#katabasis crime

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

Mirame

Omg this took so long, I hope you guys like my world and want to see more it, I did doodles of all the gods so you have a visual of them, lol let me know who's your favorite and why

So, in my story Mirame the world is high fantasy

let's start with the a little bit about the world then gods we'll go over the races in a different post

The world

For now we're calling this world Mirame (Spanish for look at me)

Mirame has floating islands kept up by waves of magic left behind from dead gods, hollow mountains, magic that flows through almost anything, different planes of existence such as Gahenna (hell) that can be passed through with the right amount of magic, demons, fairies, bug people and much more!

The world is entering a Renaissance when the story starts, technology has just begun, there are magic trains and cars.

I'll go more into the depths in a separate posts in the future

GODS

The gods have different jobs to keep mortals alive and the plane of existence from falling, even if they don't want to, they don't all get along with each other, they're at each other's throats in the present

Brugmansia

(concept art, still feeling out her design)

The weaver of life, she's quite narcissistic and looks down on mortals, she has a son called tentsosra, she cares deeply for him, she also has a right hand man, he's more rude than brugmansia.

Brugmansia created a race called Erklings, she created them in her own image, she has very high standards for them and if they don't meet them there are consequences.

Mortals always hunt down her creations as trophies or for rituals, in order to stop humanity from touching her beautiful creations (creatures and plants) she created monsters that solely attack mortals, such as sirens, forest guardians, trolls, etc.

Brugmansia often kills mortals in the most brutal ways possible, to teach them a lesson.

brugmansia is very injured at the start of the story due to Satra attacking her with a new disease, at the start of the story brugmansia is at her weakest and most vulnerable.

Tentsosra

(concept art)

God of the elements, born from a seed brugmansia found and watered with her tears tentsosra was born, treated like a son making him loyal to Brugmansia willing to risk his life to protect her

He is kinder than his mother and more curious by nature

Tentsosra created a race of people called Obi that can change from human to animal, however they have been hunted to extinction at least that's what most think, barely anybody knows of their existence

Known for hunting mortals on Brugmansia's behalf

Tentsosra is worshiped by huntsman seeking a bountiful hunt as well as protection from brugmansia's creations.

Katabasis

(Since I already did a post about katabasis I'll just dig a little deeper into them and where and what their domain is)

God of the afterlife, they control what happens to your soul, Katabasis has direct connections to Gahenna (hell) and is in charge of keeping the peace with them, as an all out war for the mortal plane can spell out disaster.

Katabasis fascination with mortals is quite disturbing, Katabasis used to torture souls or treat them kindly to see their reactions, like tearing a bugs legs off

Some see katabasis as a bad omen, others celebrate Katabasis hailing them as the greatest god of all

Katabasis domain is on the edge of life and death, they have subjects called psychopomps, they help Katabasis with sorting and escorting souls, unfortunately some souls are rebellious and still have fight in them transforming them into undead creatures, often distorted beyond recognition, they're often dealt with by Amelia Vilheart.

Satra Nosferatu

(concept art, I'm still redesigning her lol)

God of gluttony, disease, and cannibalism. Satra loves the taste of Ko'nari flesh specifically, but she's not picky she'll eat any mortal she can get her hands on. Satra hates brugmansia with a passion, they have fought countless times, however recently Satra had lost but left brugmansia deeply injured, she had slinked into the earth, recovering and waiting to attack any moment.

Satra is very childish, but also surprisingly smart in tactics, she used to be Brugmansia's ORIGINAL creation, staying by Brugmansia's side like her daughter until Brugmansia saw Satra devouring one of her creations that's when brugmansia banished and disowned her.

Satra has minions called nymes, they usually dig through the head of someone and drag their body for Satra to consume, they also grave rob, but there are ways to ward them off, by calling on your God to protect your loved ones graves of begging on your hands and knees fod satra to desecrate your loved ones corpse.

Moshi Yama

(concept art, I also need to redesign her, also yeah your eyes bleeding is supposed to happen-☠️)

Goddess of parties and lust but she used to be the god of prosperity, she was worshiped by the fairies, they loved her but ever since the incident they despise her and call her a disgrace to the gods.

Moshi Yama has the ability to bend and warp reality, some think it's just illusions though, it's like being on acid

she was born from the legendary gods Malachite and Parhassus, they died from their love for each other and decided to give birth to Moshi Yama and Amato Yama causing them to perish in a beautiful and tragic display of their love, Moshi Yama and Amato Yama were mischievous when they were younger causing the other gods problems

fast forward Amato Yama had betrayed Moshi Yama attacking her worshipers city at that moment Moshi Yama had given up and decided to lay low and have sex with many mortals searching for something, until one day she noticed great potential in one of Amato Yamas generals, a possible new god

Amato Yama

(still designing ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ)

God of war but he used to be the god of trickery

as you know he is the twin of Moshi Yama, he hated this fact, he felt like he was her shadow, constantly overlooked, until one day he decided he would rise up, so he ordered his worshipers to attack Moshi Yamas "pawns" and so began his empire

he grew a nation and ruled it himself, which is blasphemous for gods, they're not supposed to interfere to that extent, so when Neiths husband went to stop him Amato Yama was furious and so they fought and unfortunately Amato Yama won, feeling the rush of victory and the hatred of the gods he decided he would kill all the gods until he was left

Neith

Goddess of the sun and knowledge, she has a daughter named Mao, her husband unfortunately died by Amato Yamas hands.

She's about 10 feet tal and has been alive throughout creations of mortals, her godly form is said to be as big a 4 mountains by her followers.

Neith covers herself head to toe to conceal herself as she grieves her husband's death, nobody remembers how she looks, it's been lost to time, she has a horn that can be pulled out to reveal a spear, she never uses it unless the situation is dire, she often avoids confrontation.

Her followers are very secretive, and share knowledge with Neith

Mao (also known as the Phoenix)

The god of freedom and flames, she's only been around for 8 hundred years but it seems she already has a whole city devoted to her.

She has a horn like her mother that can be pulled out to reveal to be a javelin

Mao has left her mother's side and is now trying to inspire the mortals of the world and to help them just like her father, however she doesn't know what it's like to be mortal so sometimes she makes bad decisions and causes troubles for her worshipers.

Mao was born with the ability to control flames to the extent that she can cause it to not hurt but heal somebody, the same as her father.

Mao feels like she must prove herself worthy to be known as the daughter of one of the greatest gods to exist

Castile

(concept art)

God of the moon and entropy

She's a child, and possibly from the plane of Gahenna

She is afraid of becoming a monster and destroying everyone as prophecied

As she grows older the more stronger and uncontrollable she becomes, her body grows more and more with devilish features, she does not know her parents all's shes known is a giant empty castle and her ghostly caretaker Cerberus.

When the story begins Castile has herself in a deep slumber so she would not harm, using her astral protection to help her followers

Castile loves her followers as they love her, she does not care for what they do or harm she is just so greatful to be herself again.

The consequences of her power include uncontrollable hunger, heightened ability to hear, increased strength, sharp nails, increased magical abilities and new spells, and if consumed enough a full vampirism transformation in which you can either lose yourself to the monster inside and only watch through empty lenses or gain full control with ultimate power and intellect, which is very rare the average is lost self.

The one major problem with castile is she doesn't know how to help mortals as a God and ends up making lives more worse and those around them but she sees her meedling as helpful, castile didn't even know she was God until she slumbered

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Holy shit, you get all of that? (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

[ma1dita]

as above, so below

 a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 10.4k. wow. prev -> asking for trouble summary: (post-TLT) The one where you plead your case with the gods of Olympus. (The one thing the fates didn't expect was how much you'd both be like your fathers; in a way, you and Luke didn't see it coming either) a/n: depictions of overdose/suicidal ideation, grief and then a bittersweet ending. this is the final chapter of partners in crime, and a love letter to everyone who’s made it this far—for all the wonderful comments and rbs! i hope this ending and this story serves as a reminder to all to support writers and their work!!! also a love letter to myself?? and the immense growth i’ve experienced creatively and in my life in the past year and some change of writing this story, it was truly a transformative time. thank you.  to end, i hope you all get the love that you deserve.

— 

—KATABASIS—

Is love in this world a gift or a curse?

Watching your campers file into the Hall of Gods felt like being stuck in a perpetual state of unease. Or maybe how you imagine it would feel to drive in the wrong direction on the Long Island Expressway during rush hour. It felt like staring into an oncoming car crash with your shoulders stiff, bracing for impact as you waited for something to just hit and hurt. 

What else is there to do after a war is won but revel in how it hurts? 

The campers look at you as they pass you on the stairs—a ghost of yourself after the deed was done, and it was almost as if Luke took whatever little life there was in you with him to the underworld. Like moths hovering toward light, the crowd starts to grow, waiting for someone to have the answers on what to do next as the Olympian Council prepares to convene.  

Instead, you mentally do a headcount each time another one of the kids makes an appearance through the marble foyer; you wonder about a lot of things now that you find yourself with the time to think. You haven’t spoken in the hours since Luke died and your heart falls further with every covered stretcher the satyrs carry in.

“Hey.”

Flinching, you soften slightly when you realize it’s Annabeth grabbing you by the crook of your arm, “Let’s go wash up.” It’s not a suggestion. She leads you to a secluded part of the hall and there’s a basin filled with warm water and soap waiting for the both of you. There’s no use in tidying up the mess, you think—we just won a war! But the daughter of Athena tuts and sits you down how you imagine your mother used to when you’d come in from the backyard covered in mud. The pearlescent pool in front of you is instantly sullied as your fingers descend into the bowl—scarlet running down from your elbows, stuck to your skin, and coming off in plumes that drop into the water like miniature explosions. You hadn’t realized there was so much blood—so much of him still left on you.

“Where’s…” You say hoarsely, jerking your hands upward so that the dirty water splashes onto your knees, and Annie clasps your forearms firmly until you stop twitching—sitting still like this suddenly feels like burning coals under your feet.

“Your phone’s in your pocket. We can get it after.” “It’s dead. Uh…I need to charge it, before the Mist lifts.” The thought of calling your boyfriend comes and goes quickly like a balloon in the wind—your mind is filling up the spaces of grief with other things to worry about like Dex, who’ll be driving home soon with breakfast and waiting patiently for your return to the apartment you share. Thinking about what you’ll say to him is better than having to sit with the truth. 

The younger girl is now watching you with half-lidded eyes, scrubbing at your arms delicately with a sponge and trying to not think about how all of the crust and blood that covers you used to be her brother’s. This was blood that pumped through his arteries and through his lungs that produced oxygen, straight back into his stubborn heart that beats no more. Annabeth glances through her lashes at the stoic look on your face—she’s not sure yours is working either, and well, there is nothing more that Annabeth Chase hates than not knowing what to do next.

“Help me help you. Where do we go from here?” she mumbles, but it barely reaches your ears. Any thought you might’ve had is washed away with what was left of him; blankly, you’re staring at your red-hued reflection within the porcelain bowl.

“I don’t know.”

There is nothing left but time now that the war is over—and it buries you, so far into the earth that maybe if you try to sink far enough you’d see where they’ll put his body to rest. A sickening realization hits you like a freight train: your relationship—all of it—exists only in dreams now, memories, the spaces between thoughts, the seconds before someone remembers the reality of how the world almost ended because of a love that you’ll now have to live without.

How, after everything, is this the end?

You knew this was coming, you try to remind yourself. Losing him was years in the making—you’ve been mourning Luke Castellan for almost as long as he let you love him. No one knows when the end is until it’s happened. Or for you—for as long as it takes for you to admit it. It was the end when he left you to wake up alone on his last day of camp. 

Maybe even earlier than that—but now you’ll never know. 

Looking back, all the time spent with and without him was just you trying to keep going as if he hadn’t already signed a death sentence. The lines have always been a bit blurred for you when Luke was part of the conversation. Endlessly toeing the line between your love for your home and your love for him, you couldn’t help but indulge in the hitch in your breath that filled with Luke’s name whenever he would pop into your life. Even when the rest of the world found reasons to hate him, you could not bear to. 

Would it have made a difference if you fought back against him? Not Kronos, him—the boy that didn’t include you in the decisions he made for you, now sauntering towards Elysium leaving you to deal with the rest. Does doing nothing make you worse than his father? Would the results of the war changed if you turned him in? If you found a way to resist the hold he’s always had on you, would Luke still be alive?

Everything after feels like it’s going in a blur—endless questions swirling through your head that make your knees buckle from the vertigo. The gods can’t just expect you to go back to your nine-to-five and pretend that walking away from the wreck will mean it never happened.

“Right?” you exhale, answering your inner thoughts. Annabeth is drying your arms with a pinkened terry cloth and hums in response, before meeting your gaze over the horizon that peeks out to say hello.

The sky seems endless when you’re standing on Mount Olympus watching the gods rebuild the damage that was left behind. Everything moves in reverse—buildings rising from rubble with every floating brick, pathways smoothing with the gentle touch of time, and plants rebirthed from ash. The city will always wake up to move towards tomorrow, but for you, there’ll be no proof that your world ended while everyone else gets to keep theirs. 

Time is being undone before your own eyes, and you suppose you have the rest of your life to fix it—whatever that means now.

“Was any of it real?”

The Olympians will be summoning you any minute now. Percy shuffles over from his spot against the wall where he is watching you both, stoic as a statue—everyone’s made their way inside and the three of you are the last to enter. 

“Doesn’t really feel real,” the son of Poseidon mutters, mindlessly playing with a tendril of Annie’s hair—she lets him with no complaints. The weight of the world hasn’t been lifted from their shoulders like they were once promised. No one wants to celebrate when you’ve lost your friends—your family in the process.

Apollo stretches his arms and pulls a blanket of dawn overhead as if a final countdown before you have to walk in as glimmers of gold spread across the sky.

“I wonder if Luke always knew this is how it was gonna end,” Percy says simply, your eyes meeting his and the boy almost sounds apologetic. Annabeth scoffs, “The jerk always was the type to pull strings.” A crescendo of trumpets and fanfare begins to shake the halls—your cue to enter. Walking slowly behind the pair, you wrestle with the tug deep within you that silently agrees with her.

Grover joins them and all together, the trio make their way to the stage. You find a spot next to your brother who notably has his arm in a misshapen cast decked out in smiley faces—Will’s doing. Your lip quivers at the sight of him.

“The hell happened to you?” you murmur. Pollux kisses your temple and slings his good arm around your shoulders, voice hushed to not distract from Zeus thanking the half-bloods for their efforts of saving humankind, which is a rare occurrence as it is. You couldn’t be bothered by the grandiose display, focusing instead on the big baby next to you.

“Just a scratch,” he says cooly, and you pinch his side in annoyance—”He-OW!” Pollux shrieks, swallowing the sound when the satyrs shush him.

“What happened to you coming straight to me?”

“I’m the least of your worries,” the blond boy mutters, purple eyes meeting your own. Even if so, you disagree.

“Not true! You know that.”

Pollux takes a good look at you from the peripherals of his vision as you huff and try to pay attention to whatever’s going on up front. He wishes you could see yourself how he sees you—completely worthy of love in every capacity, even if life makes you work for it tirelessly like Sisyphus pushing a rock atop a hill. You’ve always been so close to getting what you want…but never quite reached it. He doesn’t know how you do it, but both of you being your father’s children makes him understand why you do. 

Understanding doesn’t make you hurt any less though.

“You know, no one would blame you.”

The longer you stand here feels like someone’s shoved cotton through every open crevice of your body. It scratches at your throat and dampens your ears as you turn your head to face him, eyes dragging up his face in question.

“In fact, no one would bat an eye if you left and never looked back.”

Scoffing, you turn to look at the floor and his hand feels heavier on your shoulder now like you’re carrying the weight of him too, “It sounds like you just wanna get rid of me.” Feeling like you’re constantly at a loss can radicalize anyone—you’ve never felt so close but so far from Luke than at this moment. People turn away from everything they’ve ever known for less. 

And still, you’re here. 

Still.

Pollux shrugs, wincing when his bad shoulder jerks, “Maybe. Do you still want this? Any of this?” 

He thinks of you spending the rest of your days sitting in that tiny apartment burning cookies in that cramped excuse for a kitchen, and how when he visits, he’ll have to say hello to that boring man who’ll greet him with a megawatt smile, so unknowing of the world you come from. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Your brother thinks you might be happy, if you just let yourself be.

There’s a silence that stretches between you as Grover tumbles to the ground in search of food up on stage, conveniently being caught and attended to by the prettiest naiads you’ve ever seen. You snort at the sight, but your brother’s dedicated to knowing what’s on your mind, continuing to whisper like an angel (or a devil) on your shoulder. 

The rest of this ceremonial shit doesn’t matter to him.

“Dex is not Luke.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” you say through an exhaled breath—he can tell you’re troubled by the idea of choosing to leave everything behind and start over, without them and without Luke, so he says just that—trying to feel out your brain and where it’s at. 

Your heart, however, is evading the matter.

“Now that it’s all over, you can start over again. Without us weighing you down.” 

Pollux watches you furrow your eyebrows, scrunching up your face in the way you do when you want to say no. But your expression is impassive in the next moment like a trick of the light, “I’d have to think about it. It just happened, after all.” 

Once again, Luke Castellan seems to have left you without a choice. What an asshole. 

But what do you want, anyway?

“There’s no time like now. You could if you wanted to.”

Why has every difficult decision you’ve had to make meant giving up something good? 

Shifting your weight onto your other hip, you grit, “Shit. I mean, what good is it to not have what I want?”

“Shit,” Pollux smirks with a knowing glance, “You tell me.” You grab his hand and squeeze it tightly, intertwining your fingers. No god can take away what you share with your brother. You both live this reality, after all—one where you have to go on because your other half cannot. The purpose of Pollux’s message might’ve gotten lost in translation, but the intention hit home. 

“Guess I’ve never thought of it that way.” 

Chuckling under your breath, you take a good look at everyone in this room—the roles they take, and the purpose they serve. There’s not much of a place for you here, not anymore, and Pollux thinks you know that too. You’ve done the best you could offer to the gods despite yourself and the children you’ve cared for. But he wants you to understand that you don’t need to worry about them anymore. All your dad and him do is worry about you anyway. 

“What if I never looked back?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of the right thing to say but the truth is much simpler, “I love you. That’s a good enough reason to, right?” You’re not sure if he means him or you—but still Pollux’s figure blurs in a vignette of moisture that overcomes your vision. 

Amid your hushed conversation, the room around you has gone silent and everyone’s eyes are suddenly focused on you, making you realize you’re the last demigod to be awarded. A crowd of cheers and war-hardened hands push you onto the central platform, out of the furnace, and into the fire. The spotlight overhead shines so brightly it makes you squint, amplifying the pulsing in your temples; it makes you sick. 

This was finally it—the honor, no, the glory of being recognized by the gods for doing your part and being a great example for all demigods. For fulfilling your duty to Camp Half-Blood. For choosing to protect your home, and keeping your promises. The Olympians look down at you with carefully crafted smiles and what you hope isn’t pity.

“Your gift is a permanent job with Camp Half-Blood. Full benefits, PTO, 401k, whatever you want, I can make it happen,” Zeus says with a grin as if he’s told you that continuing on the way you have would make your greatest dreams come true—like you’d wish for nothing more. 

Swallowing as he continues to prattle on, your figure retreats in itself, hunching over as if you’re hiding something from all of them. You are—the idea that Pollux put in your head festers like an open wound the more it ruminates.

“You’d have a spot here on Olympus too if you wish—our official liaison for demigod communications, actually—goddess of demigods! If Jackson doesn’t want it, it’s yours…” he grins dryly, a beat passing as if…

And like the speed of light, your head jerks up to meet Zeus’ eye to eye, a damning thing as you register that the king of the gods does not remember your name. Almost ten whole years of running around in the same circles and keeping his world upright, and he doesn’t know who you are—just your job, and the consequences you bring.

Something cracks within your resolve then and the pressure shatters like glass into tiny, shiny fractals until what you really want reveals itself to everyone in the room—the Council, the nymphs and naiads, and all of your friends who are staring at you with bated breath, sparkling under the lights. Your chest tightens like a Titan’s fist is wrapped around it; this is what Luke wanted, not nearly anything you’d ever imagined for yourself. He wanted this so-called glory, and the longer you listen to Zeus fumble over his words, only one thing becomes apparent—you just want Luke.  What you want is to be with the love of your life again, no matter what it takes. What you really want is a gift not even the gods can provide…

Unless…

Hera clears her throat, shaking her head in disappointment and simultaneously catching the fire ignited within your eyes—Hestia sees it too, standing up from the flames of her hearth in front of the platform. The former corrects her husband with a stern brow, “...that’s her name. You should ask the woman what she wants, dear.” Zeus repeats it, throwing your name around by the syllable like it’s foreign. Percy Jackson already denied godhood in exchange for a simple promise to be kept for the unclaimed. Anything left for you to choose can’t be that bad, right?

What’s the worst thing a daughter of Dionysus can ask the Olympians for, anyway?

The king of the gods taps his finger on the armrest of his baroque throne, repeating your name this time with a stroke of seriousness.

“Well then, out with it. What do you want as your gift?”

You look down at your feet, feeling Annabeth sneak up behind you to intertwine her fingers with yours—always six steps ahead. Her support is what you need to spit the words out without it feeling like a slur, to have the audacity to want something, someone so bad that the gravity of it weighs you down and makes your knees buckle—but not a single person in that room that really knows you is surprised by what you want. 

You want him, still. 

It is so human of you to still want Luke Castellan, to want your love in physical form even after he’s gone. Maybe they should’ve waited to ask you this question or maybe they shouldn’t have asked you at all—but the time it would take to get over the man who’d thrown his destiny away to save you is immeasurable. 

Growing up, so much of the time you shared with him was spent picturing what the rest of your lives together would look like, and that idea sticks to the forefront of your mind even now—a hole that pierces through the foundation of the walls you built up to try and forget him. Maybe life with Luke and what you’d had before was the real dream instead of something you’d have the opportunity to experience—it feels so far away from the life you live with Dex, who you’ll go home to once you scrape yourself off these marble floors. Somehow, time has passed and everyone in this room—including Luke, wherever the hell is now, has gotten exactly what they wanted except for you. 

What about what you want?

“What I want…” you mutter under your breath, before raising your eyes to meet Zeus’. There is not a single ounce of doubt or fear he can detect as he stares back into your pools of amethyst, hardened by equal parts stubbornness and determination.

“To be completely honest with you, Divine Zeus—all I want is the opportunity to die.”

—

Chaos breaks like the eye of a storm as your statement echoes in the open air of the Hall of Gods. Somewhere, Percy starts to laugh at your flair for the dramatics and Chris joins him until Clarisse jabs him in the gut despite the twisted look that overcomes her face. You hear your father yell his disagreement from his throne, grapes rolling off the gilded vines that adorn it and they bounce towards your feet. The hilarity of all of it makes you smile.

It shouldn’t, of course—your dad looks like he’s about to wreak havoc on Earth itself, but he chooses his words carefully, so quietly under his breath that you almost don’t hear.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Dionysus walks toward you with outstretched hands, beckoning you to him. The strain he puts in keeping his composure reopens the cut on his forehead. Golden droplets drip down past his eye like a stroke of lightning, and your eyes glaze over, lost in a memory. All of your surroundings seem to move slowly then, everyone losing their shit and he just takes a moment to appraise his little girl who in the blink of an eye, is not so little anymore. 

“Dionysus, your daughter better have a good explanation for this!” his father yells, but Mr. D pays him no mind. Hermes is the first and fastest to put your plan together, looking at you with a reverence no would expect a god to have for a mortal. Grover’s picking up the grapes to munch on while Percy pulls at his arm to back away from the center platform. Aphrodite’s swooning over the thought of your devotion, and Athena looks at you holding her daughter’s hand—the both of you strengthened by ambition instead of deterred, making her scoff in amusement. Hera is laughing at the frustration on her husband’s face as he sputters, attempting to regain control of the room. 

The sheer audacity you present yourself with is laughable even to you until you realize that this is the most yourself you've felt in a long time—here in front of the Olympian Council, with the bold request of choosing death over immortality. You were brave once—gutsy even, when you were fourteen. And this feels like that—like coming home. 

A hand clasps your other shoulder. 

Pollux. 

For a moment, you look around the room wildly until you remember Luke’s not here to see this. You hope he’d be proud.

“SILENCE!”

Your father’s voice booms overhead, calming the chaos with a snap of his fingers as everyone has the words choked out of them like a water spout gone dry. Zeus rises to the challenge then, regarding you with an odd curiosity, “You know we can’t bring that boy back. The atrocities he’s committed, the choices he made—” 

“I’m not denying any of that. I guess all I’m asking for is a chance. I’ll take any consequences that come with it.”

No matter how bloodied the path was to get there Luke has always made sure that he gets what he wants, in one way or another—at the cost of sparing no one, not even himself.

“Child, do you think this makes you a hero? Do you think you can go down in history as someone who chooses to die instead of live? Don’t you want to be something more?” His voice booms so loudly that you wince.

“I never needed to be a hero, Divine. I am loved. That is better than any glory I care to receive—I mean look around you,” you exclaim, gesturing around the room, “Your kids don’t want glory. They want love.” Breathing shakily, you look pointedly at all of the gods, emboldened by the momentum of getting it all out once and for all.

“I’m 23 years old. I’ve spent almost ten years of knowing Luke by loving him, even if five of those years were also spent missing him,” you say and your voice shakes with emotion, “To you that’s nothing, but I want that time back, even if I have to go and get it myself… That’s what I want.”

Hades speaks to you for the first time that morning, a simple question falling from his lips.

“Why would you go through all of that trouble?”

You can’t help it— you laugh in the face of the most powerful beings in the universe. For a moment it was like hearing your name in the distance but in reality... it was always the answer; your father knows from the crooked smile that grows on your face that your decision was made up from the second they walked in to watch Luke Castellan take his last breath. Then and there, you decided you would give up yours—and he hates that he understands it so deeply. He was the one who told you so long ago that love is insanity. He himself has done unimaginable things for love. So he’d be a fool to hold you back from someone you truly want.

“The only thing I am sure about myself is that I have nothing left in me but love. And that love gives me what it will take to die.”

“You followed him to Hesperides, all those years ago,” Hermes interrupts with a wistful look on his face, “Do you know what this means—you think you can cheat death?” He is, after all, the guide of all souls. It isn’t rare for someone to try to venture into the Underworld, but it is rare to come back in one piece.

“No. But I can’t not try.”

Zeus bristles once more—insulted by this tirade of human emotion.

“Dionysus, say something! You cannot allow this!”

Ares butts in, “Your ambition’s gonna be the death of you kid. I vote yes!” Zeus slams his fists against the armrests, cracking them in the process, but then Hades raises a hand, “Hold on, my domain, my rules.”

“Brother, you cannot be serious! You’re just gonna let this girl walk in there with no—”

 “We promised to grant the demigods their wishes, and if this is what she wants—well it’s her funeral,” he chuckles at the irony, “Luke Castellan is waiting for his trial at the judgment pavilion as we speak. If you make it before he crosses the threshold for rebirth—he’s yours.”

You swallow, “And the catch?”

The god of the dead quirks his lip into something that resembles a smile. He’s always liked how sharp you were, never letting anything get by you, “You must both drink from the River Lethe and the pool of Mnemosyne. No outside help, only your spirit will go down for the journey. Do that and you earn a consultation at the palace—and I’ll grant you both a single wish. Anything you want.”

“What if they don’t make it back?” Annabeth says sternly, though you know she’s looking at this from every angle—it’s better than the instinctive yes that almost escapes your mouth.

“If you fail to convince him to drink, or if you don’t fulfill our deal, you will find Asphodel to be a lovely resting place. Forever.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod. You know the odds of what you’re signing up for—but your dad’s still looking at you like you’re the last drop of whiskey. He wants to savor this for as long as he can before he has to let you go.

“I can’t… you’re my daughter. I-I can’t allow this…Hestia, is this my debt? My retribution for taking your seat?”

The aforementioned goddess chuckles softly, like sparks of cinders as she drifts over to him, unafraid of breaking any remaining protocol—all of it is thrown to the wind as she pats her nephew’s back, “Dionysus, you are still young compared to the rest of us, and yet you’ve raised her to be the woman she is today. My darling, she is your reward.”

“And you want this, princess?”

“He’s my Ariadne, dad,” you say through a shaky breath, “Let this be my quest,” you beg—you’d get on your knees if he wanted to, shovel all the pegasi shit for the next 100 years if only you had the time, “please.”

Your father nods solemnly. Fate has a way of fooling even the greatest of the gods.

“I do enjoy a good love story. I think you deserve to write your own ending, my sweet,” the goddess of love smiles lazily as she rests upon her palm. The rest of the council murmurs in approval despite Zeus’ insistence that this is not a group decision.

But this story has been told thousands of times before, spanning different millennia, different lifetimes, and different lovers. Everyone in this room has seen how it ends. You were, however, never someone who could resist a good story.

To be or not to be, right? —that is the question.

Guess you were about to find out.

—

There are a lot of ways that a person can die—but when someone makes the choice, it usually means you have the time to think about it. 

Completely serious matter, yes—irreversible? 

Questionable. Of course, you don’t have either the time or liberty to mull these things over. Luke could be a toe into the gates of Elysium by now, and the thought of missing him makes your stomach into a pit you could compare to Tartarus. 

It’s weird to say goodbye and not want to mean it. Even weirder that all of your friends couldn’t say anything other than good luck as you were ushered through Olympus and put into a room to die. Words don’t come easy when you’re unsure of the outcome and death looks different when you’re the daughter of the divine form of insanity. The flame within your soul is lit by what defines him and so it is agreed upon that it should also be the reason for your end. 

This is just a journey—Dionysus tells himself. Death is just a journey of millions of souls returning to dust, star stuff finding their way home. A journey he’s taken before, not once, but twice, and would again if you asked him. How bittersweet is it that you are exactly made in his image, and how blind was he to not realize that when you first came to camp almost a decade ago? If only he could’ve cherished that more in the early years—the stupid pranks, the incessant laughter, and the sound of your voice at nightly sing-a-longs. Your dad knows that he’d face death a million times if it meant that you didn’t have to.

You used to hate it—the similarities that stuck you two like a reflection in a mirror. The feeling of feeding off of other people’s turmoil, or how drink flows through your fingertips as soon as the thought of thirst is formed. It wasn’t comparable to wisdom or war—conjuring mayhem wasn’t cool like Percy breathing underwater, or how Lee used to pull sunlight through the clouds. 

It didn’t come easy, being your father’s daughter.

But as you lay your head onto his lap, you realize that there is no one else you’d want to be. He’s since changed back into his trademark patterned shirt—visions of palm trees and hibiscus dancing in your vision as you get comfortable in his arms, breathing steadily as he strokes your head. 

“I wish we had the time to make it home,” you whisper, “It would’ve been nice to be on the docks, listening to the water.” There’s a tentative quality to your statement, feeling out the silence that’s been enveloping the both of you since you walked out of the main hall. You’re not used to seeing your dad so serious; it’s almost jarring that he’s not being a menace or calling you batshit for your latest—and last crazy idea.

He bites though, murmuring, “That your favorite spot at Camp? Would’ve thought you’d be buried under the covers at the cabin.” Dionysus swallows hoarsely, voice faltering as he comes to think of you being buried under anything. 

“Nuh-uh,” you say through a bitten lip, “I’ve always liked Canoe Lake. Lots of good memories there.”

“What’s your favorite one? Billie Holiday at the cost of Luke’s pocket change?” your dad gruffs, “Or what about falling into the lake after that time you fought over the flag?”

Dionysus hates this—feeling powerless at the hands of mortals. Gods aren’t meant to feel this way, but out of all of them, he understands best because he knows this story. 

He was this story: a demigod boy scorned by his father who wanted nothing but to rescue his mother from hell and who willingly gave up his life for the woman he loved. If there’s one thing he still admires Luke Castellan for—it’s letting him keep you safe while he went off to wreak havoc on the world. Sure, it’s selfish, but the kid has a good heart if all it was made up of was you. The courage of stars and souls is that even time cannot stop them from finding where they are meant to be. To love someone so much that it transcends timelines and angers the gods—your father finds himself ruminating over the fact that Luke’s someone was you. 

Of course, it’s you. 

He looks down at your position as if you’ll crumble into a pillar of salt in the mere seconds it takes to blink. There’s so much hope in your eyes that it batters into his resolve as if you’ve swung into his ribcage with a sledgehammer— it tears down any doubt he might have that you will not come back safely. At least Castor would have company, he thinks morosely—Pollux is somewhere running around the compound trying to find an iPhone charger. Dionysus just wants to sit with his baby and be.

The goblet is heavy in your hands as you look at the golden liquid within. Nectar heals the body and soul, but in excessive quantities—it burns. So much so that demigods that overdose feel their sanity melt away from their brains and separate their souls from the body until there is nothing left but the memory of who they once were.

What a way to go, right?

“Is it gonna hurt?” you say suddenly, cracking your knuckles and tugging at your sweater and he knows what you mean to say is that you’re scared. This is the first time you’ll do something for yourself, by yourself, without your support system. 

“Not if I can help it,” your dad sniffs, “Hermes is gonna meet you once you cross over since it’s not my job to be down there anymore. I’m gonna be with you for as long as I can… Where the fuck is your brother?”

Laughter spills from your lips as you start to drink anyway like it’s a glass of wine after dinner—thick syrupy sweetness slides down your throat. It tastes like crisp apples and the carbonated tang of Redbull, making your eyes water from the punch that hits every one of your pores, “Don’t want him to see. I don’t…” In through your nose, out through your mouth. 

“He saw Castor when he…I don’t want him to see.”

Clutching at your father’s shirt sleeve, his hand gently tilts the goblet further toward your mouth as you take the nectar in painstaking gulps. You’re shaking now, skin hot to the touch under his fingertips as you start to gasp heavily. He models how to breathe slowly, waving away the brushfire that spreads through your veins as best as he can, “It’s gonna be okay, princess. Just breathe.” If your senses weren’t overflooded with flashing red lights, maybe you would notice that he was crying.

“Say it, dad.”

“I love you,” he chokes out then, holding onto you as your body seizes in his grasp. You’re shaking your head, exasperated that you can’t get the right words out when you need them most, “I know that. Say you…I need,” you dry heave, sweat dripping down your face and turning molten to the touch. He still doesn’t let go. 

“D-Dad, d… I need…” 

It comes out in a whimper, and he shushes you, hugging you close, “Anything for you, my heart.”

“Need you to…believe in me.” Nectar gurgles in your throat as you’re white-knuckled around the goblet, forcing yourself to get the rest of the drink down. This won’t work if your dad doesn’t believe it will. You need him out of anyone to believe in you—to believe that you can do this.

With your eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings he laughs through the tears; of course, he believes in you, he always has. The sound of his laughter hits your system like the whistle of a freight train, breaking through your ribcage and releasing the pressure as you let it all go in one deep breath. 

Despite the discomfort, you find that death does not hurt—it feels like holding your father’s hand. 

You squeeze him three times for a silent I love you because you won’t let yourself die without saying it back. Dionysus, your father in this lifetime, and hopefully all the ones that come after, leans closely toward your ear to tell you what you need to hear to get to your life’s quest that can only begin after he has to let you go.

“You are my heart’s joy—the most stubborn person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I know you can love that boy back to life.”

Death feels like an endless summer in your mind, of pine trees in the North Woods, toasty smores over a crackling fire, and sand between your toes as you run along the shoreline. As your thoughts fade to nothingness and your body is erased from the mortal realm, you think that your favorite memory of camp is floating in the bubble bath you made of Canoe Lake on a summer day nine years ago.

—ANABASIS—

When you open your eyes, all you see is bright yellow and all you can smell is leather disinfectant. You’re in the passenger seat of a taxicab, and behind the gaudy blue dice pendant that dangles on the rearview mirror is Hermes. He pulls his lips into a tired smile, scratching at his goatee as the vehicle speeds down the side of the River Styx. The windows are rolled down and the wind is blowing back against your face.

“I thought you couldn’t meddle,” you croak, dry mouth from sleeping with it open catching up to you. You snap a finger…and nothing happens. Any trace of your father stayed up in the mortal realm with him; his best friend hands you a chilled water bottle to quench your thirst. 

“Your dad said you’d be thirsty.” 

Twisting the cap open, you gulp the cool liquid down with ease as you watch the Underworld pass you through side windows. Cerberus is almost galloping playfully along the side of the car a ways back, all three heads getting smacked by its lolling tongues as he barks in greeting.

What a cutie. 

Something’s under your butt—when you dig a hand into your pocket, you find a bright red ball. You smile at the thought of Annabeth Chase placing a squeaky toy on your shroud, just in case. You don't get to bring anything in death other than what's in your heart, and pure Greek tradition, what’s placed underneath your shroud. As you toss it out the window for Cerberus to chase it into the Fields of Mourning, he barks happily, an echo of booms that follow him into the distance. Hermes takes the chance to speak, his eyes flickering to the acceptance on your face. You’re in the Underworld now, and like the EZ-Death line of souls the car passes, you take this news in stride.

“He’s already dead. You— you’re a special case. Had to do something, even if it’s too late.”

“It’s not. It can’t be,” you insist, bravely at first, until you lose your nerve by the end of it, “I…” Drumming your fingers against your lap, Hermes can’t help but snicker, “You know, you’ve always had such an innate sense of how to take care of other people, but never yourself—it reminds me of your dad.”

“How is he?”

Hermes purses his lips. That’s as much an answer as you’ll get from his best friend, so you nod, “Luke’s the opposite, I think. He always knew how to take care of himself, just…he tried his hardest with me.”

Down in the underworld, the sky takes on a tawny hue with grey clouds overhead, and there are no signs of whether it’s day or night. You wonder if you still have enough time—if he’s there at the pavilion, waiting for you. The car jets past Asphodel, and you slink back down in your seat to avoid the view when you remember Hades’ conditions. 

If Luke’s already moved on, that’s where you’ll be.

Hermes is skipping through every song that comes onto the radio—the incessant noises make you want to grind your teeth but you remind yourself he's doing you a favor, in his own way.

“He never fooled you, that kid. You knew exactly what he was and you still loved him anyway. Me and my kids aren’t exactly easy to love, aren’t we?”

You shrug. Small talk is weird—now’s not exactly the time to be close with Luke’s father, and you’re not trying to impress him or anything anymore.

“I don’t think love is easy or hard. Sometimes it just is.”

The car rolls to a stop and you push yourself up on your palms. The judgment pavilion is in the near distance and you realize you’ll have to run the rest of the way. But you don’t move, even when the taxicab is put in park.

“This is your stop,” he says slowly, flicking the button that unlocks the car doors, “I really do mean it when I say that I wish you good luck.” Your eyes soften at that, and when you swallow, you recognize the weight of your two necklaces resting against your collarbone. He can tell you’re scared, but there’s no time to feel anything if you want to catch him. 

Take that quite literally—there’s no time here in the underworld. Hermes says your name gently, and you look at him. If Luke were here, you think he’d be braver than you—running out to fight the unknown if it meant he could take you home. But your hand is frozen on the handle and your legs feel like they’re cemented to the ground.

“After he… He was worried about you.”

“What? Really?” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face the god, hesitation making way for shock. Hermes blinks. He technically shouldn’t say more, but there’s nothing left to lose.

”He was worried about what you’d do if he wasn’t there when you woke up. Luke asked if I was sure you’d be able to find him.”

“And what did you say?”

With a subtle move of his fingers, your car door pushes open, and you step out onto the dusty gravel. His father salutes you with two fingers, “Told him you were coming for him.”

“I am,” you chuckle, slamming the door shut and beginning to run. Worry wracks your entire essence—if it’s even possible for a spirit to feel this intensely it might not be normal, but nothing about you is, even here.

“Hey!” Hermes calls out, his upper half hanging out the car window, “If…When you find him, do you think I’d get another chance?”

You turn unsteadily on your feet, looking at him with the roguishness he knew his son fell for, throwing your hands up in the air, “If this somehow works out, I think anything’s possible don’t you?”

Clouds of dust prickle at your ankles as you race back toward everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

Stuck somewhere in the in-between, you trudge toward the entrance of the judgment pavilion—a large titanium structure that stretches towards the heavens quite ominously. The closer you get to it the more your feet feel like sinking into quicksand, your paces getting slower and your legs moving like molasses, but you aren’t lost. It seems to somehow be getting farther the more you run, but maybe your stepmother’s blessing still reaches you down here in the dim wasteland she was doomed to—until Dionysus himself, your father, came down to search every corner of the Underworld and brought her back to life. He’s in there. He has to be.

You can do it, you mumble to yourself. 

You can do this too.

Or maybe the gods are laughing at the mortal woman who was too much like her father, laughing at how stubborn you are trying to save a paradox of a man who almost brought down Olympus. Unlike your father though, there is less bloodshed in your quest to find him, less anger at the gods for having to forsake glory for love. 

But you were never a fighter anyway, not in the traditional sense. The Battle of Manhattan was one you fought in and despite the winning outcome, it felt like anything but. The biggest battle you’d won was hoping he’d still be yours until the very end. Until his very last breath, and then some—if you’re as lucky as his father tells you. 

You almost trip over the stoop, flailing underneath the archway as if someone pushed you straight in front of the lone spirit who’s working on fixing the bulletin board. Catching your breath, you wheeze, “Excuse me, sir—have you seen a boy….uh, or a man? Not sure how time works here…I’m under direct orders from Hades hi—”

“It doesn’t.”

“Hm,” you attempt to sound thoughtful, but the non-answer of the wispy shade that peels letters off the bulletin board painstakingly slowly does not help ease your stress.

“Well, whatever he looks like now, he should have a scar running down the right side of his face…Um…he should at least,” you hesitate. And it hits you just now that you gave your life up not knowing what comes next. Without a semblance of a plan you ran to the underworld fueled by pure spite. Your eyes travel to the board the figure in front of you is still working tirelessly on, letter by letter. The metal clinks as it falls into the bucket.

NOW SERVING:

LUKE CASTE–

Wait a fucking second. Maybe the gods had the right to laugh at you. You push forward, almost ramming the specter into the wall behind him, for a moment you thought you’d run straight through but then your fists are grabbing his shirt, “Where is he?” The bucket falls to the floor with a heavy clang as his eyes widen.

“WHERE IS HE?”

The translucent man shrugs under your rough grasp with no sense of urgency, “He’s on a journey. Aren’t we all?”

Gods have mercy, you’ve never wanted to beat a stranger’s face in so badly—you drop him in exasperation and he crumbles to the floor, “Tell me his sentence. Now.”

“Boy said he was taking the long way home. Skipped the trial completely. Didn’t want Elysium, but he had to go through it to find rebirth. Northeast from h—” 

You don’t need to hear anything else. You’re running away, hands and feet almost flying the faster you go around the perimeter of the building in hopes that you’ll still catch a glimpse of this stupid, stubborn man who does anything for you but never with you. 

Maybe he’s still yours, even here, even now.

There’s a river you have to cross that intersects the courtyard behind the judgment pavilion. It flows towards Elysium with clear crystalline water going upstream and as your eyes follow it, you think you see him in the distance. 

You know it’s him. You could recognize that back anywhere—having spent so many years staring at it as he continued to walk away. As your mouth falls agape, you’re at a loss for words. It can’t be that easy to defy the gods and get what you want, finally, finally—-but the longer you watch him walk towards Elysium with a skip in his step, you falter. 

What makes dragging him out of here any different than what he did to you? 

You’re rooted to the ground then, taking deep breaths as you think of what to do next. Back then, Luke was always the blind devotee, hands and knees bruised from prayer, until the truth was the only sound that echoes back. You never understood it—another wayward child forced to bend under the gods’ will. No one should make a religion out of someone, but as you watch him smile in the fields of death itself…he is your answered prayer.

Seeing that he’s okay is enough—that he hadn’t been damned to Tartarus sets you at ease, worry leaving your body on the exhale of breath that you let go. If you turn around now, well, maybe an eternity in Asphodel would be alright too. You could pick a good spot on the outskirts. Forever might be nice if it means you’d get to look at the gates of Elysium itself for all of it, branches reaching for him until the end of time. 

But Luke hasn’t seen you yet. Does he feel you reaching for him? The twisted coil of fate that yearns for him, the sting in the back of your throat in the form of his name, wanting to bridge the gap from the short distance that separates you. Between life and death, somehow the short traverse of barren land feels to stretch much further than that. 

You turn slowly and walk away, muddied boots grating against the dust with every atom of your spirit resistant as if it fights the magnetic pull it was meant for. He doesn’t even have to know. Meeting him again means you run the risk of losing him again. You’re not quite sure you have it in you; so you walk away this time. This time, you won’t have to watch.

But then you hear him call out to you.

“Hey! It’s you!”

Faster now, faster. 

Your legs move unsteady and your clenched fists propel you forward. Maybe they’ll let you skip the EZ line and get this all over with—Asphodel is the only place you can be with all of this regret. 

But fuck, he’s persistent, even in death. Before you know it—he’s caught up to you, the sound of splashing water making you jerk back towards him in alarm, “Luke! You can’t do that!” He’s grabbed onto your shoulders and the simple touch makes you gasp. Bone-chilling fear wracks through your body as your eyes drink him in, watching the moisture darken his Converse, all the way up to the knees of his cargo pants. He blinks as if his mind is a rewinding cassette and you wonder if the River Lethe has a stronger hold on him now than you ever had.

“Who?”

And out of everything he’s told you in your lifetime to hurt you—that one word is what breaks you the most.

His eyes swiftly move over your face, dark brown and soft like that of a lifetime ago; one of bruised knees, hushed lullabies, and kisses that taste like strawberries. But there’s not a single ounce of recognition in his stare and you wonder if you’re close enough to launch yourself into Tartarus. Maybe you’re already there— he’s standing here in front of you a little lighter, and a lot unknowing. 

“Am I Luke?” he whispers with a playful tone like it’s a secret you share even if there’s no one else around you for miles. He looks at you again, slowly this time—eyes pouring over you, in case your figure is an illusion or a great temptation such as sweet pomegranate seeds before spring. Luke’s eyebrows furrow like he’s trying hard to remember something; it stabs at your heart like he did his.

“Forget it.”  

‘Wait, don’t go,” he starts, sounding bashful as one of his hands tugs at the sleeve of your sweater, the other curled around the nape of his neck, “I uh…the judges made me drink before I left the pavilion. I didn’t even stand a chance. Sorry to disappoint.” He chuckles, and it's a wispy sound that tickles your insides; you find your lips turning up at the sound. Luke, or whoever he is now, finds himself in awe at the sight, muttering under his breath, “I think I’ve dreamt of you before.”

For someone whose mind was washed by the River Lethe, Luke Castellan stares into your soul as he tries to get a glimpse of why you’re so familiar. Looking at you feels like the moments of a dream before he wakes up—a sliver of memory just as Morpheus pulls the rug out from under him. He’s seen your face before and he knows this, somehow.

“I just… I don’t even know why I ran over here, probably looked stupid jumping into the riverbed.. but uh…” he chuckles, biting his lip before blowing a raspberry. His mind is working faster than his mouth, “I just…wow. You’re beautiful.”

Luke’s still holding onto the threads of your sweater even as you try to put distance between you. He holds onto you like a kid catches fireflies, gentle and secure with no space between his fingertips, in case you fly away. 

“I’m no one. Just forget this happened, will you?” Recoiling in what he hopes is not disgust, you turn your cheek, “Have a good life.” Wherever he is on his journey, Luke finds that there are things he knows and things he does not. He knows that he’s a human who died pretty young, someone with a jagged scar that runs down his face, and that his socks are uncomfortably wet inside of his Converse right now. What he doesn’t know is why his plans have suddenly changed, and why every wisp of his incorporeal being does not want to leave you alone. There is something he still has to do.

“Hold on, pretty girl!” Luke says incredulously, “You want me to just…look away now that I’ve seen you? I’m sorry, but no can do.” He holds onto your arm how two people share a lifeline —-it almost makes you want to sock him in the face if you weren’t on the brink of tears.

“And why the fuck not? I’ve got things to do.”

The foul language doesn’t deter him one bit; in fact, it makes him like you even more, “Things to do? Here? Maybe there is no rest for the dead.” You’ve ripped yourself out of his grasp and he dramatically puts a hand over his heart like you’ve wounded him, but by now, you’re stomping away, “You’re funny.”

And he follows you. 

“Am I?”

“No,” you scoff, stopping in your tracks and not turning around. For a reason unbeknownst to him, Luke wants you to, badly. Kicking at a rock, you sniff, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

You’re walking along the river in the same direction you came from and he’s stuck to you like a shadow. You move right, and so does he. You stop walking, and so does he.

“Where are you headed?”

Spinning frustratedly with your whole body, you look up at him like he’s stupid. Maybe he is—was. He has a feeling you’ll tell him anyway.

“You’re being stupid. Go away.”

There we are—he’s grinning at you now, a spark of satisfaction running through him like a match to gasoline, “Can I at least know your name?”

“Not important. Do you think if I pick a spot in Asphodel and stand long enough, I’ll grow roots?”

Luke frowns at the sentiment, “After everything you’ve lived for, you want Asphodel?” He sounds so disappointed in you that you do punch him this time. Your fist is clenched, landing against his abdomen with an oomph that pushes out of his chest. 

“What I want is none of your business.”

“Well I got what I wanted,” he shrugs, like nothing of the sort, tricking you to look into his eyes for the first time in his new existence. His smile softens, almost as if his breath was taken away by the sight of them. Luminous, even in a place with no life or real light. Like a twinkling dusk that he wants to sink into. 

They dart away too soon for his liking, pulling back to him only when he speaks again, “This is gonna sound crazy but…”

“I know crazy, trust me. You’d never believe what I have to tell you,” you mutter with a ghost of a smile—the high he gets from chasing it would be unhealthy if he already weren’t dead.

“Try me.”

“Fine. I knew you. Before. It’s all I’m allowed to say. And I need you to trust me, or I’ll be stuck here forever,” you say under your breath, “But that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Luke says passively, a nod of his head—does he not know what to make of what you just told him? Or does he think the idea of forever in a place like this is alright for a person he barely knows okay?

The element of surprise isn’t lost on him even here, “So what do we have to do?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose then, breathing slowly through your mouth, “Did you not just hear what I said?”

“I did, and I think even in our past life, you must have severely underestimated me,” Luke chortles, grabbing your hand instinctively until he realizes what he’s doing. Even if he’s a little lost, he watches closely as his fingers clasp around yours almost in greeting, like it’s muscle memory, not a handshake but something sacred and secure— it’s a relief to hold your hand and he doesn’t know why, but he also doesn’t let go.

Your mouth falls agape with a shuddering breath, “You always kept me on my toes, that’s for sure.” There’s a pinched quality to your voice and Luke decides to tell you the reason he ran across the River Lethe in the first place.

“I do,” he swallows, “trust you, I mean. I don’t know why, but I just do. I just really wanted to see the color of your eyes…” Luke trails off. Can you feel it? he wonders—a stretching, growing feeling that unearths itself from the pits of your existence, calling for you to stay together like this as if there is no other way to be.

“And what do you think now?” your voice wavers as your fingers subconsciously tighten around his, a rough, scarred palm feeling much more real in his grasp.

“Waking up to them must have been Elysium in itself.”

Falling to your knees, you busy yourself with cupping the water from the river instead of entertaining the overwhelming urge you have to kiss him. Out of the corner of your eyes, he watches you like how he used to hover at camp—wanting to help but also letting you do your thing, an outstretched hand in case you need it.

“I drink…and I’ll forget you,” you say to him, realizing your instructions also have to be your final act of letting go, “and then you take me to the pool of the Mnemosyne under the poplar tree, and we drink from it together.”

“And then?” he murmurs, sitting next to you to cup your hands to your lips. Your mouth begins to water as if the tastebuds on your tongue yearn to forget all of life’s transgressions too. And you watch him the whole while, letting him, trusting him. 

“It’ll be me and you, and whatever comes next.”

Do you trust him? After everything?

“That sounds nice,” he hums, watching the faraway look in your eyes and wanting to join you where your mind is at, in knowing. 

You love him—that in itself is trust. 

Love is the strongest faith you’ve ever cared to know, and both of you are holding it to your lips with matching smiles on your faces. You don’t know what comes next, but this feeling frees you from the worry that’s been weighing you down with every step you took to find him again.

So, is love in this world a gift, or a curse?

Love can be found everywhere and made into everything if one tries hard enough.

Love is biting into the fruit,

Love is turning around,

Love is giving him the knife,

Love is a kiss on the cheek,

Love is reaching for the sun,

Love is making an impossible journey—neither of you is running from this, catching your breath until the air between your lips intermingles with familiarity, harmonious and in tandem. Two spirits share the secret of a life lived and the love that was shared as one wants to forget and the other wants to remember. There are no words that can explain the way your shrill laughter makes the recognition slightly glaze over his eyes like sweet honey, and he looks toward the poplar tree in the distance, itching to take you there afterward. 

In case this is the last time in all of eternity that you’ll set your eyes upon Luke Castellan, you set your forehead against his ever so gently, a kiss of skin against skin as the water ripples from your shallow breaths. 

“I’ll meet you at the poplar tree.”

He nods, and the liquid reaches your parched lips, all of your thoughts dissipating into the air around you. There are no names in this place, no status or glory and memories fade, like sprinkles of rain against your skin, sending shockwaves to your system as you’re fighting to hold on to every wave of nostalgia before it’s taken away. Luke’s smile is like sunlight as he watches the river wash over you completely, and then you settle into his arms as if falling asleep. Neither of you knows the answer to the question that’s tested by time, but here, time does not exist. 

For once, it finally might even be on your side. 

“I think I’ve been waiting for you,” Luke murmurs, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear as he waits for you to wake, for the hummingbird flutter of your eyelashes to reveal your eyes in all of their ethereal glory. This prophecy was laid out and this love was self-fulfilling damnation and he smiles as your breath shifts, hands reaching out to pat him softly as if checking if he was still there even unconsciously, even without knowing him. 

Time stands still here with you in his arms, and Luke is at peace with not knowing all the answers to the universe’s questions if it means he has you to face whatever’s next. Perhaps the answer is clear for others, but until then—whenever that may be, you have all the time to figure it out.

Together.

—

“What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now forever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower,

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind.” - William Wordsworth

[laiqualaurelote]

Making a masterlist of my Dead Boy Detectives fics, which I will be locking on AO3 soon.

in this city there's a thousand things I want to say to you (E, 4.9k)

post-canon fic in which Edwin has a sexual awakening courtesy of the Cat King and it blows Charles' mind, among other things (nicking this summary from @adventures-in-mangaland); seems to have accidentally manifested S2's First Adult Experience.

the saviour of the broken, the beaten, and the damned (T, 8.5k)

the time travel fic in which Edwin dies over and over again in multiple AUs as Niko tries to find him and stop time from collapsing, ft. Noir!Edwin, JazzAge!Edwin, Professor!Edwin, at least two different war Edwins, and the Niko-is-the-Principal conspiracy theory manifested through Apollo's Gift of Prophecy Dodgeball.

gig officially gigged (T, 13.8k)

the rock band AU ft. punk drummer Charles, classically-trained virtuoso guitarist Edwin, kawaii metal bassist Niko, and disgraced child pop star Crystal over the course of one epic gig; plus the prequel meetcute in which Edwin plays Welcome To The Black Parade on the King's Cross St Pancras piano for Charles.

The Katabasis Job (M, 23.6k)

heist AU! instead of becoming detectives, Charles and Edwin embark on an afterlife of crime. When the long arm of the Lost & Found Department catches up with them, they are made an offer they can't refuse: earn their freedom by stealing from Hell itself. (I cannot believe I planned a whole heist around Dante's Inferno. This fandom has made me do crazy things.)

- I hold the lock and you hold the key (E, 2k)

heist AU sexy lockpicking spinoff, in which Charles practises his lockpicking and Edwin makes things more challenging.

season of mists (T, 9k)

the bookshop/coffeeshop AU, Edwin is a bookseller, Charles is a barista, it's October, I'd make a joke about 'no time like fall to fall in love' except in the UK one says 'autumn' so I resolutely refuse to make fall puns. This is the cosiest goddamn thing I've ever written and @dont-offend-the-bees made the most beautiful art for it, some of which I append below!

still my heartbeat with your bare hands (M, 4.8k)

Bruv, tell me we still know how to speak of heroes! this is a Beowulf AU. (And I thought the Inferno heist was bad.) Charles is looking for a hall to belong to, even if that means slaying a monster to secure his place. Edwin has some noise complaints.

what's pasta is present (E, 7.8k)

the Barbara Lasagna drag AU in which Charles goes to a drag show because he's craving pasta and gets an identity crisis instead. Ft. gorgeous Gilda and Jessica Rabbit-inspired art by @tumblerislovetumblerislife!

we get to stay around and watch the stars come out (M, 2k, WIP)

the Black Doves AU where Charles is married to Crystal, who wants a divorce, and then gunmen break into his house and he has to take his four-year-old twin children and go on the run with triggerman Edwin Payne. WIP!

also here is a tiny workplace comedy AU where Charles and Edwin are co-workers in the Afterlife department. It was meant to be enemies-to-lovers but tbh the enemies part lasted like five seconds

I did not expect to be in fandom this year, and this whole thing has taken me by surprise - but oh, it's given me so much joy and solace to be here.

[aboutsomething-beautiful]

ALTHOUGH, I am reflecting on this and everyone else who has gotten an ARC has suggested reading Dante’s “Inferno”, “The Iliad”, “The Odyssey”, and several others prior to starting “Katabasis”…. And that will take me quite some time because I’ve never read Dante’s “Inferno”. Hmmmm

I want a “Katabasis” ARC sooo bad. My request has been pending since before graduation TWO WEEKS AGO. 😭 this is cruel

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Hi! Happy birthday to Bat-Swap!!!🥳🥳🥳

I was wondering if there were any deleted scenes/concepts that didn't make it into the final fic? Or a character you wanted to add but didn't get the chance to?

Love your writing! Might have to go reread for the fic's birthday!

The muse, the Michelangelo, the WOLF!!

Oh god so many, I thought this fic up with the ending coming like a week later and so much came up in between that got scrapped into the Outtake Doc for any later use.

I have a list of my minds bullcrap, hold up, gotta dig through the receipts

In absolutely no particular order-

Back when we met Pinky I planned to reveal the whole Vasquez extended Marvel family through a statue for each Marvel at the park, one basically guarding each path that all branched out of the center area Billy’s was at. By then I had already made plans to make the Sins and maybe Blaze a looming Big Bad so I had a concept of the statues having their own importance sometime in the final confrontation I have planned (bc we gotta have one, I love comics and comic are all about that big payoff fight) but that got scrapped for the longer buildup and the timeline I refined to make them heroes for too short a time to get such big memorials

One more overarching idea was to make the Batfam more hostile to Cap, not liking the situation as much as he wasn’t and not getting along well. I wanted to start off with a lighter note so I changed peoples tune

Was going to have a moment of some Batfam like Tim and Steph (who were involved with YJ) asking about Freddy and wanting to catch up with him, with the allusion to the Marvels being more tight knit with Billy seeming like the exception given how much he seems to travel more than his siblings.

One scrapped scene that might make a comeback with some editing is Bruce as Cap joining Pinky on a pre-planned stake out/take down, with more than a couple of playful jabs that “Look at us! The redder versions of you and Krypto-boy!” Plus some more Pinky love bc that kid was insane (like every Fawcett character honestly)

Actually cut the Katabasis chapter down; had an outline and some paragraphs done of Tim destroying SBP and getting a whack at him with a lot of unhealthy pent up issues that I doubt fully got resolved after the Everything™️ that was The Teen Years Of Tim Drake

Dick was supposed to have a scene visiting Damian in the hospital first but plans very obviously changed and I added a Dick & Billy focused bonding-ish chapter

Two things with Lucy’s reveal actually, was gonna have her book be a redo of the old Owlman and Pulchinella characters from Harley’s failed romance novel now turned turned adventure novel but changed it to basically be personally made story of a Lucy like sidekick to Capitano (Billy). More endearing to me to have Harley making books like she always wanted to that are aimed for her daughter’s wild imagination and Billy helping in recommending them. Also was going to have Lucy jokingly call Bruce-as-Billy “Batsy” as a riff on Billy’s last name and Bruce in his stupidly big brain for everything criminal put some pieces together about how she said that name and the kind of smile+laugh she’s got but have no chance to say anything before the doors shut. Just to fuck with him more

Was going to have Kit and Jason have a chat when Jason first woke up, with Kit realizing who the guy he scared unconscious was and adding my long desired “Oh this ghost is a kid I accidentally avenged by murdering a guy.” Moment. Will never forget that Jason killed Captain Nazi, top tier stuff to mess with

I had another small villain confrontation idea in Mr. Banjo Jr leading a crime spree parade, even had lyrics for him to sing about sticking it to the man I even named (bc I am insane at all times) “Rebel souls unfold” to work in more of a Music Miester-y way in leading the brainwashed Fawcettizens in attacking Bruce-as-Billy, all with lyrics of Banjo Jr hyping himself up and making it sound like a revolt against heroes. Honestly a lot of fun thinking up but it never got to the writing stage for a scene and I don’t know where I’d put it now that things are getting serious. I’ll probably post it when I have a full list of scraped concepts when this monster of a fic is finally over, haha

(Wow, I just switched to numbers instead of dots here, Holy moley)

There are a lot of scrapped ideas I feel confident in including later and other ones I want to foam at the mouth about with everyone but are all spoilers so aaaAAHHH but I continue on! Honestly, blame my brain for having so many ideas and only ever writing in flow of thought for this mess of brain matter in my cranium. Ugh

[kell-eramis]

post onslaught/ajax analysis please

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I wanted to do it justice so I reread the tragedy, but basically Ajax is a figure in Greek Mythology who is present in the Trojan War and Iliad, and his titular tragedy, Ajax, originally written by Sophocles. (He’s also in Odysseus’ katabasis in the Odyssey) He’s considered the second strongest (next to Achilles), and is an extremely competent soldier.

Ajax’s tragedy takes place after a contest of who should take Achilles’ armor after his death—Menelaus and Agamemnon give it to Odysseus, the only other candidate. Ajax is incredibly angry about this, and wishes to slaughter Menelaus, Agamemnon, and Odysseus in particular. Athena clouds his vision, and he instead kills animals taken from Troy to be divided up amongst the men. Upon finding out what he has done, the other Greeks see it as a transgressive crime, and upon returning to lucidity Ajax becomes despondent, not seeing a way to live in a peaceful world after this, and kills himself.

Ultimately, Ajax’s story, and other ancient works like The Iliad, The Odyssey, and the Oresteia, represent a shift in the Athenian conscious of constant war and battle, where a person’s strength is based on their glory, to one of sophistry and wisdom, of a democracy. Figures like Ajax and Achilles die because their characters are prominent heroes, claiming great glory for themselves and their men, but that is no longer what Athens is. They cannot survive in a “peaceful” world. Odysseus, on the other hand, who represents a more “rational” and moderate perspective, makes a journey to go from the Odysseus that fights in Troy, to the Odysseus that fights for his family upon his return to Ithaca.

Now, moving on to Onslaught: Onslaught in Phase 2 (especially Till All Are One), is someone who can’t move on from the war. Whose purpose for millions of years was to fight, and he did this well! What then, is there, as she transitions from someone incredibly respected in wartime, to someone who he and his comrades are barely scraping by? Megatron has left her and her cause, Galvatron was… Galvatron, and Starscream both betrayed them and killed Swindle! Unable to cope in a peaceful world, he strives for purpose—for another war, and sets her eyes on Starscream. Where he was an excellent fighter, she is now cast to the side by the old faction leaders and the new Cybertronian leaders.

In the beginning of Till All Are One, we see Onslaught decide to refuse to ingratiate himself into the new peaceful society, choosing instead to hunt down Swindle, not for justice, but to use her to get at Starscream. To bring her Cybertron crumbling down, and find purpose in a new fight. Those who Starscream refers to as "monsters"--those who find purpose in conflict and feel lost without it, Brawl and Vortex, go along with this, and Blast Off, whose purpose isn't to fight, who has been trying to help the others persist in this society without Swindle, is the only one reluctant to do so. He knows Onslaught 1. needs a purpose 2. gets fixated on a conflict/an enemy and 3. is lost during peace time.

This focus, exacerbated by anti Starscream protests and Rattrap's leaks, culminates in Onslaught and the other Combaticons combining into Bruticus, with one goal: to burn everything. This is seen as a transgressive act of violence, to figures such as Blast Off's peers from Ironhide's new security program, and to colonists, who've for the most part only known peace. This is a similar act to Ajax's slaughter of the animal trophies from Troy. Both Iacon and the animals are the results of the fighting both Ajax and Onslaught did, and excelled in, but as a transition to peace occurs in both settings, Ajax and Onslaught, unable to cope with being left behind by it, destroy those results, or try to. Everyone is horrified by it, further pushing these characters away, so they can't adjust to peacetime.

Afterwards, Starscream, who also can't adjust to peace time and is looking for any form of power to hold onto in case war happens once again (whether it be with one of the colonies, or Optimus, or Decepticons, or Sentinel Prime, or Unicron), (remind me to talk about this also at some point) convinces Blast Off to help deceive the other Combaticons to be loyal to her. Blast Off does this to help Onslaught not destroy himself in pursuit of conflict and vengeance, but Starscream is once more using Onslaught as a soldier. And ultimately, at the end of Till All Are One, once Starscream confesses to his crimes, Onslaught and the other Combaticons are also sent to jail, and aren't mentioned again, left behind because they no longer served as soldiers.

I personally like to think that 1. they survive through Unicron 2. they are able to live better lives post Unicron, and 3. Blast Off and the other Combaticons (including Onslaught) do make up (I still need to read Escape Velocity...). I don't think any of this is easy, but to me phase 2 is about hope, about being able to embrace the peace they were all fighting for, and find their place in and with each other, especially as Onslaught and the others have their gestalt bond. This doesn't take away from the fact that Onslaught, to me, is very Ajax-coded, but rather that he, through people like Blast Off and the other Combaticons, are able to be given the chances and the love that someone like Ajax didn't have, having dishonored himself in a world that he saw as still prioritizing honor and glory above everything.

[rathayibacter]

might as well do a little TDOV promo, esp since ive got some new folks following me. hi, im rath! im a queer nonbinary game designer, and ive written a bunch of ttrpgs!

some quick blurbs under the readmore

BIG PROJECTS: - Disparateum, a game of exploring a city at the crossroads of many worlds. dance through dreams, swordfight your reflection, explore a fractal museum, scale the surface of your own soul, and more! - KATABASIS, fight your way out of a concrete afterlife as you try and return to life. your armor, weapons, and tools are crafted from your emotional baggage, and the monsters and environments youll face are all splintered and confused reflections of the world you're struggling to return to. - [BXLLET>, a post-apocalyptic cowboy game where bullets are your XP, and every shot fired kills your target. has a ton of supplements and reimaginings.

SMALL PROJECTS: - Charcuterie, three zine collections. the first two are compilations of small games ive written and released in various forms, the third is short stories and poetry. messy, weird, barely edited, stuffed with doodles, a lot of fun. - Stationkeeping, a small Animal Crossing-inspired game about renovating a dinky space station, slowly expanding it out and occasionally meeting aliens or other players on their own journeys. played on index cards you carry with you and fill out as you do various things in your life. - Maybe One Day, It'll Be Enough - a game about war gods sentenced to infinite community service for their crimes. played by throwing a ball against a brick wall. for hours. originally released as a tumblr post here. - NOT WEAVERDICE, half a core mechanic for a superhero game, half a ramble about superhero ttrpgs and how to have fun with them. im currently working on a game that expands out this idea, called Unskilled Labor. - MORTAL POP!BAT, a 616-page Funko Pop wargame. yeah, im including it in the small projects category. fuck you. - Wintergreen, an OSR game that fits inside a mint tin. one of my earliest released games, still has some pretty cute ideas.

thanks for checking this all out, it means the world! the last few months have been pretty tight, and every little bit of support really does make a difference. happy trans day of visibility everyone, love yall!

[shamelesslymkp]

REC: laiqualaurelote - The Katabasis Job

URL: https://ift.tt/98vuXfQ by @laiqualaurelote “Let me get this straight,” says Crystal. “In order to avoid being sent to Hell, Edwin is going to break into Hell, steal the most important thing in the universe — whatever the fuck that is — and escape. Again.” “Pretty much," says Charles. “That,” says Crystal, “is a stupid fucking plan.”  - Instead of becoming detectives, Charles and Edwin embark on an afterlife of crime. When the long arm of the Lost & Found Department catches up with them, they are made an offer they can't refuse: earn their freedom by stealing from Hell itself. Heist!AU for Painland Week Day 6: Free Day (Words: 23,571) !!!fandom, !!fic, |site:ao3, +fandom:dead.boy.detectives.(tv), ::rating:mature, ~author:laiqualaurelote, character:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne, character:charles.rowland.(dcu), character:crystal.palace.(dcu), character:niko.sasaki, character:monty.(dead.boy.detectives), character:night.nurse.(dcu), character:cat.king.(dead.boy.detectives), character:jenny.green.(dead.boy.detectives), character:david.the.demon.(dead.boy.detectives), character:kingham.and.litty.|.the.dandelion.sprites, character:esther.finch, character:demon.spider.made.out.of.baby.doll.heads.(dead.boy.detectives), character:modern.johanna.constantine.(the.sandman.tv), character:lucifer.morningstar, character:mazikeen, character:original.demon.character(s), character:death.of.the.endless, relationship:edwin.paine.|.edwin.payne/charles.rowland, ::category:m/m, \no.archive.warnings.apply, \graphic.depictions.of.violence, ~ao3:alternate.universe.-.thieves, ~ao3:heist, ~ao3:hell, ~ao3:alternate.universe.-.canon.divergence, ~ao3:body.horror, ~ao3:morally.ambiguous.character, ~ao3:nec

[teamtakagi]

Yet Another Ask Game: Jerran

Original Ask post here.

Thank you, @akuma-misery, @tiravi, @larknnightingale, @linposter, @antivan-sprig, and @so--whoonos for the asks!

Command: Would/has Rook ever purposely manipulated someone? How do they feel about that?

Canon Jerran intentionally pokes and prods people to catch them off-guard. It’s a survival instinct to help him determine if the other person is possibly a threat.

RRAU Jerran is more honest and often has his heart on his sleeve, partly because he’s made friends and has a loving partner. (I'm also terrible at writing manipulative characters in real-time during rp).

While he still somewhat uses the dumb persona, he's started to open up more to others that he trusts, and honestly, he’s pretty unaware half of the time. 

_______

Tricks: Have Rook’s flaws ever been exploited?

*Laughs in RRAU Discord*

Jerran’s biggest flaws are impulsivity and his mouth getting ahead of his brain, especially if he gets riled up. This gets him in trouble with peers and authority figures. Oftentimes, he’ll say or do things that he regrets later.

_______

Wrath: Has Rook ever struggled with the concept of forgiveness when enacting justice? 

Jerran struggles with forgiving someone who is responsible for a lot of suffering and death of others. 

For him, justice is fairly black and white; if there's forgiveness, there still should be some consequences. He views his life as a Grey Warden as a penance for his own crimes. Having someone sacrifice themselves for him or forgive him without punishment is a foreign concept. 

(Friends and loved ones are an exception because he has a much higher tolerance for them. Is this hypocritical? Maybe).

Canonically, he didn't--and still doesn't– understand even a hardened Lucanis’ reluctance to kill Illario when the man was responsible for Lucanis being sent to the Ossuary and causing so much suffering. 

______

Palatine light: Does Rook believe in fate? If yes, does Rook believe in harbingers of fate?

Jerran doesn’t believe in a predetermined fate by some other being. Your own decisions,  possibly shitty circumstances outside of your control, and the assholes in charge decide your fate.

If he believed that “everything happens for a reason,” then he’d have to accept his mother’s disappearance and his father’s abandonment as part of some grand scheme, and that is something he refuses to do.

However, he’s grateful for the good experiences and people that he’s encountered, and he would do it again if it meant meeting them again.

______

Mirror: Describe a moment of self realization for Rook.

In Canon, his moment of realization is in the Fade prison. Being forced to confront his own demons helps him realize that maybe he doesn’t need to continue self-punishment – that he needs to choose to live for himself instead of being chained to the past. 

In RRAU, he’s constantly having moments of realization. 😅 Probably one of the biggest moments is having to adjust from being an independent loner to being responsible and communicating with his girlfriend, Eleanor. 

In the “Lonely Girl” series by @-mumbling-nerd and myself, he experiences a huge moment when he realizes that his father influenced him more than he thought. (Prequel, Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 here if you haven't read it)

The relationship is forcing him to grow up quite a bit, although he’ll still do the pranks and be a headache for authority figures.

____

Katabasis: Does Rook believe in an afterlife? Do they think they’ve earned their place in a positive or negative one? (A.K.A does Rook think they’re going to hell?)

Jerran doesn’t know what to believe, especially after going to the Crossroads in the Fade and the Necropolis. He’d like to believe that there’s a heavenly reward where people can rest for eternity.

He can feel that a part of him died and was replaced during the Joining; he isn’t knowledgeable enough to know if it’s simply physical or spiritual. But he does feel cut off and believes that whatever changed within him is now corrupted, making him unlikely to end up in a peaceful afterlife.

[wingedshoes]

hey y'all as someone who just finished katabasis - you absolutely should try to read from the book list ARC readers are circulating for they're wonderful; however kuang has said you don't necessarily have to do this to enjoy the book. THAT BEING SAID please read Crime and Punishment!! There is a direct allusion to the plot and while someone who has read it told me there can be no spoilers for the russian novel.. why take chances.. don't be like me :)

[puffpastrycrimewatch]

Pushing this up because it'll be important to my next post ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

Flower Of Death

(my OC Amelia is there for scale)

This is [Oc] Katabasis the god of the afterlife, they manage all the souls that have "died" and decide if they're good enough to recycle (reincarnation) or go to the other four options

Just like Neith Katabasis has been around for all of time, katabasis wears a demon that came from a different plane (hell basically) as a victory and a subtle threat of power

Katabasis is fascinated by mortals they used to interfere in their lives but they were forced to stop for it was causing more harm than good, that's why they are chained to prevent themselves from interfering.....

.....buuuut that doesn't mean someone under Katabasis can't interfere airgo (is that right?) Amelia Vilheart chosen by Katabasis to act as their enforcer, Amelia is a recycled soul but a very very old soul which caused some defects (such as loss of some emotions and a bit of crazy a bit of immortality and constant reincarnation)

Katabasis really likes Amelia they think she's silly, oh yeah katabasis isn't a girl or guy, I guess they're gender neutral

Here's a simple doodle of their full body

Wow didn't think I had it in me to finally design my OC Katabasis mostly because they're a god I didn't want them to be simple I'm still workshoping the design, I'm not totally loving it, specifically the face it's too pretty, y'know what I mean?

[dragonblond]

katabasis

e | 15.7k | c.3

The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov

Aleksander Morozov’s plan is simple: Kidnap Alina Starkova and kill her.

But his quest for vengeance takes a turn as inconvenient feelings begin to develop between the boss of Ravka’s most powerful crime family and his enemy’s daughter. And when long-hidden secrets come to light, will Aleksander be able to maintain his control of the underworld, or will Alina be his undoing?

[eggcatsreads]

To be clear, I'm in no way saying you have to have read an author's entire backlog to request books (and I'm fully aware I'm not a big book influencer so I'm not including me here) but the fact that I've only seen like ONE book influencer who was given an ARC copy of Katabasis actually review and post about it is INFURIATING.

Like. Did their publisher just give copies to every popular book blogger (many of them white....) who haven't ever read ANYTHING by RF Kuang?!?! Because I've seen people post like, ONCE upon receiving the book but nothing else.

I'm sorry, but based on how much I'm engaging with ANY content about it, my timeline should be FLOODED with content but it's not.

A crime.

[miralines]

Kat's Mechs Fic (General Mechs Edition)

For my ouatis fic specifically, see this post.

Series: Stories Grim as Pistol Lead (mostly)

A series of standalones all taking place in the same timeline. Mostly unrelated to, but compliant with, each other.

oh, peacemaker, draw your gun now: Nastya reflects on mercy and her evolving relationship with it. Character study/angst, T, 5.3k words.

a tale he told: Jonny has always loved stories. Character study, M, 1.2k words.

a nice night out: Marius and Ashes go for a nice night out, and Ashes wins a bet. Fluff/crack, T, 473 words.

wires through my veins and my tendons: The Briar Rose reminds Aurora of her past. Character study, M, 1.6k words.

tremble for yourself (you know that you have seen this all before): Jonny discovers Dr. Carmilla has made another mechanism. Angst, M, 5.6k words.

a new texas ghost story: One of the stories people tell about Jonny after he leaves New Texas. T, 684 words, 1/1 chapters. Written for Mechtober 2023.

now the aftermath will ring with songs you’ve sung: Dr. Carmilla is gone. Here’s how all the mechs (and her) respond. T, 3.8k words, 2/2 chapters. Written for Mechtober 2023.

as metal pierces flesh: Aurora finds out why she was kidnapped by Cyberia. Angst, T, 724 words, 1/1 chapters. Written for Mechtober 2023.

Mechtober 2023 (not otherwise categorized):

my feet knew the path (I never gave a single thought to where is might lead): how my mechsona met Dr. Carmilla. G, 1.6k words, 1/1 chapters.

we didn’t start the fire: Ivy mourns a damaged manuscript. Ashes tries to help. T, 842 words, 1/1 chapters.

katabasis: a second-person view of what it’s like to be in the Acheron. M, 1.3k words, 1/1 chapters.

Uncategorized:

dnd mechs what crimes will they commit: Jonny tries to wrangle the crew into playing dnd. It doesn��t go well. Fluff/crack, T, 517 words.

this song reminded me of you: a series of oneshots based on my mechs but not playlist. Angst/character study, M, 5.2k words, 8/14 chapters.

mostly squishy: an anthology of 100-word ficlets. G, 472 words, 3/3 chapters.

the thing about purpose: an anthology of 100-word ficlets, but these ones are set in HNOC. G, 757 words, 4/4 chapters.

[babyseraphim]

here's some fics I've read recently that deserve more love!

This Angry Heart by FlynnReminisce

It takes a long time until Charles opens up and learns to accept himself and the anger that he can't seem to shake off. Follow him along the way.

tell the saint of lost souls where to find me by haledamage by @haledamage

When Edwin has a nightmare, he doesn't wake up screaming. Charles didn't understand it, not completely, not until Port Townsend. He didn't know what chased Edwin through his dreams. Some days, he wishes he still didn't know. Not as often as he wishes Edwin didn't. Or: one time Edwin has a nightmare, and one time he doesn't.

that trick is just to hold on (and so we do) by Chrome by @catalists

When Lucifer leaves the gates of hell unlocked and its creatures begin to walk the earth, the world gets more complicated and deadly for everyone--especially those who already linger close to the border between life and afterlife. For the Dead Boy Detectives, it means encountering a danger that, for the first time, they can't find their way out of together. or: Four perspectives on Charles Rowland, after Edwin Payne.

young blood (never get chained) by ghostinthelibrary by @ghostinthelibrarywrites

When Charles, a half-demon student at St. Hilarion’s University, steps in to stop one of his classmates from getting sacrificed to a demon, he accidentally binds Edwin’s soul to his own to save him.

The Katabasis Job by laiqualaurelote by @laiqualaurelote

Instead of becoming detectives, Charles and Edwin embark on an afterlife of crime. When the long arm of the Lost & Found Department catches up with them, they are made an offer they can't refuse: earn their freedom by stealing from Hell itself.

The Curious Tongue by PantryJesus by @many-gay-magpies

After the conclusion of a case involving a particularly insidious variety of ghost fungus, the possibility of Charles having been infected sends Edwin into an investigative frenzy—and leads to a series of rather exhilarating (if inappropriately-timed) revelations for the two detectives.

While contributor applications are going one, the DBDA Zine team wanted to challenge all of you to head on over to your favourite Dead Boy Detectives fanfic(s) on any platform and leave a comment! It can be as simple as a heart emoji or a keyboard smash or you can leave a detailed dissertation for the author! Whatever you choose, we want to foster a sense of appreciation for fanfic writers and show them just how much we care! So head on over to your favourite fic and let them know how much you love their work!

If you want to spread the love of fanfics, be sure to reblog this post with fic recommendations for others to go check out!

And if you're someone who appreciates Dead Boy Detectives, be sure to check out our CONTRIBUTOR APPLICATIONS and apply today! We're more than excited to have you on board!

[garland-on-thy-brow]

could we hear more about your dainty l5r boy?

Oh alright! I do not remember what I mentioned before and what I did not, so here goes. The system is L5R 4th edition.

Daidoji Senmei, courtier of the Crane. Low pain threshold, soft heart, haunted by the ancestor of Daidoji family (that badass with a spear who performed a katabasis for his sister's soul). I hope the ancestor is enjoying whatever this is.

Dabbles in every art, but his artistic ambitions are with painting (and the combination of painting and poetry). The work he is proud of is The Star's Travel, a tactile painting for his blind friend (shugenja of the Dragon).

Currently is helping the aforementioned friend marry into the Emperor's family for love. What can go wrong?

Being an Emerald Magistrate in turbulent times, developed an intuition-based method of investigating conspiracies by painting ripples on the water (it is about reconstructing the general shape by fragmentary information).

Served his office first in Kyuden Tonbo (that beautiful rainbow tower of the Dragonfly clan, next to Keen Eyes' Strike Village), then in the lands of Asako family. The proximity to Kitsuki crime theatre village did not necessarily make him a better investigator, but it did make him worse in a way that I cannot put into words.

Has a spy network, of course.

Two important things about his interpersonal relationships are (1) queer attachment to four people (one of them being the shugenja mentioned above); (2) conviction that nothing good can come from Bayushi Kachiko, in whose figure he found The Devil (as in, the set of meanings symbolized by this tarot card). Not going to unpack all this, but it is emotionally intense.

"He appears to be constantly on the verge of a breakdown, I like it" - my co-player.

In his teenage years, he met a Hida girl who could snap him in half. They drank and joked together, she saved his life, they spent the evening transfixed by the fireworks' reflections in the river and, in passing, exchanged opinions whether more is owed to the Empire or the Emperor. Eight years later, he dreams of meeting her again to confess that he was wrong, and she was right all along. She spent those eight years probably on the Wall, and he at sophisticated courts. She is another one of the aforementioned four people.

The only melee weapon he willingly uses is a pair of fans. The only martial skill he is good at is defence. His typical battle behaviour is deflecting blows from his friends (protect maneuver), which, surprisingly, proved to be quite useful.

Decent, and occasionally clever, with a bow.

Averse to participating in anything that so much as resembles professional sport.

If left to his own devices, will be just doing arts, picking gay little gifts for his friends, and trying to get into state secrets.