimming with a sort of defensiveness you’d never quite seen before, at least not coming from him. Muscles rigid, he squeezes your upper arm as if to warn you, to keep you close, his extraordinary senses absorbing information quicker than you can even pivot to see what it is he’s looking at.

From around the corner of a building emerges Megumi, clad in warm clothes and a mellow disposition. His distinctly unruly hair makes it easy to identify him even from where he appears down the path, hands in his pockets as he strolls towards you upon recognition.

Satoru’s mind runs through calculations as the young student approaches, attempting to distinguish and fill gaps and create something he can take hold of as a semblance of fact.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Something… different?

Megumi’s cursed energy burns in a recognizable way, striking Satoru as peculiar as he instinctively studies it with the six eyes. But it makes sense to him—it’s familiar, even if he struggles to trust it in full. This is someone he hasn’t met since his awakening, but someone his eyes have certainly seen before.

You can sense the fear radiating off Satoru’s being and into yours, the presence of someone other than you agitating his already troubled state. You must act.

“Look, it’s Megumi,” you say softly with an encouraging smile, encasing his hand with your palm and hoping that your pleasant reaction takes the edge off. Satoru is reluctant to avert his gaze, but does so anyway, blue darting in your direction to witness the happiness written in your features. You appear to trust this person, and he trusts you, so despite the pounding in his chest, the sorcerer relaxes his grip.

You guide Satoru to take a few steps forward with you to meet Megumi as he draws nearer, a tired but welcoming smile turning your lips upward to greet him. It’s nice to see the boy alive and well in the aftermath of his own debacle—or at least as well as someone could possibly be. You wish there had been something more you could’ve done to help him recover, but it was known to many that you happened to have your hands full at the moment. Hopefully he will understand.

“Hey,” Megumi utters quietly, eyes scanning over your face and then his teacher’s, trying to briefly assess your individual states.

“Hi, Megumi,” you respond, appraising him yourself. He seems to be all in one piece, which you had been informed of, but had yet to see yourself. It’s nice to have visual confirmation. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he replies quickly, flatly, minimizing himself as usual. His voice is more sincere when inquiring about your wellbeing. “And you?”

You grin, finding a way to sum up your experience without overwhelming him. “Hanging in there,” you muse with a breathy chuckle. There’s no use in worrying him with all the details of Gojo’s current condition and how it has subsequently flipped your world upside down, but Megumi is shrewd, and you’re sure he can come to some sort of conclusion, especially when briefed by the others who have eyes on the situation.

Megumi awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, skirting around vulnerability and concern as his next question arises. “Gojo-sensei… how are you doing?”

Satoru has been silent all the while, of course, but sorting through every detail while you and his former student exchange pleasantries. Neurons fire, rewiring frazzled connections, giving him a glimpse at how this boy is not the same as the one he bears a resemblance to.

Megumi isn’t sure what sort of response to expect; in fact, he feels silly for expecting one at all, posing a question that he’s fairly certain can’t be answered directly. But how else was he meant to conduct himself in such an interaction, to show that he cares? To speak as if Gojo weren’t even there would feel like even more of an insult.

You’re caught in the middle, watching Satoru’s face and seeing the gears turning in his head. “I think we’re all just… learning how to adjust to things, y’know?” you reply with a rather vacant smile, turning back to Megumi who understands your subtext with ease. Rather than speak for Satoru, you’ve made a blanket statement to provide just the slightest bit of feedback, and Megumi is well aware.

The student nods his head with a short hum of acknowledgment, doing his best to see his mentor in this new light—one he never thought would be possible, not when it came to someone who had always claimed to be so strong. But at least there is a light at all.

The wind tosses leaves around between the three of you, filling the silence with its quiet whispers. You wish there was more to be said. You wish you had a solid grasp of how well Satoru really was doing.

“I think Ieiri said she wanted to see you soon,” Megumi states, acting as a courier, trying to fill the space with words.

You nod. “Yeah, we’ve been in touch. We’re actually meant to meet up with her tomorrow.”

Shoko, while expectedly rather removed, had been one of your primary contacts and supports thus far, apart from Ijichi who shouldered the burden of several essential tasks you hadn’t been able to complete on your own. You felt guilty for sending him out for groceries and back to your apartment for extra sets of clothes, but how else would you manage to make it by? Leaving Satoru alone or in the care of someone else wasn’t currently an option, and taking him outside the school grounds didn’t sound like an optimal idea either at the present moment. So you had to make do in the meantime, and you were truly grateful for the help, but you couldn’t help but hope that things would eventually fall into place. Maybe Shoko would have answers.

“That’s good,” Megumi replies with a sparkle of hope in his tone, then reluctantly adds, “and, uh… just let me know if I can do anything to help, okay?”

You respond to his gesture with a warm smile. “Thank you, Megumi. That’s very kind.” You don’t have immediate plans for taking the young man up on his offer, but you appreciate the sentiment regardless. He deserves to rest and seek peace, not fight any more battles for the sake of others.

A twinge of pink colors the apples of Megumi’s cheeks, and he recedes into the scarf wrapped around his neck, unused to accepting grace from others without feeling inclined to quarrel about it. He is at a loss for words, somewhat eager to make his escape before the vulnerability has the chance to further consume his dignity. You take that as something of a cue.

“Well, we—” you start, preparing to make a closing statement and depart, before being interrupted by a sudden movement to your left—Satoru, breaking free from his fixed state to perform a familiar gesture.

As if finally making a connection, he grins and mimics the Ten Shadows hand configuration for summoning the Divine Dogs, clapping his palms together and examining Megumi’s reaction with ardor. The student is startled out of his mild embarrassment, somewhat baffled by the sudden communication attempt and the implication that his mentor perhaps actually remembers who he is. It’s a pleasant surprise to you both, and a moment or two is required for it to sink in.

Your face lights up with glee, heart warmed by the simple action in a way that’s difficult to express. Megumi appears to be in a similar boat—taken aback, but ultimately stricken with joy.

A modest smile creeps upon Megumi’s lips as he softly mirrors the motion with his own hands, acknowledging Gojo’s revelation. “Yeah…” he says, voice faint but pleased. “Divine Dogs.”

Every brief glimpse into Satoru’s thoughts feels like a blessing, and this is certainly no exception. It’s refreshing to watch him have a moment of sincere connection with someone other than yourself, and it leaves you glowing with hope for the future as you bid Megumi farewell and make your way back home.

“Head back, Satoru.”

Water splashes into the bathtub as Satoru cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling as per your request, a cup full of liquid streaming over his hair and carrying shampoo suds along with it.

After returning from your walk, you’d prepared something for dinner and eventually urged Satoru into the tub for a bath before bed—yet another activity that seemed to get a little easier every time you did it.

Figuring out how to get him to bathe had initially been quite the challenge, but you had managed to devise a method that had gotten the job done quite well thus far. He might’ve looked rather awkward sitting cramped in the shallow bath with a pair of swimming trunks on while you rinsed him with an old plastic cup you’d excavated from a cabinet, but it was the most effective way to get him clean and preserve both your dignities while doing it. Though you were the only one who seemed to be concerned with such things.

Satoru blinks when a few soapy droplets backslide into one of his eyes, causing him to squint, scrunch, and rub it with his fingers until the uncomfortable sensation eases. He looks at you, almost as if to say, “Hey! That burns!”

You chuckle and shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes. “That’s why you’re supposed to close your eyes, goober.”

He wants to submerge in a pout, but your playfulness rids him of the inclination. Satoru instead shifts his focus to the beauty of your frame perched upon the edge of the tub, a beacon of divinity as you cleanse him with care and devotion. He takes the notion to express an inkling of gratitude by leaning forward and placing a kiss against your lips, lukewarm water rippling around him as it gradually cools.

You’re somewhat stiff and unresponsive, the sudden gesture catching you by surprise as it usually does, but you don’t chastise him for it; in fact, it takes a certain level of concentration for you to avoid letting your thoughts linger on his current state: hair slicked back; flesh exposed and glistening with droplets of water; lips warm, wet, and eager for reciprocation…

Your mouth receives his but does not encourage him for more than a split second, pulling back gently from his advance until you can see Satoru shiver as the water chills his body. His eyes are glued to your face, waiting for a reaction as you prepare to make one more pass over his hair with the cup to see that he is fully rinsed, this time using your hand to shield his eyes from any backflow (and from your expression, which is surely indicative of your now rapid heartbeat).

The action is enough to distract him for the moment, but Satoru is still on edge, teeming with infatuation and need. He is unsatisfied with your response—or lack thereof—and is frustrated with his inability to express it, but your hands carefully wiping drops of water from his face act as a temporary soothing agent.

“Alright, let’s get dried off and ready for bed,” you say, standing to fetch his towel from the rack and bring it back to him before reaching down to trigger the tub to drain. “We’re going to talk to Shoko tomorrow.”

Satoru is less concerned with the meaning of your words than he is with how lovely you sound while saying them. He is once again caught in your spell, entranced by the need to be closer but settling for the scraps that you give him—for now.

You aren’t convinced of his comprehension of what you say, but nevertheless, you use the sweetened tone to deflect from the overwhelm of watching him stand and observe your every move as you help to dry his chiseled body. Satoru is tall and looming, scarred in the midriff, but compliant with your ministrations; however, his easygoing nature doesn’t keep your hands from wanting to shake against the towel that repeatedly caresses his physical beauty. You wish you could torch every thought in your mind, switch your brain off to preserve the strength and sanity that remains.

You aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to remain steadfast and maintain this cycle of “temporaries” until something eventually changes. And what if it never does?

You suppose the only thing you can do for now is try your best and wait and see what the future holds. It certainly can’t be any worse than what you’ve already been through, especially now that Satoru is by your side once more. That is something you’ve realized you wouldn’t trade for anything.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #dividers by @saradika #my writing.#re: satoru gojo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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Conspiratorialism and the epistemological crisis

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me next weekend (Mar 30/31) in ANAHEIM at WONDERCON, then in Boston with Randall "XKCD" Munroe! (Apr 11), then Providence (Apr 12), and beyond!

Last year, Ed Pierson was supposed to fly from Seattle to New Jersey on Alaska Airlines. He boarded his flight, but then he had an urgent discussion with the flight attendant, explaining that as a former senior Boeing engineer, he'd specifically requested that flight because the aircraft wasn't a 737 Max:

https://www.cnn.com/travel/boeing-737-max-passenger-boycott/index.html

But for operational reasons, Alaska had switched out the equipment on the flight and there he was on a 737 Max, about to travel cross-continent, and he didn't feel safe doing so. He demanded to be let off the flight. His bags were offloaded and he walked back up the jetbridge after telling the spooked flight attendant, "I can’t go into detail right now, but I wasn’t planning on flying the Max, and I want to get off the plane."

Boeing, of course, is a flying disaster that was years in the making. Its planes have been falling out of the sky since 2019. Floods of whistleblowers have come forward to say its aircraft are unsafe. Pierson's not the only Boeing employee to state – both on and off the record – that he wouldn't fly on a specific model of Boeing aircraft, or, in some cases any recent Boeing aircraft:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/22/anything-that-cant-go-on-forever/#will-eventually-stop

And yet, for years, Boeing's regulators have allowed the company to keep turning out planes that keep turning out lemons. This is a pretty frightening situation, to say the least. I'm not an aerospace engineer, I'm not an aircraft safety inspector, but every time I book a flight, I have to make a decision about whether to trust Boeing's assurances that I can safely board one of its planes without dying.

In an ideal world, I wouldn't even have to think about this. I'd be able to trust that publicly accountable regulators were on the job, making sure that airplanes were airworthy. "Caveat emptor" is no way to run a civilian aviation system.

But even though I don't have the specialized expertise needed to assess the airworthiness of Boeing planes, I do have the much more general expertise needed to assess the trustworthiness of Boeing's regulator. The FAA has spent years deferring to Boeing, allowing it to self-certify that its aircraft were safe. Even when these assurances led to the death of hundreds of people, the FAA continued to allow Boeing to mark its own homework:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8oCilY4szc

What's more, the FAA boss who presided over those hundreds of deaths was an ex-Boeing lobbyist, whom Trump subsequently appointed to run Boeing's oversight. He's not the only ex-insider who ended up a regulator, and there's plenty of ex-regulators now on Boeing's payroll:

https://therevolvingdoorproject.org/boeing-debacle-shows-need-to-investigate-trump-era-corruption/

You don't have to be an aviation expert to understand that companies have conflicts of interest when it comes to certifying their own products. "Market forces" aren't going to keep Boeing from shipping defective products, because the company's top brass are more worried about cashing out with this quarter's massive stock buybacks than they are about their successors' ability to manage the PR storm or Congressional hearings after their greed kills hundreds and hundreds of people.

You also don't have to be an aviation expert to understand that these conflicts persist even when a Boeing insider leaves the company to work for its regulators, or vice-versa. A regulator who anticipates a giant signing bonus from Boeing after their term in office, or a an ex-Boeing exec who holds millions in Boeing stock has an irreconcilable conflict of interest that will make it very hard – perhaps impossible – for them to hold the company to account when it trades safety for profit.

It's not just Boeing customers who feel justifiably anxious about trusting a system with such obvious conflicts of interest: Boeing's own executives, lobbyists and lawyers also refuse to participate in similarly flawed systems of oversight and conflict resolution. If Boeing was sued by its shareholders and the judge was also a pissed off Boeing shareholder, they would demand a recusal. If Boeing was looking for outside counsel to represent it in a liability suit brought by the family of one of its murder victims, they wouldn't hire the firm that was suing them – not even if that firm promised to be fair. If a Boeing executive's spouse sued for divorce, that exec wouldn't use the same lawyer as their soon-to-be-ex.

Sure, it takes specialized knowledge and training to be a lawyer, a judge, or an aircraft safety inspector. But anyone can look at the system those experts work in and spot its glaring defects. In other words, while acquiring expertise is hard, it's much easier to spot weaknesses in the process by which that expertise affects the world around us.

And therein lies the problem: aviation isn't the only technically complex, potentially lethal, and utterly, obviously untrustworthy system we all have to navigate. How about the building safety codes that governed the structure you're in right now? Plenty of people have blithely assumed that structural engineers carefully designed those standards, and that these standards were diligently upheld, only to discover in tragic, ghastly ways that this was wrong:

https://www.bbc.com/news/64568826

There are dozens – hundreds! – of life-or-death, highly technical questions you have to resolve every day just to survive. Should you trust the antilock braking firmware in your car? How about the food hygiene rules in the factories that produced the food in your shopping cart? Or the kitchen that made the pizza that was just delivered? Is your kid's school teaching them well, or will they grow up to be ignoramuses and thus economic roadkill?

Hell, even if I never get into another Boeing aircraft, I live in the approach path for Burbank airport, where Southwest lands 50+ Boeing flights every day. How can I be sure that the next Boeing 737 Max that falls out of the sky won't land on my roof?

This is the epistemological crisis we're living through today. Epistemology is the process by which we know things. The whole point of a transparent, democratically accountable process for expert technical deliberation is to resolve the epistemological challenge of making good choices about all of these life-or-death questions. Even the smartest person among us can't learn to evaluate all those questions, but we can all look at the process by which these questions are answered and draw conclusions about its soundness.

Is the process public? Are the people in charge of it forthright? Do they have conflicts of interest, and, if so, do they sit out any decision that gives even the appearance of impropriety? If new evidence comes to light – like, say, a horrific disaster – is there a way to re-open the process and change the rules?

The actual technical details might be a black box for us, opaque and indecipherable. But the box itself can be easily observed: is it made of sturdy material? Does it have sharp corners and clean lines? Or is it flimsy, irregular and torn? We don't have to know anything about the box's contents to conclude that we don't trust the box.

For example: we may not be experts in chemical engineering or water safety, but we can tell when a regulator is on the ball on these issues. Back in 2019, the West Virginia Department of Environmental Protection sought comment on its water safety regs. Dow Chemical – the largest corporation in the state's largest industry – filed comments arguing that WV should have lower standards for chemical contamination in its drinking water.

Now, I'm perfectly prepared to believe that there are safe levels of chemical runoff in the water supply. There's a lot of water in the water supply, after all, and "the dose makes the poison." What's more, I use the products whose manufacture results in that chemical waste. I want them to be made safely, but I do want them to be made – for one thing, the next time I have surgery, I want the anesthesiologist to start an IV with fresh, sterile plastic tubing.

And I'm not a chemist, let alone a water chemist. Neither am I a toxicologist. There are aspects of this debate I am totally unqualified to assess. Nevertheless, I think the WV process was a bad one, and here's why:

https://www.wvma.com/press/wvma-news/4244-wvma-statement-on-human-health-criteria-development

That's Dow's comment to the regulator (as proffered by its mouthpiece, the WV Manufacturers' Association, which it dominates). In that comment, Dow argues that West Virginians safely can absorb more poison than other Americans, because the people of West Virginia are fatter than other Americans, and so they have more tissue and thus a better ratio of poison to person than the typical American. But they don't stop there! They also say that West Virginians don't drink as much water as their out-of-state cousins, preferring to drink beer instead, so even if their water is more toxic, they'll be drinking less of it:

https://washingtonmonthly.com/2019/03/14/the-real-elitists-looking-down-on-trump-voters/

Even without any expertise in toxicology or water chemistry, I can tell that these are bullshit answers. The fact that the WV regulator accepted these comments tells me that they're not a good regulator. I was in WV last year to give a talk, and I didn't drink the tap water.

It's totally reasonable for non-experts to reject the conclusions of experts when the process by which those experts resolve their disagreements is obviously corrupt and irredeemably flawed. But some refusals carry higher costs – both for the refuseniks and the people around them – than my switching to bottled water when I was in Charleston.

Take vaccine denial (or "hesitancy"). Many people greeted the advent of an extremely rapid, high-tech covid vaccine with dread and mistrust. They argued that the pharma industry was dominated by corrupt, greedy corporations that routinely put their profits ahead of the public's safety, and that regulators, in Big Pharma's pocket, let them get away with mass murder.

The thing is, all that is true. Look, I've had five covid vaccinations, but not because I trust the pharma industry. I've had direct experience of how pharma sacrifices safety on greed's altar, and narrowly avoided harm myself. I have had chronic pain problems my whole life, and they've gotten worse every year. When my daughter was on the way, I decided this was going to get in the way of my ability to parent – I wanted to be able to carry her for long stretches! – and so I started aggressively pursuing the pain treatments I'd given up on many years before.

My journey led me to many specialists – physios, dieticians, rehab specialists, neurologists, surgeons – and I tried many, many therapies. Luckily, my wife had private insurance – we were in the UK then – and I could go to just about any doctor that seemed promising. That's how I found myself in the offices of a Harley Street quack, a prominent pain specialist, who had great news for me: it turned out that opioids were way safer than had previously been thought, and I could just take opioids every day and night for the rest of my life without any serious risk of addiction. It would be fine.

This sounded wrong to me. I'd lost several friends to overdoses, and watched others spiral into miserable lives as they struggled with addiction. So I "did my own research." Despite not having a background in chemistry, biology, neurology or pharmacology, I struggled through papers and read commentary and came to the conclusion that opioids weren't safe at all. Rather, corrupt billionaire pharma owners like the Sackler family had colluded with their regulators to risk the lives of millions by pushing falsified research that was finding publication in some of the most respected, peer-reviewed journals in the world.

I became an opioid denier, in other words.

I decided, based on my own research, that the experts were wrong, and that they were wrong for corrupt reasons, and that I couldn't trust their advice.

When anti-vaxxers decried the covid vaccines, they said things that were – in form at least – indistinguishable from the things I'd been saying 15 years earlier, when I decided to ignore my doctor's advice and throw away my medication on the grounds that it would probably harm me.

For me, faith in vaccines didn't come from a broad, newfound trust in the pharmaceutical system: rather, I judged that there was so much scrutiny on these new medications that it would overwhelm even pharma's ability to corruptly continue to sell a medication that they secretly knew to be harmful, as they'd done so many times before:

https://www.npr.org/2007/11/10/5470430/timeline-the-rise-and-fall-of-vioxx

But many of my peers had a different take on anti-vaxxers: for these friends and colleagues, anti-vaxxers were being foolish. Surprisingly, these people I'd long felt myself in broad agreement with began to defend the pharmaceutical system and its regulators. Once they saw that anti-vaxx was a wedge issue championed by right-wing culture war shitheads, they became not just pro-vaccine, but pro-pharma.

There's a name for this phenomenon: "schismogenesis." That's when you decide how you feel about an issue based on who supports it. Think of self-described "progressives" who became cheerleaders for the America's cruel, ruthless and lawless "intelligence community" when it seemed that US spooks were bent on Trump's ouster:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/18/schizmogenesis/

The fact that the FBI didn't like Trump didn't make them allies of progressive causes. This was and is the same entity that (among other things) tried to blackmail Martin Luther King, Jr into killing himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/FBI%E2%80%93King_suicide_letter

But schismogenesis isn't merely a reactionary way of flip-flopping on issues based on reflexive enmity. It's actually a reasonable epistemological tactic: in a world where there are more issues you need to be clear on than you can possibly inform yourself about, you need some shortcuts. One shortcut – a shortcut that's failing – is to say, "Well, I'll provisionally believe whatever the expert system tells me is true." Another shortcut is, "I will provisionally disbelieve in whatever the people I know to act in bad faith are saying is true." That is, "schismogenesis."

Schismogenesis isn't a great tactic. It would be far better if we had a set of institutions we could all largely trust – if the black boxes where expert debate took place were sturdy, rectilinear and sharp-cornered.

But they're not. They're just not. Our regulatory process sucks. Corporate concentration makes it trivial for cartels to capture their regulators and steer them to conclusions that benefit corporate shareholders even if that means visiting enormous harm – even mass death – on the public:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

No one hates Big Tech more than I do, but many of my co-belligerents in the war on Big Tech believe that the rise of conspiratorialism can be laid at tech platforms' feet. They say that Big Tech boasts of how good they are at algorithmically manipulating our beliefs, and attribute Qanons, flat earthers, and other outlandish conspiratorial cults to the misuse off those algorithms.

"We built a Big Data mind-control ray" is one of those extraordinary claims that requires extraordinary evidence. But the evidence for Big Tech's persuasion machines is very poor: mostly, it consists of tech platforms' own boasts to potential investors and customers for their advertising products. "We can change peoples' minds" has long been the boast of advertising companies, and it's clear that they can change the minds of customers for advertising.

Think of department store mogul John Wanamaker, who famously said "Half the money I spend on advertising is wasted; the trouble is I don't know which half." Today – thanks to commercial surveillance – we know that the true proportion of wasted advertising spending is more like 99.9%. Advertising agencies may be really good at convincing John Wanamaker and his successors, through prolonged, personal, intense selling – but that doesn't mean they're able to sell so efficiently to the rest of us with mass banner ads or spambots:

http://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

In other words, the fact that Facebook claims it is really good at persuasion doesn't mean that it's true. Just like the AI companies who claim their chatbots can do your job: they are much better at convincing your boss (who is insatiably horny for firing workers) than they are at actually producing an algorithm that can replace you. What's more, their profitability relies far more on convincing a rich, credulous business executive that their product works than it does on actually delivering a working product.

Now, I do think that Facebook and other tech giants play an important role in the rise of conspiratorial beliefs. However, that role isn't using algorithms to persuade people to mistrust our institutions. Rather Big Tech – like other corporate cartels – has so corrupted our regulatory system that they make trusting our institutions irrational.

Think of federal privacy law. The last time the US got a new federal consumer privacy law was in 1988, when Congress passed the Video Privacy Protection Act, a law that prohibits video store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2008/07/why-vppa-protects-youtube-and-viacom-employees

It's been a minute. There are very obvious privacy concerns haunting Americans, related to those tech giants, and yet the closest Congress can come to doing something about it is to attempt the forced sale of the sole Chinese tech giant with a US footprint to a US company, to ensure that its rampant privacy violations are conducted by our fellow Americans, and to force Chinese spies to buy their surveillance data on millions of Americans in the lawless, reckless swamp of US data-brokerages:

https://www.npr.org/2024/03/14/1238435508/tiktok-ban-bill-congress-china

For millions of Americans – especially younger Americans – the failure to pass (or even introduce!) a federal privacy law proves that our institutions can't be trusted. They're right:

https://www.tiktok.com/@pearlmania500/video/7345961470548512043

Occam's Razor cautions us to seek the simplest explanation for the phenomena we see in the world around us. There's a much simpler explanation for why people believe conspiracy theories they encounter online than the idea that the one time Facebook is telling the truth is when they're boasting about how well their products work – especially given the undeniable fact that everyone else who ever claimed to have perfected mind-control was a fantasist or a liar, from Rasputin to MK-ULTRA to pick-up artists.

Maybe people believe in conspiracy theories because they have hundreds of life-or-death decisions to make every day, and the institutions that are supposed to make that possible keep proving that they can't be trusted. Nevertheless, those decisions have to be made, and so something needs to fill the epistemological void left by the manifest unsoundness of the black box where the decisions get made.

For many people – millions – the thing that fills the black box is conspiracy fantasies. It's true that tech makes finding these conspiracy fantasies easier than ever, and it's true that tech makes forming communities of conspiratorial belief easier, too. But the vulnerability to conspiratorialism that algorithms identify and target people based on isn't a function of Big Data. It's a function of corruption – of life in a world in which real conspiracies (to steal your wages, or let rich people escape the consequences of their crimes, or sacrifice your safety to protect large firms' profits) are everywhere.

Progressives – which is to say, the coalition of liberals and leftists, in which liberals are the senior partners and spokespeople who control the Overton Window – used to identify and decry these conspiracies. But as right wing "populists" declared their opposition to these conspiracies – when Trump damned free trade and the mainstream media as tools of the ruling class – progressives leaned into schismogenesis and declared their vocal support for these old enemies of progress.

This is the crux of Naomi Klein's brilliant 2023 book Doppelganger: that as the progressive coalition started supporting these unworthy and broken institutions, the right spun up "mirror world" versions of their critique, distorted versions that focus on scapegoating vulnerable groups rather than fighting unworthy institutions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

This is a long tradition in politics: hundreds of years ago, some leftists branded antisemitism "the socialism of fools." Rather than condemning the system's embrace of the finance sector and its wealthy beneficiaries, anti-semites blame a disfavored group of people – people who are just as likely as anyone to suffer under the system:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antisemitism_is_the_socialism_of_fools

It's an ugly, shallow, cartoon version of socialism's measured and comprehensive analysis of how the class system actually works and why it's so harmful to everyone except a tiny elite. Literally cartoonish: the shadow-world version of socialism co-opts and simplifies the iconography of class struggle. And schismogenesis – "if the right likes this, I don't" – sends "progressive" scolds after anyone who dares to criticize finance as the crux of our world's problems as popularizing "antisemetic dog-whistles."

This is the problem with "horseshoe theory" – the idea that the far right and the far left bend all the way around to meet each other:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/26/horsehoe-crab/#substantive-disagreement

When the right criticizes pharma companies, they tell us to "do our own research" (e.g. ignore the systemic problems of people being forced to work under dangerous conditions during a pandemic while individually assessing conflicting claims about vaccine safety, ideally landing on buying "supplements" from a grifter). When the left criticizes pharma, it's to argue for universal access to medicine and vigorous public oversight of pharma companies. These aren't the same thing:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/25/the-other-shoe-drops/#quid-pro-quo

Long before opportunistic right wing politicians realized they could get mileage out of pointing at the terrifying epistemological crisis of trying to make good choices in an age of institutions that can't be trusted, the left was sounding the alarm. Conspiratorialism – the fracturing of our shared reality – is a serious problem, weakening our ability to respond effectively to endless disasters of the polycrisis.

But by blaming the problem of conspiratorialism on the credulity of believers (rather than the deserved disrepute of the institutions they have lost faith in) we adopt the logic of the right: "conspiratorialism is a problem of individuals believing wrong things," rather than "a system that makes wrong explanations credible – and a schismogenic insistence that these institutions are sound and trustworthy."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/25/black-boxes/#when-you-know-you-know

Image: Nuclear Regulatory Commission (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/nrcgov/15993154185/

meanwell-packaging.co.uk https://www.flickr.com/photos/195311218@N08/52159853896

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #conspiratorialism #epistemology #epistemological crisis #mind control rays #opioid denial #vaccine denial #regulatory capture #boeing #corruption #inequality #monopoly #apple #dma #eu

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hannieehaee · 8 months

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HELLO!! I just read svt reaction to them teasing the reader for their crush ISNDKSJS IT WAS SO ADORABLE TvT

Could I please request a vocal unit ver? Thank you<3333

teasing you over your crush on them - vu

hhu, vu, pu

content: gender neutral, very minimal angst, fluff, the crush is kinda implied to be reciprocated.

wc: 1050

a/n: hehe im glad u liked it <33 tysm for requesting!!

masterlist

joshua -

he's a little shit, so i'm convinced he'd pick up on your crush immediately and relish off of it. he would be subtle with his cockiness over it. at first he'd just flirt and make a comment here and there suggesting at the fact that he was aware of your crush, but never outwardly letting you know. he would start seeking you more and more just to lightheartedly tease you over it, never being too forward about it, but being clear enough for you to eventually catch onto the fact that he was aware. he'd wanna see how far he could push before getting you to act up on your feelings.

if you ever felt embarrassed over his behavior and decided to distance yourself a bit, he would immediately feel let down by it. not because of your reaction, but because of his own behavior. he knows his humor might be a little much for some people, but he had just gotten over excited at you crushing on him and mightve lost track of himself in the process. he's a gentleman, so he would make sure to apologize to you and let you know your feelings were appreciated, making sure that you understood his intention was never to embarrass you, but rather to encourage you to act up on your feelings for him.

jeonghan -

little shit #2. he's a cocky menace, so he wouldve probably found out about your crush even before you did. he'd straight up ask you questions about your crush, doing his lil gremlin laugh every time your cheeks grew red over him calling you out so directly. he'd even bring it up in conversation with other people. he wouldn't do this to hurt you, but because he just found your reactions so adorable. he'd thrive off of such a cute person liking him as much as you did.

despite being such a sweet guy, he wouldnt realize he was actually making you feel uneasy and embarrassed until you began to visibly distance yourself from him. upon realizing this, he would immediately backtrack and apologize. he'd baby you and coo at you, explaining that you were just so cute he couldnt help himself. he'd pinky promise not to make fun of you again, as long as you liked him again, because he didn't know what he'd do with himself without your affections.

jihoon -

at first he'd be flustered by your crush on him, honestly. it would take a lot for him to admit to himself that yes, you liked him. i dont peg him as the type to tease you over it unless you guys were already close with one another, but if that was the case, he'd probably be a little more direct about it than the rest of the guys. he might straight up bring up your crush on him while you were joking around with each other. he's an empathetic guy, so he wouldn't go too crazy with his teasing, but he'd still tip toe on that line, not realizing he was making you too flustered. he couldn't help himself, though, he was just too over confident around you now that he knew you liked him.

if you began to distance yourself from him or just straight up avoid him over his teasing, he'd beat himself over it so much. he'd think himself an idiot for letting his cockiness get the best of him. he'd instantly miss your presence in his life, but he would feel too embarrassed over his oversights when it came to your feelings. this separation would probably be what would lead him to realize his own crush on you. he wouldn't know how to approach you again, but would muster up all his courage to apologize to you, rambling about how badly he felt and even accidentally confessing his own feelings for you in the process.

seokmin -

he'd be so endeared by your crush on him he wouldn't be able to help himself. he would never say anything mean or make fun of you, but he would probably just giggle at you every time you blushed or avoided his eyes. he'd relish in all your reactions, constantly cooing at you. he'd maybe kinda treat you like a little kid sometimes, constantly calling you cute and adorable, maybe even pulling at your cheeks when he just felt too endeared by you.

even though he wasn't straight up teasing you, if his babying of you made you feel some type of way and you began to distance yourself from him, he'd feel so dejected. poor guy wouldnt realize where he went wrong. he'd immediately seek you out, telling you that he was not making fun of you at all!! he just found you so so cute and loved the way you blushed around him and stared at him with the cutest admiration in your eyes. he'd let you know that it was mutual, and that he'd be so devastated if you ever stopped liking him as much as you did.

seungkwan -

ok unpopular opinion maybe but i feel like if he was aware of someone's crush on him, he'd get a lil cocky about it. he has sooo many friends and is sooo popular everywhere he went due to his extroverted personality, but he'd rarely ever catch onto people crushing on him. so when he realized you liked him, he would tease you about it a bit. if you ever agreed with him in a group argument about something as trivial as to where to eat, he'd straight up say something like 'its cause you like me, isnt it?' and giggle at your reaction. he'd do lighthearted stuff like this, enjoying the red on your ears and the way you'd whine and complain at him.

if you ever grew annoyed of his teasing and stayed away from him in order to avoid it, he'd begin seeking you out, pouting that you'd just leave him hanging like that. how can you just leave him like that? what about him? what if he liked you back and just wanted your attention? did you ever think about that? he'd end up just scolding you instead of comforting you or apologizing, annoyed that you'd just deprive him of the attention he'd grown so used to.

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krakensdottir · 11 months

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Also something really important I want to point out about Aziraphale's religious trauma.

It's often framed as him being directly abused by Heaven, generally emotionally. And while I don't doubt he's been belittled at points - probably not by Gabriel, the iconic exemplar of the Toxic Positivity boss, but we know how Michael and Uriel etc. can be - it also seems like he's received quite a lot of praise and has generally managed to pull off the appearance of being A Good Angel, or at least a satisfactory one. I don't think, and this is controversial, but I don't think Heaven was usually overtly hard on him.

Because that's not how this kind of cult mentality usually operates. Instead, it teaches you to abuse yourself. Your overseers don't have to directly hurt or insult you if you're so ingrained with fear of failure by the culture you were brought up in that you constantly question yourself as not good enough.

It's not as... satisfying, I guess? As an external abuser being the main issue. But it's a lot more real. At least to me, because I suffered so much anxiety over being 'good' when I was a kid, and it wasn't from direct abuse. It was absorbed from the culture I was surrounded by. I picked it up by osmosis from society at large, and it tormented me. I worried, I doubted, there was a time I literally feared going to Hell. And I wasn't raised strongly religious. My mother certainly treated me as a Good Kid, and never gave even the suggestion that I wasn't. But I felt that way anyway. And it tore me apart. Because internalizing that shit makes it so much harder to fight.

And to be clear at this point, I am not saying Heaven isn't abusive. I just think the nature of its abuse is more subtle and insidious than it's often given credit for. And - this is even harder to accept, but it's true, and it's important - it's not just abusive to Az. All the angels are victims of it. Yes, even Gabriel. The moment he, one of the most powerful forces in Heaven, steps out of line, we see that no one is exempt. Never even mind Muriel, who is literally on the lowest rung of the Heavenly ladder and has probably never been told they're worth anything beyond being, you know, an angel, so at least you're better than humans and demons.

It's a contrast with Crowley, who has long since accepted most (not all, there are definitely some deep issues remaining, but they're nothing like Aziraphale's) of his internal doubts and struggles. His fears are almost entirely external. He doesn't beat himself up if he fucks up. He doesn't have to. There are people happy to beat him up for him. So when things go really bad for him, his instinct is to run. To get out of the way of harm as much as possible.

The fact that Aziraphale is harder on himself than anyone else could be is a vital part of his character. He self-punishes. He self-criticizes. He feels awful every time he breaks the rules in the slightest, even though he isn't usually caught at it. Crowley can find some safety in solitude if he keeps his wits sharp and his head down. Aziraphale can't, because he carries Heaven's conditioning with him at all times. He doesn't need oversight, it doesn't take external threats to keep him in line. You don't need direct threats when literally everyone in your celestial workplace has seen firsthand the consequences of rebellion.

I don't know if I'm making sense here. Again, this is informed by personal experience and I can't claim to be unbiased. But I see so much internalization with Aziraphale. He literally can't even accept praise without being nervous as hell, and I don't think it's fear of punishment or ridicule that's his primary motivation. He simply cannot ever be good enough for himself.

That's how they get you.

Anyway, I think it's why his reaction to disaster is the opposite to Crowley's, why he feels he has to turn and face it and somehow avert the horror (or, alternatively, find some way to reconcile it in his head and accept it - because let's be real, that's often what happens) rather than get himself away. He's less afraid of failing his superiors than he is of failing himself. And God, who is, objectively, the biggest abuser in the entire story.

#go s2 spoilers #good omens meta #aziraphale #this internalized stuff hurts so much #and it's SO much harder to shake than other forms of trauma #breaking free from heaven isn't just not easy - it's impossible until he finally accepts that HE isn't a failure for not fixing everything #and that's the part of him that crowley can't wrap his head around #tl;dr heaven's culture is abusive to all its angels and they manifest it in different ways #and aziraphale takes it harder than any other we've seen

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fixyourwritinghabits · 2 months

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Post NaNoWriMo - Now What?

So if you've only been loosely paying attention, the NaNoWriMo organization has collapsed in a controversy of mismanagement, lack of oversight, abusive forum moderation and a whole host of issues that's resulted in souring the whole thing for a great deal of people. While the spirit of NaNoing will probably continue, a lot of people understandably don't want anything to officially do with the organization anymore.

But you - like I have - still think NaNoWriMo has been very useful to get writing done. Here's some ideas on how to keep going.

How to Get Started

Think Local - All those places you used for NaNo events, libraries, schools, cafes, etc - may be more than willing to launch something similar with enough interest. Just because it won't have the NaNoWriMo name slapped on it doesn't meant it can't continue. My local library has started a monthly write-in event, for example.

Take the Initiative - If you know of a group that you usually NaNo with, it's never too late or early to reach out to them about create an alternative plan. You probably aren't the only one thinking about it!

Talk to your (former) ML - Many Municipal Liaisons I know feel burned by NaNo and won't join it again, but they did love running the event. My local ML is continuing our group under a different name, and yours might appreciate getting assistance or sharing resources about how to run a month-long writing event if you ask.

Find Your People - If you're in school, new to an area, or just not good at reaching out, I feel you. But if you do nothing, you get nothing. Reach out to people you know. Online Discord or Zoom meetings can work just as well as in-person events if you're too remote or broke to meet.

What to Use to Get Started

Shut up and Write provides quick and easy ways to find local groups or form your own to carry the write-in momentum all year round.

MyWriteClub copies the writing tracking method of NaNoWriMo to keep track of your wordcount.

Pacemaker Planner offers multiple ways to track your writing.

Regular old Excel. Or LibreOffice if you'd prefer to wash your hands of Microsoft. It's not as exciting, but a regular spreadsheet with an AutoSum of your daily progress can work just as well as a fancy website.

You can keep going with the NaNo energy without the official name. My local library has started a monthly write-in, and I know many people who have found success with Shut Up and Write. Look into what works for you!

#NaNoWriMo #writing groups #it's always okay to NaNo without NaNo

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wantonlywindswept · 2 months

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adopted baby Guard Din idea that I am never going to write

because it would involve logistics and quiet moments and idle life which I am very down for reading but cannot for the LIFE of me actually sit down and write

So the war ends, Palps is outed as a Sith and an asshole and dies somehow, and the Senate eventually decides that the clones do count as people and thus are allowed to leave the GAR if they want. Give the bureaucrats another few years and they might even give out backpay and citizenship, so long as you stay in the service--wait what do you mean the entire Guard is resigning. What do you mean they've already left orbit?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NOW MILLIONS OF FILES ON THE HOLONET ABOUT THE SENATE'S SHADY DEALINGS???

Guard, collectively: lol cya suckers

Fox is of course one of the last ones out, and since this was all planned on the down low, everyone's been split into groups so they can take commercial flights, since they're not about to be accused of stealing ships. (They also leave their weapons and their armor behind, in a giant macabre pile in the middle of Corrie HQ. Even their helmets, their faces, they discard: it's time for a rebirth.)

He and Thorn and a few other Corries have a stopover on some tiny station, waiting a week for a delayed transport to arrive, and in the meantime they're approached by some locals who just fled the planet below. Separatist remnants attacked their homes, forcing them to leave everything and everyone behind; can the big strong clones do anything about it?

The Big Strong Clones: Oh shit we finally get to kick some Seppie ass? Sign us the FUCK up.

The eager group does not include Fox, who could not care less about the Separatists and would very much like to finally catch up on his sleep. Unfortunately that means that the group that goes down to the planet is Unsupervised.

(Thorn does not count as supervision. Thorn, bereft of Senate oversight, has finally allowed his Inner Chaos Gremlin to fully emerge. Thorn needs more supervision than the shinies.)

Thorn, three days later, waking Fox from half-hearted sleep by dropping an entire natborn child on him: Hey boss, look what we found! None of the refugees claimed him, so we called dibs. Can we keep him? Fox, staring at the child: ...

Din, staring back: ...

Fox: ...no..?

Din: *sad but understanding big brown eyes*

Fox: Nevermind this is my child now.

Din has gone from two parents to one parent and hundreds of overprotective brothers.

Eventually his group makes it to their destination, Din in tow. I am uncertain of what the destination is but it is a planet that is as far away from Coruscant that the Corries could find. I am tempted for Tatooine not because I like Tatooine (I share Anakin's loathing of sand and deserts) but because Luke's description of Tatooine in ANH was 'if there's a bright center to the universe, this is the planet the furthest from'.

Corries, hearing that: Fuck it sounds perfect.

Anyway they make it to Tatooine, there is probably purchasing of some shitty land/buildings that nobody wants out in the wastes bc crime, scum, villainy, etc, but it's not like they have problems taking care of anything that tries to mess with them.

Where did they get the funds?

Shh don't ask about it.

Stone takes up moisture farming. Thire takes up farming-farming. Thorn shoots gleefully at anything that shows up unannounced within a ten-mile radius. Literally everybody dotes on Din. There are a surprising amount of peaceful days.

Eventually some dumb shiny goes: Hey don't kids need friends? Shouldn't we set up some playdates for him or something?

The shiny is not called dumb for asking the question, but they are called dumb for thinking that the question would only ever be taken rhetorically. Fox disappears for two weeks and then comes back with a black eye and a yowling hissing Boba tucked under one arm, looking stupidly pleased with himself.

(Boba is also pleased to be back with people he knows will keep him safe. Boba will not admit to this under threat of death or dismemberment. Boba is a SERIOUS SCARY ADULT BOUNTY HUNTER.)

Boba also decides he will be Mortal Enemies with Din, which after about ten minutes of meeting him morphs into If Anyone Hurts Din I Will Kill Everyone In This Room And Then Myself because all clones be the same, really.

Din has gained another brother/bestie. (Or potential future boyfriend, whichever floats your boat.)

Somehow they still end up overthrowing the Hutts.

Officially the GAR knew and knows nothing about the Guard leaving Coruscant as soon as the metaphorical paint was dry on their sentient status.

Unofficially Fox's batch harangues him every single day for photos of his new kid(s). They eventually show up unannounced, demanding time with their nephew. (They are shot at by Thorn.)

Din gains five new uncles.

The batch proudly show pics and holos to their battalions. Din gains millions of new uncles.

Fox finally gets a full night's sleep.

#tcw #tcw fanfiction #commander fox #din djarin #coruscant guard #someone else should write that #tho tbh it's mostly written here just in rambling infodump form #btw this is half-inspired bc red is both baby din and fox's color #din is nonverbal for a little while because Trauma #and gets nicknamed 'Kit'#Fox refuses to be pleased about this #Fox is extremely smugly pleased about this

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bookofbonbon · 7 months

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strut: in the snow - coriolanus snow.

Characters: Coriolanus Snow x Reader.

Summary: Secrets are discovered, deals bartered and announcements made.

Word Count: 800+

A/N: Curious if this will make people regret their choice on the poll lol.

Your employee file proves to be almost entirely useless to Coriolanus; though the file was thick, the majority of it had been redacted, large chunks of information scrubbed out in thick, black, blocks. He learned part of it was because of Capitol laws that had come into place to prevent the exploitation of child labour; not that that had done anything to protect you.

The other part being your participation in highly classified projects that required the highest levels of security clearance to gain access too, information that wouldn’t be lying around in a regular old employee file in the back of the Archives.

Your file was a mess quite frankly and clearly no one had bothered to do a thorough check of it, only adding in new pieces of information as required.

Almost entirely useless but, still he’d learn three things of high value about you:

You had been in the Capitol for as long as Sejanus and the Plinth family however, judging from the photograph attached to your file, even longer - something told Coriolanus the photograph had been an oversight and should not have been in your file.

You’d been officially employed by the War Department at 15, primarily working in the Capitol’s Experimental Weapons Division under Dr. Volumnia Gaul - doing what? He was unsure.

Four years later, you’d transfer out of the Experimental Weapons Division - almost immediately after Sejanus’s death - remaining in The War Department but now, in the private sector of Munitions and under the tutelage of your uncle; coming out of the shadows and making yourself known to Capitol society - Coriolanus just couldn’t figure out why; there had to be more to it than just him.

Despite the limited and missing pieces of information however, Coriolanus was able to put one important truth together: Strabo Plinth was once notoriously known for his refusal to supply The Capitol with munitions in The First Rebellion. His stance however, had taken an unexpected and dramatic turn as he began to supply The Capitol with military weapons in droves. None knew what caused the sudden change of heart in stubborn Strabo Plinth but many assumed it was the first-class ticket it bought the Plinth family to Capitol Citizenship - given his new discoveries, Coriolanus knew that this was not the case, it had something to do with you.

It's what brings him to the door of Strabo Plinth’s office in the early hours of the morning. Strutting past the older man, the threat you posed to Coriolanus and his claim to the Plinth Munitions Empire; that loomed largely over him was about to grow smaller as he prepared to leverage his newly discovered secrets (and ambiguous claims) about you to his advantage and bring you to heel.

Your footsteps are hard and heavy, striking loudly against the marbled floors and echoing throughout the empty university hallway. Most students had gone home for the day and the sun was long gone from the sky - not that you noticed, eyes focused only on the ballistics report in your hands; you had been waiting for it in anxious anticipation all day and finally it confirmed what you already knew to be true.

So, focused however, you don’t notice the figure creeping in the shadows until she makes herself known-

“Trapped in the Snow, she is- trapped in the Snow and she doesn’t even know, she is trapped in the Snow and she doesn’t even know there is nowhere she can…”

Go, you think, but don’t say it aloud.

“Volumnia,” you close the file, not appreciating what sounded to be a veiled threat. “I hope you’re not still upset about me killing the upgrades to your laboratory. I’m sure you can understand why it had to be done.”

She laughs her usually maniacal laugh, quietly, her hands pressed together as if she knows something you don’t.

It unsettles you in ways it had never done before.

- and she doesn’t even know -

You straighten your back, all senses on high alert - something was wrong, something was very wrong.

“Come to kill me like you did my cousin,” you eye her wearily, waiting for her to pull one of her mutts out from one of the many pockets of her clinical looking dress.

She laughs again, louder this time.

“You insult me, Miss Plinth, you know very well that I prefer to take my enemies out in a spectacle,” she tuts at you.

“So then why are you here? You never just show up somewhere, there’s always a reason.”

“There is always a reason,” she repeats with a smile and speaking in rhyme. “Why I only came to congratulate you on the new season… he only just told me a few moments ago, so glad I am, to be one of the first to know - given the role I have played in your life, it seemed only right I congratulate the soon to be wife .”

“Who? What are you…” you trail off, blood draining from your face. “What are you talking about?’

She smiles wide, all her teeth showing.

“Your engagement of course, to Coriolanus-

- and she doesn’t even know she is trapped in the -

Snow.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo snow x reader #coryo snow #tom blyth

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mechaknight-98 · 25 days

Text

Undaunted (NSFW) ft Sejeong

Author’s note: when I started this piece it was meant to be a fun romp but because Mr. Riordan has tied so much of being a half-blood to being neuro divergent a lot of old wounds invariably brought up and I had a lot to say… more so than usual. So bear with me on this one it’s a long one. 13 k words or so.

I always thought that isolation suited me more than unity or coalitions, believing I could handle anything alone. I've never been more glad to be proven wrong.

Sejeong and I were recent acquaintances. I had been working as a videographer for her entertainment company for four weeks now, spending hours on photo shoots, behind-the-scenes videos, and assisting with music videos and audition tapes. She was bubbly and energetic, a bit much for my taste, but she didn't push me too hard, so I continued working with her. I respected her dedication to her craft—whether acting, modeling, brand ambassadorship or singing—as she always strived to embody each role with utmost dedication. It was inspiring.

At the end of an early day's shoot, she approached me for the first time with genuine interest. Aware that my stern demeanor often kept others at bay, Sejeong boldly asked, "You're Val, right?" I nodded slowly, skepticism palpable. Sejeong smiled warmly and said, "Great, you're coming for coffee with me after this."

Her determined look made it clear that refusal wasn't an option. Before agreeing, I needed to understand her motives.

"Sure, but on one condition," I replied. "You tell me why."

Sejeong tilted her head, maintaining her innocent smile. "Because, silly, we've been working together for months, and I don't even know your name," she said matter-of-factly.

I narrowed my eyes; Sejeong mirrored me, realizing her oversight.

"I barely know yours either," she retorted. "Plus, what if there's an emergency and you need to be found? I think they'll need more information than tall stocky African American man,” Sejeong expanded

Her response eased my skepticism. I followed her to a nearby coffee shop where she remained bubbly and smiling throughout—concerning traits in my experience. People like that were either hiding immense pain or were super evil. As we ordered, she insisted on paying.

"I'm sorry, I just have bad luck when I don't pay for meals," she explained.

I shrugged, "It's no big deal. Plus, this isn't a meal. I got a hot chocolate, and you got coffee."

Sejeong relaxed at my logic. As we sat down, she steepled her hands and asked, "So, tell me about yourself."

This was the first time I took a good look at her, and she was stunning. Despite being a couple of years older, she exuded an aura of ease that made me feel oddly comfortable like I could drop my guard. So, I acquiesced to her prodding.

"Just a normal guy from Cali, I guess. Mom, Dad, and two sisters."

"Oh, are you the oldest, youngest, or middle child?" she inquired.

"I'm in the middle," I responded.

"Cool. I'm the youngest," Sejeong shared. I nodded, surprising her.

"Wait, you know?" she asked, puzzled.

"I did my research before joining the company. Plus, I'm a casual K-pop fan, and you're considered royalty," I explained. Sejeong smiled.

"So, are you a fan of mine too?" she teased.

I shrugged, "I like your acting, but your music isn't my thing."

Realizing too late that I should have been more tactful, I tried to clarify, "Not that it's bad objectively; it's just not my taste."

This only seemed to make it worse, and Sejeong began to pout. "So, you hate my music?" she asked, hurt.

As the situation escalated, I searched for a way to salvage it. Thankfully, a blonde angel came to my rescue.

"Unnie, leave this poor guy alone. Can't you see he's flustered?" Somi intervened as she approached our table. Beside her was a young man in our age range named Ivan. Sejeong turned to Somi, smiling.

"Ah, Somi, can't I have a little fun?" she teased, hugging her friend. Ivan and Somi joined us, and the atmosphere shifted from a business introduction to a casual hangout among friends. Feeling out of place, I listened as Ivan, Somi, and Sejeong chatted and bantered like old friends.

As they talked, a server brought over a plate of food "on the house." While they were engrossed in their conversation, I managed to sneak a few bites, hoping to leave some for them. After ten minutes of rapid Korean dialogue, I excused myself to the restroom. Inside, I splashed water on my face, trying to clear my head.

"When you go back out there, you're going to tell them, 'Hey, something came up, and I have to head home,'" I rehearsed aloud. I failed to notice other occupants in the restroom, but I did hear the telltale rattling of a hydra's tail. Turning back, I found a Lernaean Hydra staring at me.

We locked eyes, and I tried to defuse the situation. "Hey, let's not fight. We can casually cross paths and not kill each other," I proposed, but the hydra lunged at me anyway. I dodged its attack and summoned the "Pyretic Claws of the Storm Beast," slashing at the hydra’s heads until I managed to defeat it. The hydra attempted to regenerate from burning stumps until it finally exploded with a loud "pop," leaving me covered in its guts and slime.

Behind where the hydra stood, Sejeong, Ivan, and Somi stared at me with intrigue.

"You're a demigod, like us," Sejeong declared.

Over the next few days, Sejeong insisted on introducing me to her other demigod friends. These meet-ups usually came with a free meal, so I reluctantly accepted. The friends included two more couples: Levi and Heejin, and Gahyeon and Preston. Levi and Preston were friends of Ivan. I tried to keep my distance both emotionally and physically, but Sejeong always pushed me back into the center. Her reasoning was always along the lines that demigods shouldn’t be alone. Rationally, it made sense; I just didn’t like it. My dad had intentionally raised me away from all of this when my mother left, so I was conflicted. After meeting everyone, we started doing group hangs, the first of which was today.

When we reached the outside of Somi and Ivan’s apartment, I stood frozen. Sejeong noticed and smiled at me.

“Everything alright, Vally?” she asked. I remained silent, prompting her to furrow her brows.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t like this, but I can’t place why. Everything about crossing this threshold makes my skin crawl and makes me want to smash something,” I responded.

Sejeong listened and then asked, “Weren’t you raised around demigods?”

I shook my head. I had met others before but never more than a handful of times. Sejeong’s eyes widened as she listened, prompting her to ask, “Wait, so you’ve survived all this time with no training and no support? Do you even know your godly parent?”

I resisted the urge to scoff. My situation was unique, despite being normal for me, so scoffing at her served no purpose.

“Yes, Seji. My mother claimed me before I went to college and gave me the ‘Claws of the Storm Beast.’ She told me, ‘You’re on your own. I can’t protect you anymore,’” I explained.

Sejeong looked befuddled before asking, “Who the hell is your mom? That sounds terrible.”

I thought about lying but realized it would serve no purpose, so I told the complicated and strange truth. “My mom is Zeus. Long story short, Hera thought a good punishment for his sins would be to live as a woman for a few years. During one of those years, Zeus met my dad, who was separated from his wife, the lady I refer to as my mom, and they had me. She dropped me off with my dad and came back occasionally to chat with him until he reconciled with his wife.”

I watched as Sejeong’s brain broke hearing that. I didn’t blame her; the same thing happened to me when I first heard it.

When she recovered, she asked, “How have you been surviving all this time without being trained? And what is the ‘Fangs of the Storm Dragon’ you mentioned?”

Her response seemed odd to me, but I humored her. “I learned to fight from TV, specifically wrestling and action hero shows. The ‘fangs of the Storm Dragon’ is my weapon, given to me by my mom. It was designed and crafted by my mom with elements from each major betrayer god.”

Sejeong nodded and said, “We are getting you trained as soon as possible.”

I raised an eyebrow, confused as to why Sejeong didn’t respond further, which frustrated me. I had told her all this stuff about me, yet I still didn’t have much information about her. Before she could open the door, I asked about her godly parent and how she survived. She was so taken aback by my story that she was super open about hers.

“My dad is Loki. He claimed me when I was young, but I was already training with other demigods at that point,” she answered.

I nodded at the foreign concepts and feigned understanding of what that was like, yet I remained frozen still.

Sejeong smiled then said, “Tell you what Vally if you come with me right now I'll let you be alone all next week.” I know her words were meant to comfort but they brought a sense of unease within me as I found myself saying,

“No! I like spending time with you…I have grown accustomed to you being around.” I said the rational part of my mind says she still has the potential to be a highly dangerous individual but my emotions presented an intense dichotomy.

Sejeong smiled at me and then said, “If you wanted to date me you could have asked.” she smiled as she watched me short-circuit for a few seconds before opening the door and leading me inside my hand in hers.

The atmosphere in the room is jovial, with friends hanging out and goofing off. It is oddly charming. Sejeong leads me to a spot next to her as we huddle around a hot pot. I take out the Kobe beef and other various meats I brought, along with some veggies and a couple of sushi rolls for palate diversity.

Ivan, Somi’s boyfriend and son of Bacchus, says merrily, “You brought all this for us? Dude, you are the best.”

A smile creeps onto my face. “Well, yeah. Someone has to make sure you don’t poison us with alcohol.”

Sejeong turns to me and cracks a smile. “Oh, was that a joke I heard? I thought Mr. Serious didn’t understand jokes.”

I look at her and reply, “Well, maybe you just aren’t funny?”

Somi, daughter of Aphrodite, laughs, putting me further at ease. Heejin, the daughter of Tsukuyomi laughs too, and stares at me. Not in a particularly menacing or emotionally charged way, but in a very observant way, as if she is trying to figure me out.

Eventually, she asks the question I think she’s been wanting to. “So, Val, who is your godly parent?” The room grows silent. Feeding on the excitement and atmosphere, I reply, “Take a guess.”

Sejeong laughs before telling them that they would never guess it, even with a million hints. I agree but give them the first one.

“She is not who you think it would be.”

Sejeong compliments my hint, saying how good it was as the group begins to guess.

“Morrigan. You kinda radiate her energy as a scary powerhouse,” Levi, son of Tyr says.

I shake my head.

Gahyeon, daughter of Daji, says, “Hmm, well then, my guess is Izanami.”

I shake my head again, surprising everyone. I see Preston, son of Minerva, eyeing me intently.

“It’s your mom, correct?” he asks.

I nod.

“What pantheon?”

“Greek,” I respond.

Preston eyes me, then says, “Huh, you seem way too powerful to be just the son of a Greek goddess. We thought you were stronger than that. Based on how you carry yourself and the static always around you, I’d say Zeus, but that can’t be right.”

At this point, Sejeong loses it. She begins laughing uncontrollably and smiling, making everyone present look at her. Then it clicks.

“Your mom is Zeus,” Somi says. She pauses, then adds, “Yes, we love a girl boss.”

I turn to Sejeong, confused, but she is all smiles.

“How?” Heejin asks, baffled.

“Well, I—” I begin to answer, but time seems to slow down until the air stops. I look around to see everything frozen.

To further emphasize the similarities between Val and Zeus, you can incorporate the following elements into their interaction:

“So, you finally found a home?” an older, feminine voice rang out, instantly recognizable. My fists clenched and my jaw tightened, mirroring the way she used to stand when preparing for a confrontation.

I turned to face my mother. She looked older than the last time I saw her, but still undeniably her: dark skin like mine, long dark brown hair streaked with white, and those piercing gray eyes. Her stance was identical to mine, a stance of readiness and defiance. Everything I hated about myself reflected in me.

“How have you been, DuVal?” she asked, her tone calm yet fierce. It was a voice I had often used to mask my vulnerabilities. I stared in silence, feeling a storm of emotions rise within me. Her gaze held a mix of emotions—bottled rage, the same rage I saw in myself, always simmering just beneath the surface.

“I see you’ve found a home.” Her words were careful, layered with meaning. I kept my guard up, watching her eyes flick from me to Somi, then Heejin, and finally to Sejeong. When her gaze returned to me, it was with a knowing look.

“This one, she’s the one you like,” my mother said confidently.

My fists tightened, my eyes never leaving hers. “Why are you here, Zeus? To remind me of all the times you weren’t?”

She sighed, a mixture of sadness and frustration in her expression. “I know I haven’t been the mother you needed. My actions—or lack of them—have caused you pain. But I’ve always watched over you, DuVal. Always.”

“Watching from a distance isn’t the same as being there,” I retorted, my voice rising. “You left me to fend for myself, to figure out who I am and what I’m supposed to do. And now you just show up, expecting what? Gratitude?”

Her eyes softened. “What was I to do? Beg your father not to break you despite being adamant about making you like everyone else? I don't beg. I told him the ramifications of pursuing ‘rearing for your special needs,’ but he didn't listen. No matter how many teachers and mentors I sent your way, dropping hints about embracing your heritage, he ignored me. Only your mother listened.”

I tensed. “I didn’t agree with my dad on a lot of things, but I believe he did his best.”

“He didn’t know what I was or what it would cost,” I added.

“You believe that? Then why would he root you so deeply in his faith despite having met me and our chats? Why only mention me when he kicked you out? Has he ever apologized for that? If this is about abandonment, he’s as guilty as I am. No, this goes deeper. You hate me because I remind you of all your failed attempts to be normal, despite knowing you’re not. Well, let me be the bigger person and say, ‘I’m sorry I burdened you with such gifts.’”

“Do you expect me to be grateful for this condescending apology?”

“I don’t expect gratitude. I know I don’t deserve it. But you need to understand the weight of your heritage. There are threats on the horizon, and your power is needed.”

I shook my head, the storm inside me brewing. “I’m nothing like you. I don’t want to be.”

“You don’t believe that. I see it in your heart and your eyes. Your appetites are like mine. We share the drive to lead, and to have power. You just refuse yourself. Why not let yourself run wild and let experience temper you? It will be the only way you will learn control.”

Her words brought a splitting headache as my rage and emotions threatened to spill out. Zeus looked to Sejeong and said, “Have you even kissed her yet? Or are you fighting your attraction to her as well?”

Her words were scathing. I thought of a clever comeback, but she was always quicker. “I mean, she is your type—cute face, bubbly personality, sizable assets, and older than you. Why haven’t you made a move?” she prodded.

“Shut up,” I said.

“If you just let yourself be free, you wouldn’t stumble over your words like that.” She bemoaned, “Stop holding back,” she demanded.

She stepped closer, her presence both comforting and overwhelming. “You are more like me than you realize. The strength, the rage, the desire to protect those you care about. It’s all there, DuVal. Embrace it.”

I shook my head defiantly. “Oh really? So you expect me to believe your heart doesn’t ache that she’s not yours. Maybe I should take her.” I broke for a moment, I admit she was pressing all my buttons.

“Touch her and I’ll rip your throat out. She’s mine!” I growled, and my mother was all smiles.

“See how good that felt? I could feel the conviction, the passion, the courage in your words there. Surely it felt good to tell me off, to stake your claim, didn’t it?”

I stood straight and readjusted my posture, and my mother groaned.

The room seemed to pulse with her words, the static in the air intensifying. I glanced at Sejeong, her frozen smile a stark reminder of what was at stake. Could I turn my back on this part of myself?

“I don’t need your help,” I said, though the conviction in my voice wavered.

“Perhaps not,” she replied softly. “But you need to know the truth. The path you’re on is fraught with danger, and you can’t face it alone. Think about it, DuVal. Think about who you want to be.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the energy crackle around me. “I want to be someone different. Someone better.”

“You can be better, DuVal. Better than me. But not by denying who you are. Our power, our drive, it’s a part of us. Channel it, control it, and it will make you stronger. You’ve always had the potential to surpass me, but you have to stop fighting yourself.”

She reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent shivers down my spine. “Embrace the storm within you. Use it to protect those you love. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

I looked into her eyes, seeing a reflection of my struggle. The same determination, the same intensity. “I don’t want to be like you, but I can’t deny what I am.”

“Then don’t deny it. Use it. Be the leader you’re meant to be, not the one you think you should be. Lead with your heart and your passion. It’s not a weakness, it’s your greatest strength.”

I took a deep breath, the storm inside me calming slightly. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, her voice softening. “Just remember, you’re not alone in this. You have people who care about you, and who will stand by you. Don’t push them away.”

As she stepped back, I felt a strange sense of relief and a flicker of hope. Maybe I could find a way to balance the storm within me, to use my power for something good. But it would take time, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to fully embrace that part of myself.

“Think about it, DuVal. Think about who you want to be,” she repeated, her eyes locking with mine one last time before she turned and walked away.

I stood there, the static in the air slowly dissipating, and looked at Sejeong. She gave me a reassuring smile,

With that, time resumed. The room filled with laughter and conversation once more, but my mind was a whirlwind of confusion and unresolved emotions. Noticing my change in temperament, Sejeong squeezed my hand, grounding me in the moment. I had a lot to consider, and even more to decide. So I did the thing I knew best.

“I have to go. I just remembered I had something to do,” I said to everyone. Sejeong stood up in front of me as I tried to leave.

“DuVal, what happened? You were cracking jokes and having fun, and now you have to leave. What gives?” The rest of the group surrounded me. Their faces showed concern, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. I tried to get around Sejeong, not realizing at the time that the children of Loki could shapeshift. One moment I was trying to politely get around her, the next I was facing a polar bear. At that moment, I would have rather dealt with Sejeong.

I began to suppress my surging fight response but was failing, as evidenced by the manifestation of "Abyssal Claws of the Storm Beast" in my hands. Realizing her tactics weren’t working, Sejeong did the smartest thing: she shifted back to her normal form and brought me down to her level, hugging me. My heart stilled as the storm inside me began to fade. She tilted my face up from her chest and, with a wicked smile, said, “Feeling better? Or do you need more time cuddling with Samantha and Rachel?” All the tension and emotional turmoil I was processing disappeared at that moment. I stood up and smiled at her. She smiled back before guiding me back to the party.

A few days later, we wrapped filming for a major project, and Sejeong took me back to her place. She booted up her PS5 and started playing FF7 Rebirth. I watched her play but didn’t try to backseat game her. I smiled as she triumphed over a particularly grueling boss in the middle of the game. She looked over to me with a smile, but the fatigue was getting to both of us. I felt my eyes droop and my head fall. The last thing I remembered was her saying, “Omomo.”

I dreamed I was overlooking a vast expanse of sky, the scene cautiously calming. I turned to see my mom. She was smiling, but her presence stirred the emotions I had been burying deep inside. My eye twitched involuntarily.

“Why do you hate yourself so much?” Zeus asked, her voice gentle yet piercing.

“What?” I responded, taken aback.

“You wallow in self-loathing. It’s concerning, yet you hide it well. Why?”

“I don’t understand,” I said, feeling a lump form in my throat.

“Every time we talk, I can see into you, just as you can see into me. I see your hatred of yourself for not being like others, for feeling destined for destruction rather than creation. You wish you could tear yourself apart every day, but you can’t because your body won’t let you. You repress the ferocious, fervent, royal side of you because you’re ashamed of it. Shame others taught you. You are a king. Why do you let them diminish you?”

“That’s a very out-of-touch way to view people,” I retorted, but Zeus wasn’t swayed.

“You and I both know these people don’t want to lead themselves. They want a wise and tested leader to guide them, to make the hard choices so they can live freely and safely. So what are they if not peasants?”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t ready for this confrontation.

“Oh, you weren’t expecting your mother to challenge you like this, were you? Well, buckle up. This is just the beginning. You endure these miserable and intolerable creatures who engage with you as if they’re your equals and bear their injustices, yet wonder why they don’t accept you. No matter how much you defang and claw yourself, the truth remains: you aren’t like them. They know it and will continue to remind you of that fact. So why bother with them?”

“Because a true leader…” I began, but Zeus cut me off.

“A true leader leads ahead of the pack, where it is the loneliest. Stop acting like one of them. You’re better than them. You and that girl are better than this. You should be running the world together. That much is certain.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, frustration boiling over.

“Because you crave validation from sources that can’t give you the praise you seek. These people are not your peers, no matter how much you want them to be. So stand proud and ferocious. Let your rage and power out. Stop holding back because others can’t see your intentions. Let your desires guide you, not your mind. Your mind will only blind you, telling you who you need to be to survive, not who you are meant to be to thrive.”

I sat there, feeling competing desires rise within me, a storm of emotions I’d been trying to suppress.

“Don’t shame yourself for what you want. Want it, Chase it, but don't meander with the sheep it will only weaken you.”

I stared at my mother, her words slicing through the barriers I had meticulously built around my heart. The storm within me raged, conflicting desires crashing like thunder and lightning. I felt the familiar pull of shame, but also a strange, burgeoning sense of clarity.

“Mom, it’s not that simple,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I can’t just embrace this…this side of me. It’s dangerous. It’s destructive.”

Zeus’ expression softened, but her eyes remained fierce. “Dangerous? Destructive? DuVal, you are my son. You carry the tempest within you, but you also hold the power to control it. You are not just a force of destruction; you are a beacon of potential, of leadership, of hope.”

I shook my head, the weight of her expectations pressing down on me. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to hurt people.”

“And you won’t,” she replied firmly. “You have the heart of a protector. But denying your true nature only weakens you, and makes you vulnerable. You need to find balance, to harness your power without letting it consume you.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the air crackle with the tension of my emotions. “How? How do I do that?”

Zeus stepped closer, her presence overwhelming yet comforting. “By accepting who you are, all of who you are. You are both human and divine. Embrace your heritage, not as a burden, but as a gift. Let those you care about see the real you, not the mask you wear to hide your fears.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek, mingling with the faint sparks of static. “But what if they reject me? What if they can’t handle it?”

She gently wiped the tear away, her touch warm and grounding. “True friends, true allies, will stand by you, no matter what. And those who don’t? They were never meant to be part of your journey.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words sink in. The storm within me began to calm, not because it was gone, but because I was starting to accept it as a part of me. “I’ll try, Mom. I’ll try to be who I’m meant to be.”

Zeus smiled a rare, genuine smile that filled me with a sense of hope. “That’s all I ask. Remember, you are not alone in this. We are connected, you and I. And there is strength in that connection.”

As her image began to fade, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The dream dissolved, and I woke up in Sejeong’s apartment. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room.

Sejeong was still asleep, her face serene. I watched her for a moment, feeling a surge of affection and gratitude. She had seen a glimpse of my true self and hadn’t turned away. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to embrace all parts of myself and find the balance I so desperately needed.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed and made my way to the window. (unsure how I got there from the couch) The sky was clear, a soft blue expanse stretching out before me. For the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope, a flicker of possibility. I didn’t have all the answers, but I had a direction, and a path to follow.

The decision to be honest with those who mattered most felt like a heavy weight lifting from my shoulders. I returned to Sejeong, lying peacefully in her sleep. Despite her serene appearance, she began to shuffle uncomfortably, her hand reaching out as if searching for something. On instinct, I took her hand, and the frown that had creased her face melted back into her typical smile.

I stayed with her like that for a while, watching her breathe and feeling the warmth of her hand in mine. When she finally woke, her eyes met mine with a clarity that took my breath away.

“Sejeong,” I said softly, my heart pounding.

“Yeah, Val?” she responded, her voice still thick with sleep.

“I like you,” I confessed, the words tumbling out with a mix of anxiety and relief.

Sejeong’s lips curved into a playful smile. “Well, are you going to do something about it?”

Without hesitating, I cupped her cheeks in my hands and kissed her. Her lips tasted faintly of the spicy ramen we’d shared earlier, a perfect mix of heat and comfort. As our kiss deepened, my mind began to blank out, and all I could focus on was the insatiable desire coursing through me.

Her hands moved to my shoulders, pulling me closer. The intensity of the moment seemed to charge the air around us. Static electricity crackled, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. Sejeong’s touch was grounding, pulling me back even as my emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

When we finally pulled apart, her eyes were bright, a mix of amusement and something deeper. “That’s more like it,” she teased, her fingers tracing the lines of my jaw.

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in days. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Sejeong. About my mother, about what’s coming. But right now, I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

She nodded, her expression turning serious. “We’ll face whatever comes together, Val. But you don’t have to carry everything on your own. I’m here with you, every step of the way.”

Her words settled something inside me, a reassurance that I wasn’t alone. We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the world outside continued to turn. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Sejeong smiles, but right now I think I need a bit more of your affection.

Sejeong’s eyes narrow as she brings me in for another kiss.

“Don’t think,” she said and my brain cleared of all thoughts the only thing that remained was lust and affection for her in the moment. She gave me a sexy and sultry look that made me want to see how far I could bury my dick into any of her holes. She goes in for another kiss then says, “Come on Val bare your fangs . Hunt! Let it all just this once,” she said instead of fighting my instincts and urges I run with them I tear into Sejeong’s hoodie and eventually we stand naked in front of each other.

I marvel at her bush. Which causes her to be uncharacteristically shy. When she tries to hide though I spread her legs open and plunge my dick inside of her pussy. Sejeong moans as I spear her, her eyes look up to mine and she smiles, “take me,” she implores me. I begin to thrust gently in and out of her. Hoping to find a tempo she likes. I emphasized slow and deep strokes as she seemed to like when I touched her womb. Her pussy envelops me with the most pleasant feeling of tightness that I can’t help but continue pleasing her. I watch as she comes undone from the pressure and she reaches her peak.

She moans and then looks up at me with a wild look in her eyes before pushing me to be under her. She begins to bounce on my rod with the fury of ten suns.

“Yes, Yes, fuck yes,” she moans as I feel her walls tighten to milk me for all I’m worth. The longer I last the more ferocious she becomes and eventually I lose to her and she has me cum all over her tits. She smiles before taking a long lurid lick and saying, “Delicious,”

The next day, I woke up in a muddled haze that cleared slightly when I saw Sejeong sleeping comfortably beside me. She looked serene, and I smiled, realizing just how much I loved her. That intense feeling was one of the many things my father had said we shared: the capacity to feel deeply.

As if sensing my thoughts, Sejeong turned to me with a bright smile. "Morning, handsome," she said. Her bright eyes looked into mine, and she leaned in to kiss me. I followed her lead, savoring the moment. "Okay, time to get up," she said.

"Okay," I responded. We got ready, and I made her coffee just the way she liked it. We watched the sunrise from a bench near Sejeong's apartment, and as the dawn broke, I felt a familiar presence.

I turned to see my mother approaching slowly but with intent. When she came into view, she appraised Sejeong and me. Sejeong looked at Zeus, then at me, and said, "I see the resemblance. That steely gaze, the commanding aura. You must be Zeus, although last time we met, you looked a little different."

Zeus looked at Sejeong, confused. "Daughter of Loki? How so?"

Sejeong laughed. "Oh, so that way of speaking is genetic. Well, Queen of the Skies, you had less of this," she pointed to her chest, "and you had something between your legs."

My mom looked up, and Sejeong laughed again. "Wow, Val got a lot from you," Sejeong chuckled. I turned to her, and she explained, "When you recollect Zeus, you look away as your mind goes over the memory."

I laughed. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Oh yes. I love seeing my boyfriend puzzled. He just has the cutest focused face."

"Boyfriend?"

"You're surprised? You've been at my beck and call for the past few weeks, and we've gone on three dates. We are boyfriend and girlfriend," Sejeong asserted. I gave a worried look.

"Am I that readable?"

"Not at first glance, but after seeing your heart and all your quirks, I've thumbed through your book a few times."

I groaned, making Sejeong laugh. "Come on, Vally, just accept it."

When she said that, Zeus chuckled. "You remind me of Val's father with that."

I turned to her, on guard. Sejeong noticed and squeezed my hand to calm me down.

"What do you mean?" Sejeong asked for me.

"Well, the playful teasing and compassion, for starters. But this makes me realize, Val," Zeus chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement and pride. "You know, our taste in partners is remarkably similar. I see so much of what I admire in Sejeong. She's strong, yet kind. Fiercely independent but deeply loyal. Just like your father."

I clenched my fist, my mom's praise for my father hitting a nerve. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't hold back. "If he was so great, then why did you leave him and me?" The sky darkened lightly at my comment. Zeus's intense glare bore into my eyes, but I didn't back down.

Zeus sighed, sitting down next to us. "It's complicated, Val. Your father and I... we had different paths, different destinies."

Sejeong, sensing the importance of the conversation, moved closer, her hand finding mine for support. Zeus noticed the gesture and smiled faintly.

"Your father was a good man, Val. Strong, principled, but also... mortal. Our worlds were too different. As a god, I have responsibilities and burdens he could never fully understand or share. And I could never be the partner he needed because of those obligations."

I frowned, trying to piece together the fragments of my childhood memories. "But you loved him, right? Why wasn't that enough?"

Zeus nodded, her eyes softening with a hint of sadness. "Love is powerful, but it's not always enough to bridge such vast differences. Our relationship put him in danger and exposed him to things no mortal should endure. And as much as I loved him, I couldn't let my presence continue to put him at risk. It wasn't fair to him, or you."

My jaw tightened, but I didn't interrupt. Sejeong squeezed my hand gently, offering silent support.

"I had to make a choice," Zeus continued, her voice heavy with the weight of her words. "I chose to protect him by leaving, hoping it would allow him to live a safer, more stable life. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made, but I believed it was the right one."

"Much like you with that Ishtar priestess. Speaking of, how did the curse turn out?" Zeus asked.

"It's been removed, thanks," I responded coldly. Zeus laughed.

"Good," she said with a smile. Sejeong, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. "It's clear that your father loved you both, Val. But sometimes, love means making sacrifices for the greater good, even if it hurts."

I turned to Sejeong, her words resonating deeply. Then I looked back at Zeus, a sense of resolution beginning to form. "I understand now. It doesn't make it any less painful, but I get why you did what you did."

Zeus reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you, Val. And remember, even though I had to leave, I never stopped caring about you. I never stopped watching over you."

“So, this is the famous Sejeong,” Zeus said, her voice carrying that familiar mix of calm and intensity. Sejeong looked up, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of Zeus. I could see her assessing my mother, taking in the same dark skin, the long brown hair streaked with white, and those piercing gray eyes that seemed to see right through you.

“Yes, and you must be Zeus,” Sejeong replied, her voice steady but her eyes flickering with curiosity and something akin to recognition.

Zeus smiled, a small, knowing smile that sent a chill down my spine. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman who’s managed to capture my son’s heart.”

Sejeong glanced at me, then back at Zeus. “The pleasure is mine. I’ve heard… a lot about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” Zeus said, her gaze shifting to me. “DuVal has always been quite the storyteller.”

I could see Sejeong studying us both, her eyes darting between Zeus and me. She had a keen eye for detail, and I knew she was picking up on the similarities—the way we both stood with a certain tension, the way our eyes could pierce through someone’s defenses, the way our voices carried a similar weight.

“You two move the same way,” Sejeong observed, her tone curious. “It’s like watching a reflection.”

Zeus chuckled softly. “Well, he is my son. Some things are bound to be inherited.”

Sejeong nodded, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she continued to watch us. “But there are differences too. Val is… softer, I think. More willing to show his vulnerabilities.”

Zeus’s smile faded slightly. “Is that so? I always thought strength came from hiding one’s weaknesses.”

Sejeong shook her head. “No, I believe true strength comes from embracing them. From being honest about who you are.”

Zeus looked at Sejeong with a new level of respect. “You’re wise beyond your years, Sejeong. Perhaps you’re the influence DuVal needs.”

Sejeong smiled a warm and genuine smile that seemed to light up the porch. “Maybe we’re what each other needs.”

I felt a swell of pride at Sejeong’s words, but also a pang of something else—fear, perhaps, that she would see too much of Zeus in me.

Zeus stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Sejeong. “Tell me, Sejeong, what do you see when you look at DuVal?”

Sejeong didn’t hesitate. “I see someone who’s struggled, who’s faced immense challenges, but who’s still kind and caring. Someone who’s trying to find his place in the world.”

Zeus nodded slowly. “And do you see the same in me?”

Sejeong paused, her eyes thoughtful. “I see someone who’s powerful, but who’s perhaps forgotten what it’s like to be vulnerable. Someone who’s built walls to protect themselves.”

Zeus’s gaze softened for a moment, a rare display of vulnerability. “You’re very perceptive, Sejeong. DuVal is lucky to have you.”

Sejeong smiled again. “And he’s lucky to have you, too. Even if he doesn’t always see it that way.”

I looked at Zeus, seeing a flicker of something in her eyes—pride, maybe, or a hint of the love she rarely showed. It was a fleeting moment, but it was enough to give me hope.

Zeus smiled faintly, her gaze lingering on Sejeong. “You have your father’s eyes, but your mother’s spirit.”

Sejeong tilted her head slightly, a question in her eyes. “You knew my father?”

“Oh yes,” Zeus chuckled softly, “I’ve known Loki for eons. He’s quite the trickster, your father. Always up to some mischief or another.”

Sejeong raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. “And how do I compare?”

Zeus studied Sejeong for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. “You are different from Loki in many ways. He revels in chaos and thrives on unpredictability. You, on the other hand, bring a sense of stability and clarity.”

Sejeong nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose I inherited my mother’s influence. She valued honesty and integrity above all else.”

“That balance serves you well,” Zeus noted, a hint of approval in her voice. “Loki may be a master of illusions, but you see through them. That’s a rare gift.”

Sejeong smiled warmly, a genuine expression that softened the tension between them. “Thank you. I try to use it wisely.”

Zeus nodded, her gaze shifting to me. “And DuVal? How does Sejeong influence you?”

I glanced at Sejeong, feeling a swell of pride and admiration. “She… grounds me. She sees through my walls and challenges me to be better.”

Zeus’s eyes softened, a hint of maternal pride flickering across her features. “You’ve chosen well, DuVal.”

Sejeong looked between us, sensing the unspoken history and emotions. “There’s a lot you two share,” she remarked softly. “But there are also differences.”

“Yes,” Zeus agreed, her gaze returning to Sejeong. “You are a blend of both worlds, Sejeong. Your father’s mischief tempered by your mother’s wisdom. It’s a potent combination.”

Sejeong smiled gratefully, acknowledging the complexity of her heritage. “I’ve learned to embrace both sides. It’s what makes me who I am.”

Zeus nodded and got up. she turned to us and asked, "So what's next for you two love birds?"

"I am taking my feral boyfriend to Camp Half-blood to hopefully make him less feral,"

"Good luck He's worse than Heracles in that regard."

"it will be fine."

True to her word, four days later I was flying back to the States with Sejeong to help with counseling at the camp. The camp had grown tenfold, now housing a myriad of pantheons and incorporating their various practices and traditions. We arrived a few days early, along with the rest of our half-blood friends.

On the taxi ride from the airport to camp, Levi leaned over and warned me, “So, um, we might have spilled the beans about you coming with us, and, uh... well, the Huntresses are coming because Thalia wants to meet her ‘little brother.’ I know you aren’t comfortable with the spotlight, so I figured you should know.”

Sejeong groaned. “I told you all not to tell anyone. I wanted only Chiron to know to avoid the circus.”

“To be fair, we told everyone he was coming before you told us not to,” Somi pointed out.

“I told you all not to do it in the same call,” Sejeong said, exasperated.

“Yes, but it was 5 minutes, 54 seconds, and 32 microseconds later. I had already told my entire cabin by that point,” Heejin replied.

Sejeong rolled her eyes, annoyed at her friends' lack of restraint.

When we got to camp, I noticed an immediate change in my attitude, posture, and temperament. I felt an overwhelming hostility. Sejeong picked up on this and squeezed my hand, hoping to calm me. Instead, it only intensified the rising desire I had for her. I managed to squeak out, “Seji I don’t like this place it gives me weird vibes.,” Sejeong nodded and then said

“It will be okay Vally we’ll get through this one day at a time.” As we enter the camp there is a huge crowd waiting for us. I can feel the gazes and hushed whispers as we pass through. The first to approach us was a dark-haired green-eyed young man a little older than me, and a blonde-haired girl with piercing gray eyes who walked with him.

“Hi, I’m Percy Jackson,” the dark-haired man said, “this is Annabeth Chase.” Sejeong walks over to Percy and Annabeth to give them a big hug. Percy and Annabeth happily received the hug before saying to Sejeong, “Long time no see,” Sejeong nodded before mentioning how she had become quite famous. Percy and Annabeth seemed proud and pleased by this. They looked behind Sejeong where I stood,

“You must be Duval,” Annabeth said. I nod and she laughs

“You don’t look much like Zeus,” Percy says bluntly. I chuckled before responding

“Well can’t control that,” I responded Percy and Annabeth laughed before leading me to the Councilor’s cabin. When we get inside they lead me to the room and bed I’ll be in for the next few weeks.

After I set my stuff down I headed outside to hang out with Sejeong. I noticed quite a few of the crowd were still following, which made me more uncomfortable, but Sejeong shooed them away. As we approached the Loki cabin, its unique design became more pronounced. Twisting vines intertwined with intricate carvings of mythical creatures adorned the wooden structure, giving it an air of mystery and whimsy. Sejeong knocked on the door, and we waited for a response. The sounds of laughter and chatter could be heard from within.

The door creaked open, and Asumi stood there with a bright smile. "Sejeong! It's so good to see you!"

Sejeong stepped forward, embracing her half-sister warmly. "Asumi! I've missed you. How have you been?"

Asumi stepped back, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Come in, come in! We have so much to catch up on."

I followed them into the cabin, feeling slightly out of place but curious. The interior was just as eclectic as the exterior, with colorful tapestries, mismatched furniture, and an assortment of trinkets and oddities scattered about. It was a lively space, reflecting the playful nature of its inhabitants.

Sejeong and Asumi settled onto a worn but comfortable-looking couch, and I hovered nearby, unsure of where to sit. I decided to perch on the edge of a nearby armchair, trying not to intrude too much.

"So, what's the latest gossip?" Sejeong asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Asumi leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Well, you won't believe what happened last week. Marcus from the Hermes cabin pulled the most epic prank on the Ares campers. He switched all their weapons with rubber replicas. The look on their faces when they tried to practice was priceless!"

Sejeong laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Classic Marcus. What else?"

Asumi glanced at me briefly, then continued, "And then there’s been talk about the new arrivals. Everyone’s buzzing about a certain son of Zeus who's causing quite a stir."

I felt my cheeks heat up, and I looked down at my hands, pretending to be fascinated by a loose thread on my shirt. Sejeong reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, that's DuVal," Sejeong said, glancing at me with a smile. "He's been handling the attention pretty well, all things considered."

Asumi's gaze softened as she looked at me again. "Well, it's not every day we get someone like you here. It's a lot to take in, I bet."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just trying to find my way, you know?"

Sejeong and Asumi continued their conversation, discussing various camp activities and the latest drama among the campers. I listened attentively, occasionally chiming in when they mentioned someone I had met or an event I had attended. Despite feeling like a bit of an outsider, I found myself enjoying the lively banter and the sense of camaraderie between the sisters.

As the afternoon wore on, more campers filtered in and out of the cabin, each one stopping to say hello and share a laugh. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and I started to relax, feeling more like part of the group.

At one point, Asumi excused herself to grab some snacks from the kitchen, leaving Sejeong and me alone for a moment. Sejeong leaned closer, her voice low. "Are you okay? I know this is a lot."

I nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm good. It’s nice to see you with your family. You seem so happy."

Sejeong's eyes softened. "I am. And I want you to feel welcome here too."

Before I could respond, Asumi returned with a tray of cookies and drinks. "Here we go! Help yourselves."

We spent the next hour chatting, munching on cookies, and sipping on lemonade. The initial awkwardness I had felt began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of belonging. Asumi was genuinely kind and welcoming, and I appreciated how she made an effort to include me in their conversation.

Eventually, it was time to head back. As we stood to leave, Asumi gave me a warm hug. "It was great to meet you, DuVal. Don't be a stranger, okay?"

I returned the hug, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thanks, Asumi. I'll be back."

Sejeong and I got ready to leave the cabin, as we were walking back towards the door. She looked up at me, a satisfied smile on her face. "See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

I shook my head, smiling. "No, it was nice. Your sister’s great. Thanks for bringing me along."

Sejeong slipped her arm through mine, and as we were about to leave, I heard a familiar voice screech out, "DuVal?"

My face landed directly into my palm as I hoped that the voice wasn't who I thought it was. I turned around to see Cassandra—my ex-girlfriend, daughter of Loki, and Exalted of Ishtar. She looked at me with disdain, but with Sejeong here, she tried to mediate.

"Oh, you know Val?" Sejeong asked Cassandra, surprised.

"Know him? I used to date this motherfucker," Cassandra said lividly.

I shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, though I could feel the tension in the air.

"Don't you shrug at me like you didn't do anything! We were together for two years, and you left me when it got hard."

I chose my next words extremely carefully so I didn't set her off. "Cassie, we were emotionally abusive to each other, by your admission. You kept pushing me away. I got tired of it and lashed out. I felt bad, I apologized, and do you remember what you said?"

"Don't you dare bring that up! It's not my fault you didn't remember correctly."

"See, you say that, but...you know what? Forget it. I don't care anymore. Let's go back to ignoring each other," I replied.

Cassandra slapped me, and I held my tongue. Fighting the urge to retaliate, I turned to leave the cabin.

"That's it, run away like you always do," was the last thing I heard.

I tried to be the bigger person. Please believe me when I say that.

"I can't believe I cared so deeply for something so pitiful," I muttered, looking at her with a mix of disdain and apathy. It all hit me at once—the hurt, the anger, the realization of how toxic our relationship had been. Sure, we had some good times, but as we got closer, she pushed me further away.

I walked out of the cabin into the afternoon, where it was sprinkling. The gentle rain was oddly soothing as I tried to put as much distance as possible between Cassandra and me. I could hear Sejeong yell something from the cabin, then slam the door before chasing after me. She was visibly shaken by whatever had happened. When she caught up to me, she said, "Tell me what happened. All of it."

So I did. I told her how we met in college, bonded over shared trauma, and how we fell apart after I transferred. I explained how our relationship began to deteriorate, how Cassandra's indecision and emotional turmoil led to every relationship of hers degrading over time, and how every boy she got entangled with ended up hating her. I didn't, though. I felt bad until I just didn't feel anything anymore. The only thing that hurt was the good memories we had, but even those had faded.

I made sure not to paint myself as just the good guy. I was honest about how I was a significant part of the reason it fell apart. I had my faults and failings.

Sejeong looked at me intensely, seeing me for the flawed person I was. She hesitated, then said, "I am going to need some time to process this. Can I talk to you later?"

I nodded, and she gave me a small smile before walking away.

I watched her retreating figure, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety. The rain had picked up slightly, each drop feeling like a small pinprick against my skin. I walked aimlessly, trying to clear my head.

Eventually, I found myself at the edge of a small grove, the canopy of trees offering some shelter from the rain. I sat on a fallen log, replaying the confrontation with Cassandra over and over in my mind. The bitterness in her voice, the sting of her slap—it all felt too fresh, too raw.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but reflect on the cycles of pain and anger that seemed to define my past relationships. Cassandra was a stark reminder of a time when I was lost, unsure of myself, and reactive. But now, with Sejeong, I wanted something different. I wanted to be better. I skipped Lunch and Dinner as I sat there trying to get back to my calm but I just couldn't do it. while I go over my time with Cassandra I remember Zeus and my dad both saying before I got entangled with her that she was bad news.

Hunger got the best of me, so I headed to the mess hall for dinner. On the way back, I grabbed my cap to hide my face, not wanting to draw any more attention. Once inside, I found a quiet corner away from prying eyes and sat down. Following the rituals of all the other campers, I began to eat, enjoying the rare moment of silence.

That was until someone approached me. I looked up to see a stunning Native American young woman with the coolest green eyes I had ever seen.

"You're a new face," she said politely.

I chuckled and replied, "I guess that's correct. DuVal, but my friends call me Val, and we are friends now."

The young lady smiled. "Val... I like it. The name's Piper." Piper reached out her hand. I took it and shook it. She smiled again before sitting next to me.

"You know, you don't look like a child of Zeus," she observed.

I chuckled. "Well, Zeus was very different when she was my mom."

"Oh, Zeus is your mom. That's wild, but I kind of see it."

"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, I used to date Jason Grace before he died a few years back," Piper said, her face growing somber.

I gulped uneasily until Piper smiled. "Ah, don't worry about it. It's not your fault. You didn't know," she said reassuringly.

I shrugged, and Piper laughed before asking, "Not a big talker, eh?"

I nodded. "Fair enough," she said, looking down at my hands and then back at my face. "Are you okay? Your hands are trembling."

I looked down and noticed she was right. "A little nervous is all," I replied, my voice shaking as I heard the whispers around me.

"It's him. The Orphan. The Child of Zeus. Where's Sejeong? Why is he all alone? Why is he so quiet?" The whispers were quickly silenced when I stood up to leave. As I did, I accidentally bumped into Thalia. The remains of my food spilled all over her, and she looked up at me. When our eyes met, we both recognized each other.

"Oh, you," she said. I held my tongue.

"So, you're the big shot everyone is talking about."

"I am so sorry. I'll get something to clean that right up," I stammered.

Thalia looked at me with a focused expression. "No, it's fine," she said, though it didn't seem like it. "Come on, sit with me and the Huntresses. I want to meet my new 'little brother.'"

My mind raced as I found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Reluctantly, I sat down with Thalia. The Huntresses eyed me curiously as I put my hands down by my legs to stop them from shaking.

"So, tell me about yourself. I've only heard bits and pieces," Thalia said.

"Um, I do photography and videography," I replied.

"Oh, okay. And how long have you known you were a half-blood or that there were others like us?"

"Uh... I knew since I graduated high school a few years ago, but I didn't know about this community until deep into the pandemic when I was constantly hounded by monsters," I explained.

Thalia furrowed her brow. "Is everything okay, brother? You seem uncomfortable."

"I... I don't know. I don't belong here," I said, standing up to leave.

"Sit. We aren't done," Thalia said firmly. Her Huntress friends surrounded me, so I sat back down.

"What's wrong? What's got you so shaken?" Thalia asked, her tone softening. Despite her warning, I attempted to excuse myself again. This time, lightning struck in front of me, and the rest of the camp faded away. I turned back to see my mother, Zeus, staring back at me.

“Why are you running?” she asked pointedly.

“My children don’t run away,” she accused.

“Yes, we do. Jason ran from Piper, Thalia ran away from you, and you ran from every responsibility you didn’t want,” I retorted.

Zeus's eyes glared at me, but I wasn’t going to cower.

“I hide and run from everyone because deep down I know no one will truly like me or understand me. That’s the burden of power and knowledge. When you truly have agency and the strength to make wise choices, people resent you. The cowardly judge you and I’m sick of hiding behind a handicap. I’m sick of reducing myself so others can feel at peace.”

Zeus looked at me, surprised. “I never knew you felt that way.”

“Please, I’m your son. I want everything I can grasp and things I can’t, but my father taught me restraint and control. Do you know what it’s like to have the fathomless desire to take anything you want but need the wisdom to know why you can’t? The part of you that’s inside me wants everything under the sky as mine but the human part of me holds me back and I’m sick of fighting myself, but I can’t because the world is too small..”

Zeus looked at me with wide eyes, “so what are you going to do about it?”

“Let the part of you that’s inside of me out and take what I want,” I said.

Zeus' eyes narrowed as she stared into mine and she asked, “What do you want now,”

“To not be bothered,” I said, and as I finished talking the camp faded back into the light and I realized that everyone was staring at me. I figured they must have seen that whole exchange based on their expressions. I roll my eyes and then go to leave when Thalia stops me this time by throwing her javelin. I sigh and then she says,

“Please stay. I just want to talk,” the punk-like edge she had in her voice was gone and was replaced by a genuine feeling of concern. I sigh and say,

“Can we do it elsewhere without so many eyes?” Thalia looks to the rest of her huntresses and they nod so she nods back to me. I nod back and we agree to meet at one of the hills privately after dinner.

I go to our designated meeting area after leaving the mess hall, and wonder why I had that vision with Zeus earlier. She had to have known why I was like this right? I think to myself. A few moments later. Thalia comes from the bushes and smiles at me. I give her a thumbs up and she sits next to me.

“Crazy right?” She says breaking the silence. I nod and say

“Look I’m sorry for my outburst earlier I've just been in a bad headspace since I got here,”

“No, I get it. the scrutiny everyone has with watching you hoping you mess up I completely understand. Jason, Percy, me, and now you all feel it,” Thalia said contemplating.

“I just wish I could create some space where I could be me and not stand out ya know?” I responded somberly. Thalia nodded and eventually responded

“You remind me a lot of Jason. You are more reserved like he was but also I sense a hesitance in your presence that he never walked with. It's interesting,” she said. I smiled as we sat looking up at the stars silently just enjoying the time. Eventually, we go our separate ways and I turn in for the night.

After lunch, I found myself alone. The crowds that had been trailing me since my arrival had finally dispersed, and my friends were all busy catching up with their own family and friends. Thalia wouldn’t be arriving until tonight, so I couldn't meet her just yet. With time on my hands, I decided to explore the camp to get a better feel for it.

My wandering eventually led me to a secluded waterfall area. The serene sound of rushing water was a welcome contrast to the bustling camp. The air was cool and misty, and the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. I could sense the presence of others nearby, but no one approached me. I was content with the solitude until a feminine voice broke through the tranquil sound of the waterfall.

“You know it’s dangerous to be this far out alone. Anyone could do bad things to you.” The voice was calm yet carried an underlying authority.

I turned to see an older woman standing a few feet away. Her gaze was strikingly similar to Zeus's but carried a more "maternal" quality. Her presence was commanding yet oddly comforting.

“I like to think that I don’t invite that type of challenge,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “I try to put good in the world and hope to get good back.”

Her expression softened at my words. “I’ve never known a child of Zeus to be so introspective.”

“Well, not all of us can be reckless heroes like Jason, Perseus, Heracles, or the legendary Thalia,” I said with a hint of a smile, feeling a bit more at ease.

The woman’s gaze focused on me, her eyes searching. “Something tells me that’s not your style.”

I nodded. “Nope. I’d much rather enact a strategy that guarantees victory with minimal collateral damage. Huge battles usually mean no one truly wins.”

She smiled, a genuine warmth radiating from her. “May I see?” she asked, pointing to the camera hanging around my neck.

I shrugged and handed it to her. She carefully examined the photos, her eyes lighting up with appreciation. “You have quite the eye for capturing life in motion.”

I couldn’t help but grin with pride. “Thank you, Hera.”

Hera looked up at me, pleasantly surprised. “Hm, you’re smarter than you look,” she admitted, the atmosphere around her shifting from intense to gentle.

“I try my best,” I replied modestly.

“You’ve surprised me, DuVal. I thought you’d be like the rest of my husband’s children, but you’re not. Stay that way; it will serve you well.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched by her words. “I intend to.”

Hera handed back my camera and sat beside me on the rock, the sound of the waterfall creating a soothing backdrop. “Tell me, DuVal, what drives you? What makes you different?”

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, the roar of the waterfall filling the silence. “I think it’s the understanding that power isn’t just about strength. It’s about knowing when to use it and when to hold back. It’s about empathy and restraint.”

Hera nodded, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “A child of Zeus practicing restraint? You are truly an anomaly, DuVal. You remind me of the best parts of Zeus. His intelligence, his strategic mind... but you also have something more. A kindness, perhaps. Why is it that you share these qualities and the others don’t?”

I looked at her, trying to read the emotions behind her words. “I don’t know. For me, I’ve always been like this. Blame Ultraman, I guess. I appreciate the kind words, though. It’s been an interesting time these last few weeks reconciling with my mom.”

“Oh, that’s right. Zeus had you when he was a woman,” Hera recollected. “That was a peculiar time. I thought it a grand punishment and that he would learn respect for me. To some degree he did, but all it did was drive a wedge further between us. I suppose that’s what led to him or her, at the time, meeting your father.”

She smiled, a mix of pride, sorrow, and nostalgia in her expression. “I believe you are on the right path. And remember, DuVal, it’s not just about what you inherit but what you choose to become.”

As we sat there, I felt a strange sense of connection with Hera. Despite her initial antagonism, there was a bond forming—a mutual understanding and respect. The weight of her words settled over me, heavy yet reassuring.

“Sadly, that’s already been decided. I became a monster,” I said sadly, the reality of my past actions pressing down on me.

Hera’s head tilted, confused. “Why do you think that? Because you don’t have a place with them?” She gestured to the camp. “Just because you weren’t raised like they were doesn’t make you a monster. You move with a gentleness and wisdom that I don’t see others move with. Just earlier today, with the other daughter of Loki, you chose the softer path when you easily could have returned all the venom she sent you.”

“Ah, Cassandra isn’t bad, and besides, that would be begging for more bad to come my way,” I replied.

Hera smiled. “You’ve surprised me, DuVal. I thought you’d be like the rest of my husband’s children, but you’re not. Stay that way; it will serve you well.”

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched by her words. “I intend to.”

Hera’s eyes twinkled with a rare warmth. “You’ve earned it. Now, go and make the most of it.”

With that, she stood and began to walk away, leaving me with a renewed sense of purpose. As I watched her go, I knew that this moment had changed something fundamental in me. I wasn’t just the son of Zeus; I was my person, ready to forge my path.

Suddenly, Hera paused and turned back towards me, a contemplative look on her face. “DuVal, one more thing.”

“Yes?” I replied, curious about what else she had to say.

“Your perspective on avoiding unnecessary battles, on protecting others... that’s something I’ve seen too little of among the gods. It’s a quality that will make you a better leader and, perhaps, in time, a better god.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The idea of becoming a god had always been an abstract concept, something far off and intangible. But hearing it from Hera made it feel more real, more possible, and honestly, the idea repulsed me.

“I’ll do my best to live up to that,” I said, my voice steady.

Hera nodded, satisfied. “I have no doubt you will.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A little while later I walked back to the councilor’s cabin where a new camera and a note waited for me.

“A hero is more than the weapon they wield. A leader is more than those they control. If you are truly a monster then maybe a monster is needed to guide us out of the night and into the dawn.” I chuckled as I read the note before I heard Sejeong behind me.

“Ooh, what’s that ?” She asked noticing the camera

“A gift I think,” I responded

Sejeong smiled as she closed the distance between us “Ooh a gift from who?”

“Hera I think.” Sejeong laughs as she looks at the camera before handing it to me to add it to my bag.

“You love that camera bag huh,” Sejeong noted

“Why do you say that?”

“I never see you without it.”

“Well I have approximately 5 grand stored in here,” Sejeong eyes popped as she heard the number

“I understand then,” she said with a smile before removing said bag to pounce on me and bombard me with kisses. I happily accepted her advances and let her conduct her “affection train” on me. Her kisses began to shift from chaste to hungry.

Sejeong lifted her shirt revealing her breasts. They were remarkable as always I palm both and began to kiss her more but something was off. I could tell something was eating at her. Like she was forcing herself to do this. As if trying to find her footing, but she couldn’t,

“What’s wrong,” I asked

“It’s nothing. it’s just,” Sejeong started

“Cassandra?” I finished. Sejeong nodded

After she had enough, she cuddled next to me and asked a peculiar question, her voice barely above a whisper, “DuVal, am I a bad person?”

I looked into Sejeong's eyes, seeing the vulnerability and self-doubt reflected there. I understood what she meant by this, the weight of her lineage and the expectations placed upon her. I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully.

“Sejeong, due to the position you are in, absolutely not. You’ve been trying your best under difficult circumstances, and that’s all anyone can ask for. I understand,” I said softly, my voice steady with conviction.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into me, seeking comfort. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. “You are not a bad person, Sejeong. You have a kind heart, and you care deeply. That’s what matters.”

She sniffled, burying her face in my chest. “Thank you, Val. I needed to hear that.”

As we sat there, the room growing quieter, I felt a sense of finality settling over us. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung in the air. This was the end of our romantic relationship, but not the end of our connection.

I gently lifted her chin, making her look into my eyes. “Sejeong, you’ll always have a special place in my heart. We may not be together in the same way, but I’ll always be here for you. As a friend, as someone who understands.”

She nodded, a small, sad smile forming on her lips. “I feel the same way, Val. Thank you for being here, for understanding.”

We sat in silence for a while, just holding each other. The unspoken promise of continued support and friendship lingered between us, a comforting presence amid our parting.

Eventually, she pulled away slightly, wiping her tears. “I should go,” she said softly. “But this isn’t goodbye.”

“No, it’s not,” I agreed, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll still see each other, still be there for each other.”

With one last hug, she got up and left the room. I watched her go, feeling a mixture of sadness and relief. This was the right decision, for both of us. As I sat alone, I took a deep breath, letting the emotions wash over me. This was the end of one chapter, but the beginning of another.

End of Part I

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