#their story isn’t a tragedy but god it feels like it in the moment

[tally-kat]

A contrapuntal poem inspired by @two-bees-poetry for Ava and Beatrice :)

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

LUST — part iv of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 8.9k summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;( author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.

which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.

it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.

"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?" 

you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response.  it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”

“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.

a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.

“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”

“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same. 

with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.

you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:

“it’s not her.”

he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.

for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you. 

“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — " 

annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —

well, percy can’t help but admire you even more. 

"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.” 

that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.

“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.” 

“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.” 

“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.” 

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”

“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”

you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.

“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”

again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too. 

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”

percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.

deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.

he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.

—

ii.

if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.

“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.

“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side. 

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges. 

“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”

“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”

luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even. 

“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”

“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”

in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.

“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”

“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”

“oh my fucking gods — ”

grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults. 

when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him. 

and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles. 

lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.

that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.

then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst. 

like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods. 

“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”

luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.

“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”

you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.

and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.

“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”

grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory. 

he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.

—

iii. 

annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely. 

all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.

unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other. 

annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.

she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.

but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.

as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name. 

luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.

all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.

you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve. 

annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.

luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first. 

“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”

annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like. 

as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand. 

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?" 

"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."

"would you go to school?"

you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.” 

“what about luke?”

your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."

"luke needs you."

you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask: 

“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”

and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry. 

“how did you —”

“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun. 

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares —  that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”

“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”

you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.

“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping." 

"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks. 

you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more. 

"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."

annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it. 

before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.

luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.

when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again. 

"that sucks."

“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important." 

"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"

"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers.  "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”

“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”

the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs. 

“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”

you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight. 

"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.

—

iv.

you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.

luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin. 

“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot. 

“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”

“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.

“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke. 

luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you. 

“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point. 

and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.

none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves. 

you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”

luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.” 

“they went alone?”

“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”

“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.” 

luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies. 

 “don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.

it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed. 

“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”

you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you. 

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter. 

“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”

“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”

“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?” 

it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky. 

“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath  before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.

of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.

“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”

the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.

so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is. 

for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks. 

dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander. 

the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches. 

but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.

working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created. 

he did it for you, even if you won't understand.

he'd do anything for you.

so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch. 

—

v. 

in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.

gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned. 

you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm. 

“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers. 

“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”

“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”

a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for. 

“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke. 

for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him. 

and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense. 

you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through. 

“you never told me about your dad.”

ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.

you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it. 

“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.” 

you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.

“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.

“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”

“that’s….that’s different.” 

“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.

“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit. 

another pause, this time from the other side of the bed. 

“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”

you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.

“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”

“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”

in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling. 

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

deep down, you know you’re not much better.

luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.

it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t. 

truthfully, it still scares you.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”

you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.

"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."

he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.

"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”

another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything. 

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up." 

"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."

you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.

"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."

luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more. 

"do you really mean that?"

his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away. 

“of course.” 

you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body. 

neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.

you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later. 

for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more. 

it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time. 

eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.  instinctively, you start rutting against him. 

“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong. 

luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin. 

“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”

“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”

you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”

“good girl.”

your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go. 

you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.

it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians. 

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.

you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers." 

luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there. 

"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says: 

“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.

luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. 

as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again. 

you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.

“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you." 

in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”

sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time. 

this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep. 

you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you. 

"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?" 

all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words. 

you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.

"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop." 

you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.

you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.

"i'm yours," you promise.

luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.

satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours. 

it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.

the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high. 

luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.

“did you just —” 

the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.

"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."

luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.” 

he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating. 

“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "

"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself. 

maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do. 

you want more. you need more.

"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"

"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought. 

you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.

"shit. i don't have another one.”

"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.  

you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you. 

"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"

“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."

luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:

“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?

before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face. 

"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."

you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer. 

"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings. 

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”

luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."

you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours. 

made for each other.

you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck. 

“don’t,” you command. 

“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.

“i just want to feel you this once.”

he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet. 

luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before. 

even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.  

this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.

wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —

 “are you okay?” 

his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.

you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach. 

"i didn't hurt you, did i?"

“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”

luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.

 “you’ve never said that before.”

“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.

luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.” 

your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.

“oh, shit.…” 

you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully. 

of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.

because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job. 

“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”

luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”

“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”

“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"

"they like the smell of begging." 

luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek. 

"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t —”

“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”

you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words. 

the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would. 

the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast. 

luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face. 

evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.

outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.

luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place." 

you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.

"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes." 

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.

you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips. 

"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."

luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:

"i love you."

your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed. 

it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

[zombie-bait]

god Delainey just absolutely rules as Claudia huh?? This isn’t a comparison of performances or anything, I just love the energy she brings to the character and I LOVE the narrative focus they put on her. They’ve created such a fascinating version of Claudia that is unique to the show and so easy to connect with. You feel like you’re watching a tragedy unfold, each moment of joy and despair reminding you of what is yet to come. There’s a lot to analyze about book Claudia but you always got the sense her death was inevitable. There was no winning for her, even in a best case scenario. She would never be free from the curse that Louis and Lestat brought upon her. Life was never an option truly given to her, it was simply taken away time and time again. That was her tragedy.

but tv show Claudia? She’s a monster, a soldier, an infant, an adult, a woman, a beast, a killer, a dreamer, the loneliest girl on planet Earth. There’s a world where she can be happy, one where she can thrive amongst others like herself and forget the hell she’s dragged herself through. But she will never see it. She is doomed by the narrative and the men who see fit to control her.

I know recasting Claudia wasn’t the plan but it works perfectly in a story about unreliable narration. How much of season 1 Claudia was a lie, either direct or one of omission? How much of that was a Claudia that she herself could recognize? How much has Louis truly forgotten?

[oddyseye]

EPIC is an absolute banger. The music? Gorgeous. The emotion? Raw. Jorge’s talent? Undeniable. The way Calypso is written? Tone-deaf, frustrating, and honestly pretty gross.

In Homer’s Odyssey, Calypso is not some sad, lonely girl with a “childlike mind” who just loves too much. She’s a vindictive, manipulative immortal who traps a traumatized war veteran on her island for seven years and forces herself on him. That’s not a tragic romance — that’s abuse. She’s not some misunderstood girlboss crying about unrequited love; she’s a literal predator. The Gods had to order her to let Odysseus go. And even then? She didn’t make it easy. She handed him an axe and made him build a raft himself. As if this 40-something-year-old man who’s spent a decade at war and has lost everything needed one more chore. She wasn’t helping him. She was making him earn the privilege of escaping her.

There is no ambiguity to her actions and Homer himself never once tries to justify her.

But in EPIC, we’re suddenly supposed to feel sorry for her. “Love in Paradise” paints her obsession as some dreamy, lovesick devotion. And it is creepy.

The problem is, this version of Calypso erases the reality of what she did. Jorge turns her from a vindictive, manipulative abuser into a sad, lonely girl we’re supposed to sympathize with. That’s not fair to Odysseus, and it’s not fair to male survivors of abuse. Men’s trauma is rarely acknowledged as it is, and here was an opportunity to tell that story honestly — and it got romanticized instead.

Calypso apologizes for “coming on too strong,” as if her actions were an innocent misunderstanding. No. She didn’t just “push too hard” — she abused a broken man for her own selfish loneliness. The song treats her confession as tragic, culminating in her frustration: “Why in the world won’t you love me too?” But that frustration isn’t justified. It’s manipulative, as if Odysseus owes her love because she’s sad and lonely. It’s a narrative that too often gets applied to real-life victims of abuse: “Can’t you see how much I care about you? Can’t you just love me back?” Framing her desperation as sympathetic only romanticizes her cruelty. The issue? These words are carefully chosen to minimize her abuse. She reduces seven years of captivity to “coming on too strong,” as if her actions were an awkward overstep rather than a violent stripping of autonomy. The word “ambushed” is especially insidious — she uses it casually, almost like a joke, to hand-wave away the depth of her cruelty. The framing makes it sound as if Odysseus simply rejected her too harshly, as though her love was just “too much for him”.

Her final plea in the song: “Why in the world won’t you love me too?” …is the most manipulative moment of all.

The focus shifts entirely onto her suffering, centering her loneliness as the true tragedy instead of Odysseus’ years of despair. Her pain becomes the emotional core of the scene, while Odysseus — whose trauma, grief, and loss should be front and center — fades into the background. Calypso’s selfish lament distracts from the reality: she was never a victim. She was a predator who exploited a broken man to soothe her isolation.

It’s even more frustrating when you think about how Calypso is treated versus other female characters in the musical. Penelope gets a whole invented storyline about threats of sexual violence from the suitors — something that wasn’t in Homer’s original text — while Calypso’s literal abuse of Odysseus gets downplayed into sad girl hours. Make that make sense.

Calypso didn’t need redemption, and she didn’t need a ballad. She needed to be called what she is: a captor who preyed on a broken man.

And before ANY of you BRAINDEAD defenders come at me with the “B-but Calypso didn’t force herself onto Odysseus! This is a retelling that removed that part!”—no. You’re wrong. The lyrics in "Love in Paradise" and "Not Sorry for Loving You" make it abundantly clear that Calypso’s actions are still coercive and controlling, even if the story doesn’t explicitly spell it out.

“Soon, into bed we’ll climb and spend our time”. What exactly do you think she means by that? Odysseus outright says no — “Hell no, I could kill you where you stand! I’m no pet, I’m a married man!” — and her response isn’t to respect his boundaries but to smirk at his helplessness. She laughs off his threat of violence because “last I checked, goddesses can’t die”. Calypso knows Odysseus can’t fight her, can’t escape her.

She doesn’t care about what Odysseus is going through. She only cares about keeping him there.

Odysseus says no — explicitly, violently — but it doesn’t matter. She’s already decided how this story goes.

“So if I pushed you, Or if I came on too strong, Or if I ambushed you, For that, I’ll say I was wrong.”

Let’s focus on “ambushed you.” She’s admitting it. She’s admitting she forced something onto Odysseus he didn’t consent to — she just downplays it. Instead of accountability, she turns herself into the victim with: “I’m not sorry for loving you.”

This isn’t remorse. It’s manipulative. She’s telling Odysseus that her feelings justify her actions, as if the way she loves him matters more than the pain she’s caused. And then she twists the knife further:

“Why in the world won’t you love me too?”

This is emotional guilt-tripping. Calypso has kept Odysseus trapped for seven years, ignoring his grief, his trauma, his screaming memories of war and loss. Yet when he rejects her, she makes him the cruel one for not returning her love.

I actually really liked Calypso in The Odyssey because it didn’t sugarcoat her actions. The Odyssey shows that women can be just as awful as men. Coercion, abuse, manipulation, it’s all there. And it’s important to acknowledge that men can be victims of these things too. That’s real, it’s gritty, and it doesn’t shy away from difficult truths. What I loved about it is that it made me think. It wasn’t all about idealizing characters, it was about understanding that people, both men and women, can be flawed and capable of harm.

But then Epic came along and ruined her. They took the edge off her character, made her into this sad, lovesick nymph who just wants to be loved by Odysseus, and completely erased the fact that she’s an abuser. And that’s what frustrates me. Epic fans seem to ignore that critical part of the story. It’s frustrating as hell to see so many people romanticize this version of Calypso without any awareness of the actual harm she caused. Sure, if you haven’t read The Odyssey, maybe you won’t get it, and I get that. But the rest of you? You’ve had the chance to see the truth and still choose to ignore it because it’s more comfortable. You’re not interested in critical thinking or nuance, so congrats for missing the whole point of the original myth.

If you’re going to turn Calypso into something she wasn’t, at least admit that you’re not trying to tell an honest story anymore. Just be honest about the fact that you don’t care about male victims, or your own intelligence for that matter.

[beartitled]

Did you play the pristine cut of STP? What do you think of Dragon, Cage and HappilyEverAfter if so?

Spoilers for STP pristine cut under read more (+ a lot of text warning)

Hehe I see STP ppl are excited and want more silly comics

Well there’s a lot of things to say tbh 👀

Overall really enjoyed new content so far

It kinda feels like a fanservice for the people who already played the game

Which is not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong ☝️

I just view the original game as a perfect instalment, which doesn’t really need a continuation

New scenarios is just a pleasant bonus

(I’m one shot/short story fan okay 👉👈)

I already saw Dragon and Happily After routes

Yet to see all the variations the Cage route has to offer (heard ppl said it’s the most diverse one)

The Princess and The Dragon

HEY REMEMBER HOW I SAID I DON’T LIKE THE IDEA OF CHANGING THE GENDERS OF THE CHARACTERS BC THAT WAY THE DYNAMIC WOULD BE UNSETTLING?

YEA SO THIS ROUTE EXPLORED THAT DYNAMIC GUYS

I enjoyed this route, bc again

It’s scary, uncomfortable, makes you feel unsafe and uneasy 👁️👁️

Awesome depiction of how scary this type of situation would be

And of course bonus points, we got to see the bird bois 🎉

(Opportunist go brush yo teeth, u spooky lookin ass)

Happily ever after

Ok

Noooow we’re talking

I love that route, it’s my favourite so far

The pain, the suffering, the absolutely devastated British crowman

Brilliant, chills

This one actually feels like a missing part of the og game to me

I wanted to go into details about my opinions on that route in the future post

But now I want to talk 😈

👏Smitten👏my boy👏how are you in your edgy villain era already omg

Can we just admit for a second how badass Smitten is for escaping protagonist’s body?

Like-💥

This was the first route I saw and was like “Ooooh that’s probably the new gimmick, every voice is doing to escape and shenanigans happen” AND NO Smitten is just that guy™️ absolute chad

Minus points for “we will give her something she doesn’t know she wants yet”

*hits Smitten with newspaper*

Bad voice 💥🗞️bad 💥🗞️ we listen to what 💥🗞️our queen 💥🗞️wants 🗞️💥🗞️💥💥

But it works okay

The atmosphere is immaculate, I was legit concerned for a moment

Ok now give me a moment to be a nerd ☝️🤓

I love how this route gives Smitten flaws

I think finally we saw that every voice has them, because voices are an isolated part of a person, a pure feeling if you will

And Smitten represents that naïve love idealisation/love obsession

The guy loves the princess, she is pure perfection to him

This feeling is blinding and honestly pretty toxic irl

During the whole og game Smitten was never conflicting?

He pretty much the comedic relief of the whole game (and least it felt like that to me)

I think he was kinda a missed potential

Yes, love is sweet

Crushes are can be funny, silly and overall just positive

But it can be so destructive, so painful and so so exhausting when it gets to the point of obsession

And that route gives you a direct illustration of it

Which is amazing

I honestly think we don’t have enough media just showcasing this feeling of obsessive love and how dangerous it is

(yandere trope doesn’t count 👿 this trope just kinda glorified the issue)

And the tragedy is SMITTEN IS TOO DELUSIONAL TO EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT HE’S DOING WRONG

My poor poor birb boy

He’s too focused on doing everything perfectly, to make princess satisfied, to make us satisfied, why isn’t it working? He does everything he can, why doesn’t it work? How doesn’t it work?

HE’S TOO LOVESTRUCK TO TAKE A STEP BACK AND REFLECT

AAAAAAAAA

God I’m insane about Happily ever after

As a person who struggles with this exact feeling of idolising and obsessing over ppl, I just really feel that route

Goth Smitten incoming *coughs*

Thanks for your question ❤️ hope you enjoyed reading my mess of thoughts💥

Share your thoughts in comments/reblogs if you want ppl

[larrylimericks]

23Mar23

We’re feeling some internal friction At silver screen Louis’ depiction; All the world is a stage But it’s hard to engage When plot lines combine fact and fiction.

I get really rambly below the fold. Proceed with caution if you’re over the discourse already.

I debated seeing All of Those Voices in theaters. I didn’t see either of Harry’s films in theaters — Harries are too much of a wildcard, and I refused to sit through hours of squeals and gasps and reactions, not to the movie but to “omg! Harry’s going down on someone! omg, Harry’s bum!” So I was already tentative about seeing Louis’ film in a shared space, outside the protective silos of tumblr. But I bought a ticket, because I want to support him and because I was genuinely curious what story would be told. Then we got the trailer and I hesitated again, not wanting to watch a propaganda film. But, I’ve lived through all the other Bullshit moments, so I figured I could live through Bullshit on the big screen.

My theater crowd was great — pretty neutral aside from an amusing row of politely excitable Larries I was in secret solidarity with. And I pretty much loved the film. Well, 92% of it. I look forward to watching it again when it streams. I mean, it was an hour and a half of content featuring this fascinating creature we’re all obsessed with. I didn’t want to blink. I hung on his every word (when I could understand them). How cool to get, essentially, a long-form interview, where he’s not promoting an album and we’re not getting the same sound bytes. Louis is wonderfully open and vulnerable, and the story of his life (heh) is inherently compelling. The cinematography is beautiful. The behind-the-scenes are delightful and delicious. I can’t wait for the AOTV gif sets once we have it in high-def.

But it has some plot holes as wide and deep as the ones in Don’t Worry Darling.

First, there’s the confusing (to the uninformed) absence of a love interest. Louis is asexual, as far as the film goes. There’s not even a ghost of Eleanor, with whom he’s cumulatively spent a decade and who is supposed to have inspired so many great love songs and with whom he is supposed to have survived a pandemic. Props to E for living her best life now: going to see Scream on AOTV opening day, enjoying full custody of the pups, publicly supporting her assumed partner — sorry you got Kiki Layned from the film, but I’m guessing you weren’t even written into the script. (It’s not like the film was conveniently re-edited in the months since their break-up. Her stunt tapering was intentional.)

Then there’s the glaring absence of a baby mama (thank god; that family would have been even more insufferable). We’re cruising along for 45 minutes or so and then, wham, Dad!Louis enters the chat with a fully formed 6-year-old child. The kid just magically appears with no backstory — just like in real life ... twice (the first time with the pregnancy announcement and the second time with the revival of Dad!Louis after several years of dormancy, right in time for documentary filming. Just like Harry stunted with his co-star during filming and production, Louis stunted with his.)

The kid is cute, and faultless in this. The scenes are objectively sweet (as they were designed to be). But Louis, who normally keeps things very close to the vest, is all of a sudden an emotional spigot you can’t turn off when it comes to these scenes. It seems quite out of character. Which brings back to mind that this Louis *is* a character. The Freddie scenes just didn’t seem to have a point in the plot other than: Louis is a dad. And that role isn’t integral to the film’s story.

He’s incredibly emotional with Freddie, but the movie doesn’t tell us why. The storytelling gets lazy here. The lad/dad plot seems wedged in. The movie would be perfectly complete without it. I felt like it could have been integrated a few different ways: Louis experienced tragedy after tragedy after tragedy — loses 1D, loses his mum, loses his sister ... and then impending fatherhood either becomes another trial he must reluctantly face (in the surprise pregnancy narrative) or it helps him navigate the grief of losing his sole parent, his closest confidante. OR, Louis, not wanting to be like the absentee father he had, shows up for his own oopsie baby despite the unexpected circumstances. But there’s no exposition or rising action. No footage or photos from the first few years of the kid’s life that we haven’t already seen. Just an immaculate conception.

I think the most compelling narratives of the film are these:

Louis’ overcoming adversity after adversity after adversity. Holy hell. I lived through 1D ending, through the devastating news about Jay (god, I remember the shock and sadness of that day — it was incomprehensible), through the heartbreaking news about Fizzy, and then when you think Louis is gonna get his moment of victory with his first solo world tour, coronavirus pulls the rug out. (That sequence was well done: where we keep seeing the dates get closer and closer to March 2020, and we all know the villain that’s coming, but it’s still such a blow.) I lived through all that in real time, but seeing it in such a concentrated sequence really highlights the shit he’s been dealt, and hearing him open up about so much of it ... that’s the character development relevant to the film’s denouement. And getting to see Louis get what he deserves, finally, and hearing him acknowledge that he deserves it, was a lovely ending.

Louis’ journey to find his footing and his confidence as a solo artist after unfathomable success as part of a group. But, in a sort of plot twist, he’s not really solo, is he? The film gives a lovely introduction to his band now — and in their own words, reveals that they’re not just a backing band, they’re a *band* band. Louis has let them in. He’s forged a new brotherhood. *That*, for me, was the heartwarming story. I loved those scenes, loved seeing Louis in his element, which is in a collective, where he is both king and jester at the same time. (Or perhaps Oli’s the jester. Thank fuck for him, man. Oli is the standout. The breakthrough performance. The comic relief. I want a spinoff series.) It’s easy to miss 1D and glorify those short years and think nothing will ever top it, but Charlie’s storytelling of the LT Band is remarkable. We’re left looking forward, not back.

I know Louis’ dedication to his fans and his fans’ dedication to him is a huge focus, but I don’t really enjoy watching commentaries on fandoms I’m a part of. I’m living it. I don’t need outsider context. And in a fandom as fractured as Louis’ (and 1D’s) there’s not a universal experience. The film depicts dedication as sleeping on streets for rail, hopping from country to country and draining bank accounts — because that’s the kind of “superfandom” that gets easily turned into a marketable freak show. Show me the documentary on the fans who organize the light projects, who run the fashion accounts, who curate livestream sources on show nights, who have turned giffing into an art and science, who help promote Louis in the absence of a competent marketing team, etc., etc. I also thought the interview with the American(?) girls talking about LATAM shows was shortsighted. And showing the rainbow factions but not addressing them? What a missed opportunity to talk about songs like Only the Brave becoming a queer anthem. Straight artists can have gay fans, you know.

But the film doesn’t make the kid relevant to any of those storylines. He could have been worked into the first, but wasn’t. It was like a standalone narrative, with footage from a narrow set of days. I was at both those L.A. shows. The energy was so different from night 1 to 2. And in retrospect it’s clear Louis was performing the first night so Charlie could get the right shots. More like a choreographed play than a rock concert. It makes sense now why the Clarks weren’t in the VIP box with Freddie — couldn’t have them cluttering the frame or distracting the actors. Just, everything about the Freddie scenes is heavy-handed. Make a sign for your dad! Draw his logo in the sand! Fly a kite at sunset! He’s the spitting image of Louis! (Len does all the heavy lifting.) And all the maneuvering it had to take to get all those shots from the L.A. show?! In the VIP box from behind (and from the front, and when he just happens to be mouthing along to Two Of Us), side stage watching Louis end the show, on-stage watching Louis approach Freddie after the show, on-stage catching the moment Louis gives the lad a shout-out ... Charlie had a shot list. But sure, nothing was set up, it was totally organic.

I’m still unsettled by how heavily Charlie laid it on at the first premiere press conference — *he* was the one to bring up the kid, and was weirdly emphatic that nothing was staged, nothing was forced. It had the same energy of the “It’s. Not. Real” thrown baby doll moment, only it’s Charlie insisting that It. Is. Real. Thou dost protest too much, me thinks.

And of course, the lack of interaction between Louis and Harry remains, as ever, the biggest tell. We get poignant post-1D Nouis and Lilo moments in the film, but no Larry. We’re spoon-fed these Very Emotional Moments between father and son (“love you,” “Darling,” mouth kisses), when the real story, the real emotion, the real connection is in just a few seconds of furtive glances between Harry and Louis in the backstage footage of the last 1D performance. Christ, the way Harry’s eyes bore into Louis — chin tilted down, eyes glancing up from beneath a furrowed brow, lips tight, disguising his attentiveness with a hair flip ... they mastered so many forms of silent communication. The quiet call and response, the depths of love and care and concern and protection contained in micro-expressions. Fuck, give me 90 minutes of that. Just a silent film of Louis and Harry looking at each other.

Anyway. Sorry this sounds so grumpy. I did really love most of the movie. But I haven’t made sense of why this film was made. I don’t know its purpose. Maybe the introspection forced by the pandemic lockdown is to credit for this glut of music docs (“docs”) lately. Maybe nine minutes frees him up for nine more months or nine more years. I dunno. He obviously wanted this story told in this way.

Seeing a movie requires the willing suspension of disbelief. You have to ignore critical thinking in order to enjoy the story you’re being told. You tune out your knowledge that everything is fake for the sake of being entertained. We know that Superman can’t actually fly, but we still buy tickets to the cinema. But, a documentary shouldn’t require us to employ this semi-conscious perceiving mode. Yet here we are. I’m just not sure how much more or how much longer we can suspend our disbelief to enjoy fandom.

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Okay, I'm super happy with how this one turned out, so my Satanist ass is praying y'all enjoy this one gahhh. And thank you for the kind words thus far. It means a lot that people are enjoying this since it's wayyyy out of my comfort zone and I've never written anything like it before!

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty

(let me know if you want to be tagged in future Roman fics)

January 3, 2014

SoHo turned into a mess tonight. Nate and Lana thought they could slip into one of those flashy clubs, but of course, someone recognised Nate. The bouncers gave the excuse that she’s underage—technically true at 18—but that’s not the whole story, is it?

Dimitri… God, his anger was something fierce. He ripped into her the moment she stepped through the door, calling her an embarrassment. Modern music, parties—he sees them as distractions, as if he’s forgotten what it’s like to be young and reckless.

But Nate isn’t a child anymore. She’s growing into her own, and it’s painful watching him treat her the same as he does Katya. Nate’s got that fire. That untamed spirit that’s as thrilling as it is dangerous. I worry where it will lead her.

I’m scared for them, for both my girls. Dimitri’s world is too dark, too consuming. I can only hope that they find a way out—a path that’s not as suffocating as the one I ended up on.

But hope feels like such a fragile thing these days.

Nate ran her hand through her hair, gripping it at the roots as she finished reading the same journal entry for the 5th time. She wasn’t sure why she was obsessing over it—probably something to do with the fact it was the only one she could find in her family’s library. Stuffed away in a drawer. 

It wasn’t even like it was that out of the ordinary, either. Nate was always aware of her mother’s reluctance when it came to family business. Which begged the question for her as to why she married her dad in the first place. Maybe he was different back then… Maybe he wasn’t always a stubborn, heartless, iceberg of a human being. 

Nate would begrudgingly gamble on her mother being beside herself, if she was to see how things were now. How her oldest was slowly morphing into her husband each passing day. Nate didn’t like it either, let’s get that straight. But when you grow up and remain in the presence of a parent, the chances are you’ll end up just like them.

And that was… terrifying as a concept.

Granted, Nate had a good 30-something years to go before she reached his age. But even so, if she were to travel back in time and come face-to-face with the 19-year-old version of herself, she wouldn’t recognise herself. In fact, she looked back on that time of her life like a stranger watching a soap opera. Memories were scattered, robotic, surreal. And she couldn’t pinpoint when the change happened.

Maybe it was the sick reality of losing her mother to such a tragedy, or the disillusionment of justice not being served. 

Or maybe there was simply a switch, hiding behind layers and layers of resilience, bullets, and blood, that remained in a permanent state of off when it came to facing the fact that her mother would hate the person she’d become.

The thought made her skin crawl. She pushed the piece of paper away, as if distance could somehow sever the connection between her and the woman who had given her life. But the truth was, no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t escape the blood that ran through her veins.

Nate rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the headache that was beginning to form. She needed to get out of her own head, to focus on something tangible, something she could control. Her mother’s death had been a tragedy—one that had left scars too deep to heal. But this… this was something else entirely. This was a reckoning.

And if there was one thing Nate Volkov knew how to do, it was to survive a reckoning.

Even if it meant momentarily blocking it all out and pretending like it wasn’t happening.

So, she did the only thing she could think of to bring her out of the slump. She whipped out her phone and sent a not-so-cryptic message to the only girl on the planet who knew how to throw life out the window, even for 12 measly hours.

Nate: my lovely lana babe…😁

Lana: My gorgeous Natalka

Nate: how do we feel about X tonight??

Lana: …😏

Lana: Do you even need to ask?

Nate: 🥂🥳

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman was mid-rep, the barbell hovering above his chest, when the familiar sound of the FaceTime ringtone cut through the steady rhythm of his workout. He paused, muscles tense, debating whether to finish the set or take the call. But as the ringtone persisted, and he cast a subtle glance over at the contact number, he sighed, carefully racking the weights before grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

With one last deep breath, he grabbed his phone and hit “accept” to Maria’s call, but the sight of Ava’s beaming face and gap-toothed grin instantly brightened his mood.

“Hey, baby girl,” he greeted.

“Hi, Daddy!” Ava’s enthusiasm was potent, the excitement in her voice nearly bursting through the screen.

“Whatchu doin’?” he asked with a paternal smile, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

“Me and Mommy made pancakes.” Her chestnut curls bounced around her head as she practically vibrated with energy. It was obvious she was experiencing some kind of pancake-induced sugar rush, and the idea warmed Roman’s heart somewhat. He was just glad that she seemed to be enjoying her childhood whenever he spoke to her. The last thing he wanted was for her to be in an environment that felt unsafe, or made her feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

“Oh, Daddy, guess what I did today!”

Roman chuckled. “What’s that, Princess?”

“Italian! Mommy got me a teacher. She’s a nice lady!” Ava looked over at Maria, who was busying herself with some dishes in the background, before focusing back on the call. “I learned so many new words! Wanna hear?”

“Of course, I do,” Roman said, leaning in and giving her his full, undivided attention. “Lay it on me, girl.”

Ava straightened up, her little face scrunched in concentration. “Ciao, papá! Come stai?” she announced proudly, her pronunciation careful and slightly off, as one would expect for someone her age.

Roman grinned. “Molto bene, grazie! E tu?”

The small child giggled, clearly pleased with herself. “Bene! Bene!” she echoed, clapping her hands.

“That’s great, Ava,” Roman praised, his heart swelling with pride. “You’re getting really good at this.”

“Mommy says I’m a… na… na-tu-ral…natural,” she added, glancing back at her mother in confirmation, as though asking if she’d said the word correctly. Roman saw Maria smile, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing.

“You know,” he continued, his demeanour thoughtful. “Maybe next time I see you, I could teach you some Samoan.”

Maria’s subtle scoff in the background didn’t go unnoticed by Roman, and it thankfully went straight over Ava’s head, but he ignored it, focusing on his daughter’s wide-eyed curiosity.

“What’s that mean? Samoan?”

“Samoan is my family’s language. It’s part of your DNA, baby, that means it’s in your blood. Who you are.” His voice remained gentle and calm.

Ava tilted her head, still trying to grasp the concept and wrap it around her developing brain. “What’s DNA?”

He smiled, choosing his words carefully. “DNA is what makes you… you. It’s like a recipe, like with the pancakes you made with Mommy. It says you’re my daughter, and Mommy’s daughter too. Half of you is from your mom, and the other half is from me. That’s why you’re so special, baby girl. You got two strong families in you.”

“So…” her face scrunched up in thought. “I’m half Samoan?”

“That’s right,” Roman affirmed tenderly. “And that means you’re strong, just like all the Samoans before you. You got heart, soul, and a lotta courage. Never forget that.”

“But I thought Nonna was Italian?”

“She is. Which means…” a playful smirk spread across Roman’s face, “I’m also half Samoan, half Italian,” he added with an exaggerated whisper.

Ava gasped, her little face lighting up at the mere thought. “I’m just like you, Daddy!” she squealed.

Roman half-expected Maria to come out with some sarcastic comment, but even she knew it was wise to keep her mouth shut in front of their baby girl. It still gave him some sick kind of satisfaction, knowing she couldn’t say a word to their daughter’s excitement over being more like her Daddy than she initially thought.

“I wanna learn Samoan too, Daddy!”

“I promise you, you will, baby. But for now, let’s start with this… Oute alofa ia oe.”

It took Ava multiple tries to get a hang of the pronunciation, and she still wasn’t grasping where to correctly emphasise syllables. But as she managed to repeat those words back to her father, he, for the first time in years, felt that strange tickle you get in the back of your throat that usually precedes tears.

He wasn’t prepared for how extraordinary it was to hear his little girl speak Samoan.

“What does that mean, Daddy?” she asked with an innocent tilt of the head.

“It means I love you… And I never ever want you to think I don’t.” Even though the weight of Roman’s words were too hefty to be considered by such a young human, he still felt the need to proclaim them. At any chance he could, he’d always remind Ava of how much her daddy loves her. Because he never knew if he’d still be here tomorrow.

“Keep practising your Italian, baby. You keep it up, and soon you’ll be able to talk to everyone in Italy.”

Ava’s eyes widened in amazement, as if the idea of speaking fluent Italian to an entire country was the most exciting thing in the world. “Really?”

“Really,” Roman confirmed with a chuckle. He glanced away for a moment, checking the time at the top of his phone screen and the smile on his face faltered a fraction. “Uh, listen, Ava, Daddy’s gotta go…” His heart broke at the saddened expression on his daughter’s face. “I’ll call you tomorrow, I pro–”

“Oh, you can’t call her tomorrow, Roman,” Maria finally interjected, taking control of her phone and picking it up, subsequently removing Ava from the picture. “She’s at school a little longer, and then she’s got dance class until 8. She might be able to say goodnight, but that’s it.”

Roman’s brows narrowed in confusion. “Why she at school longer?”

“Because,” Maria huffed, “I have things to do, Romano, doing some work on the house, and she’s gotta stay a couple hours with some other kids. Va bene per te?”

Roman closed his eyes momentarily and slowly ran a large hand over his beard, the disdain for Maria’s clipped tone laying dormant in the pit of his stomach. 

“Lemme say goodnight to her,” he deviated before he said something that landed him further in the shit with his ex-wife than he already was. Maria didn’t argue, for once, and tilted the phone so Roman could see Ava.

“Night night, Daddy!” she reached up to wave at him the best she could. “I love you!”

“Love you too, Princess. G’night–”

“Gotta go, bye, Roman,” Maria interjected, and before Roman could process what was happening, the call ended.

He stared at the blank screen for a moment, letting out a long breath. He knew he should have been thinking about planning his next visit to Florida. Ava needed to see him in person. If there was one thing Maria was right about, it was that, at least…

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman headed back upstairs, his body still buzzing from the workout. He could hear the faint hum of conversation as he approached the living room, and as he stepped inside, he spotted Naomi lounging on the couch, her legs tucked under her. She looked up from her phone and smiled when she saw him.

“Hey, big man,” she greeted warmly.

“Trin,” Roman acknowledged her with her middle name and a nod, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, before looking over at the two over-grown kids that seem to squat in his house on occasion. “You two ready?”

“Almost,” Jimmy replied, a grin spreading across his face. He was leaning against the arm of the couch, looking relaxed but with that familiar spark in his eyes. Jey was pacing the room, clearly itching to get out and get the night started.

“Y’all actin’ like it’s the first time you’ve been to a club,” Naomi teased, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Just tryin’ to keep up with you, girl,” Jey shot back, his grin widening. “You know I’m gonna need some pointers on how to get these girls to notice me.”

Naomi laughed, shaking her head. “Please, the only thing you need to do is enter. Trust me, they’ll see you.”

Roman headed towards the stairs, chuckling to himself. “You might want to tone it down a notch, Jey. Don’t need you scarin’ off every girl in the place.”

Jey smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Who said anything about scaring them off? I’m just lookin’ to bring one home tonight. Maybe two if I’m lucky.”

“Boy, you wild,” Jimmy chimed in, cackling. “Just remember, you ain’t got Roman’s kinda pull. Don’t get in over your head.”

“Trust me, Uce,” Jey gave his brother a pointed look. “I got this.”

Before he could continue his ascension up the stairs, Roman paused and looked back at him. “Just finish gettin’ ready, man, we’re hittin’ X, of all places. I don’t want any bullshit. We’re there to scope it out, not to start a fight.” 

Naomi raised an eyebrow. “That place? You really think it’s worth the hassle?”

“More than you know,” he replied without looking back. “But let’s not make it obvious. We’re just there to have a good time.”

“Right,” Naomi said, though there was a knowing look in her eyes. She knew better than to question Roman’s judgement, especially when it came to business.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The plan was to hit up Madame X, a well-known nightclub in SoHo, where the Volkovs had their dirty little fingers in the pie. It was more than just a night out; it was a recon mission, though Roman had made it clear they could have a bit of fun too—within reason.

He wiped the condensation from the mirror, studying his reflection, determined to unwind—at least outwardly.

He stepped into the master bedroom, heading straight for his walk-in closet. He wasn’t in the mood for the full suit treatment tonight. This was SoHo, not a boardroom, and they needed to blend in while still looking like they belonged there.

Shifting through his clothes, he eventually settled on a pair of dark jeans that fit him just right—snug enough to show he had some muscle packed under there. He pulled on a black Henley shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showing off a little bit of the tattoo on his arm. Over that, he grabbed a leather jacket, adding just enough… edge to the look. 

He wasn’t dressing to impress anyone, but he wasn’t going to look like shit, either.

He paused at the mirror for a minute, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face with a healthy accompaniment of leave-in conditioner. Satisfied, he headed back downstairs.

“Damn, Uce,” Jey whistled as Roman made his presence known back in the living room. “You lookin’ to break some hearts tonight?”

“Nah, that’s your job, remember?” Roman teased with a side glance.

“Y’all already know I ain’t goin’ home empty-handed…” he trailed off, his words translating in a kind of sing-song cadence. 

“Please don’t get us thrown out,” Naomi sighed exaggeratedly, standing from her position on the couch and brushing herself down. Outfit on point, as always, reminding Jimmy that he was one lucky son of a bitch.

“Alright, let’s roll out,” Roman clapped, grabbing his keys. “Remember, we’re there to keep an eye on things. No wild shit, ua maua?”

Throwing his arm around his cousin’s shoulder as they walked out, Jey grinned. “You know me, Uce. I’m just there to enjoy the view… maybe get a lil’ closer to it, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman muttered, though there was still a hint of a smile there. Somewhere. “Just don’t bring any trouble back to my place. I’m serious.”

“I hear you, big dog,” Jey replied, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Roman pushed through the entrance of Madame X, the low, steady beat of the music vibrating through his chest as they stepped into the club. The space was a mix of modern sleekness and old-school decadence, with plush velvet booths and chandeliers casting a warm, intimate glow over everything. The walls were adorned with dark wood panelling, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive liquor and perfume.

His eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene—the couples huddled close in booths, the groups at the bar laughing too loudly, the women dancing with an effortless grace under the dim, red lights. It was a place that exuded a certain kind of danger, the kind that made people feel alive.

No wonder the Volkovs had shares in the place.

The Head of the Table’s presence didn’t go unnoticed. As they moved further into the club, he could feel the eyes on him—some curious, some appreciative, and some just plain hungry. He had a magnetic pull, the kind of energy that practically ordered you to stop and stare. It was a part of who he was, and he had learned long ago how to wield it to his advantage.

The group approached the bar, Roman taking the lead with Jey by his side. Behind them, Naomi and Jimmy stayed close together as a way of making a statement. Together, they exuded a commanding presence in its own right. She had a way of holding her own in any room, and Jimmy was… well, he was Jimmy. Charming, funny, and relentlessly protective over his woman.

Roman leaned against the bar, his eyes catching the gaze of a brunette a few stools down. She was gorgeous, with dark, wavy hair that framed her face perfectly, and lips that curved into a knowing smile as she met his stare. He felt that familiar rush of adrenaline, the one that always came when he was out in the wild, playing the game.

Before he could consider making a move, the bartender came over. “What’ll it be?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Roman replied, his voice low but clear as sin over the music. “Macallan, if you’ve got it.”

The bartender nodded and moved to get the drink, and Roman turned his attention back to the brunette. But before he could say anything, Naomi nudged him with her elbow, smirking as she and Jimmy leaned against the bar themselves.

“Eyes on the prize, Roman,” she jested just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re supposed to be scoping the place, not the women.”

“Can’t blame a man for appreciating the scenery…”

Naomi laughed softly. “Just don’t get too distracted, big man.”

“Business and pleasure, though right?” Jimmy chimed in. “Doesn’t hurt to mix the two.” He poked at Naomi’s ribs, encouraging a jolt and a swat on the arm from the woman in question.

Roman’s drink finally arrived, and he lifted it in a casual salute to his family. “Have a good night, but do not forget why we’re here.”

Jey received his own drink, and he turned to his cousin with the same playful glint in his eye. “You sayin’ we should keep it low-key, but I’m pretty sure if we wanted to, we could own this place tonight.”

Roman sipped his whiskey, letting the smooth burn slide down his throat. “Let’s not go that far. We don’t need the attention.”

“How ‘bout you focus on findin’ a girl who won’t run for the hills when they find out you’re still living off Roman’s coattails?” Jimmy swatted his brother away so he could order his own drink.

“Fuck off, Jimmy. Just ‘cus you married to ol’ Naomi here, don’t mean I gotta be tied down.”

Pushing himself up from the bar, drink in hand, Roman glanced over at the brunette once more, firmly deciding to shoot his shot. He rarely failed, anyways. But he didn’t leave without one last word to his cousins.

“Don’t do anythin’ that’s gonna make me have to bail your dumbass out later.” He turned to Naomi. “I am putting my trust in you. You have my full permission to whoop asses if they ain’t behavin’, a’ight?”

“You got it, Chief,” Naomi playfully saluted up at Roman, but she knew to take the request as seriously as anything.

Once again, Roman’s eyes locked onto the brunette a little further down the bar. He could feel the pull between them as her eyes met his, and she tightened the way her leg crossed over the other in the figure-hugging dress that drew more than his gaze. With a confident stride, he made his way over to her.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered lowly, carrying the weight of someone used to getting what they wanted. 

She looked up at him, a playful smile curving her lips. “Depends. What’s a girl like me gotta do to deserve a drink from a guy like you?”

Roman leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them. “You’ve already done enough, just by comin’ here.”

Her laugh was soft, provocative. “Is that your best line?”

He shrugged, allowing a grin to overtake his features. “Maybe. But I’m more about actions than words.”

“Is that so?” Her voice held a challenge, and Roman knew he had her hooked.

He ordered her a martini, sliding the drink her way. Their fingers brushed briefly, the contact sending a jolt through him.

“You don’t seem like the type who needs to chase,” she said, keeping her focus solely on him as she sipped her drink.

“I don’t,” he replied smoothly, “But sometimes, it’s about findin’ someone worth chasin’.”

Her breath hitched, the chemistry between them bubbling to the surface. He was allowing himself to get drawn in, and the possibility of taking her home became more prevalent with every second.

But just as the conversation was heating up, the music abruptly shifted. The pounding bass of an obscure European—Roman guessed Russian by the few words on the track—filled the room, pulling him completely from his focus.

“How you go from radio pop to this?” he muttered, not entirely impressed with the choice of music.

The brunette chuckled, taking another sip from her drink. “They take requests sometimes… depends if someone important enough requests it.”

Roman glanced around, spotting Jey shooting his shot with a couple of girls over at the booths, and Jimmy glued to Naomi on the dancefloor. But one little shift of his eyes, slightly to the left, allowed him to spot a familiar figure that he really wasn’t looking to encounter tonight.

Natalka Volkov, of all people, stood on a table at the other end of the room, her drink raised in the air. She was dressed in a sapphire blue dress that gripped onto her body in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Her usually composed demeanour was gone, replaced by a carefree, almost wild energy as she danced to the beat, clearly drunk but still wearily in control of her actions.

Next to her, a blonde woman—her friend, Roman guessed—cheered her on. The sight of her like this, so uninhibited, twisted something in his gut. She was a complication he didn’t need, didn’t want, tonight, yet here she was, intruding on his thoughts once again.

The brunette noticed his distraction. “Something wrong?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

Roman forced a smile, shaking his head. “Just saw someone I didn’t expect.”

But even as he tried to focus back on the brunette, his mind was still on Nate. She looked like she was in her element, completely at ease in the chaos of the club, and Roman found the image burning into his mind. His frustration continued to simmer beneath the surface, her wild dance moves and carefree attitude completely throwing off the sexual charge he’d been building with the brunette. The heat from the club, combined with the tension thrumming through his body, made him crave an outlet for all the energy she’d so unwittingly disrupted.

An idea struck him, though: Nate was drunk, maybe too drunk to maintain the fierce walls she always put up. This could be his chance to get some answers. If she was this loose with herself, maybe she’d be loose with… information, too. The thought of outsmarting her, of getting the upper hand, spurred him on.

And when she finally hopped off of the table, damn near exposing herself in the process, that was when Roman made the decision to follow her toward the club’s dimly lit side area. Her movements were less calculated, swaying slightly with the alcohol coursing through her. This was his chance.

Turning around, Nate’s eyes clocked him approaching her and her expression swiftly shifted from carefree to guarded. And perhaps a hint of recognition, curiosity… interest?

“Volkov,” Roman called, pitched just enough to be heard over the music. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

Nate raised an eyebrow, glancing to the side as she swayed on her heels. “What, you following women to the bathroom, now?”

He smirked, stepping forward to allow a few girls to pass them by, the proximity between the two decreasing. So close to each other that he could smell the scent of her perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. “Just curious what brings you to somewhere like this. You don’t strike me as the party type, Princess.”

Rolling her eyes, Nate took a sip of the drink that remained in her perfectly manicured hand—a vodka tonic, from the looks of it. “And you don’t strike me as someone who cares.”

“Maybe I’m just tryna figure out why you’re so dead set on blaming my family for somethin’ we ain’t done,” Roman shot back, clipping his tone at sharp. He impatiently waited as she took yet another sip from her drink, faced with the image of her plump lips curving around the edge of the glass and leaving a slight lipstick stain in its wake.

Nate’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Oh, so now you’re the victim?” She leaned up a little, her voice a bit slurred but still carrying that edge of defiance as she spat her words venomously. “You and your family have always taken what you wanted, so why should this be any different?” She let the question hang in the air, resting the weight of her body back against the wall.

Roman chuckled, running his tongue over his teeth before exhaling with an air of irritation. “Why don’t you tell me,” he started, opting to rest his hand on the wall beside her head, “just why is your Daddy so convinced it was us?” He didn’t even care that his way of wording his inquiry lacked his usual sophistication—he did have a level of leniency with her less-than-sober state.

She giggled, a rare sound that came across surprisingly light and entirely too blithe. “You think I’d spill all that just because I’m a little tipsy?”

Then, in a complete and utter moment of indiscretion, her hand brushed against his chest, pointer finger gently jabbing  just where the last button of his Henley sat. He tensed, entirely unhappy with the reaction her touch elicited. The warmth of her fingers burned through his shirt, searing into his skin. She was so close to him, too close—closer than sober her ever allowed herself to be. And he had to remind himself that this was an opportunity, not a distraction.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he pressed, lowering his voice further, and boldly dropping his head just so he could be within inches of her ear. “Why not just give me a lil’ somethin’? You know I’ll figure it out eventually.”

Nate bit softly on her lower up, craning her neck upwards to look at him with an almost childish expression. “You’re so confident, Reigns. Always so sure of yourself…” she taunted through a sigh, but there was that underlying truth to them that caught Roman off-guard.

Before he could respond, Nate’s hand slid further up his chest, up to his neck, where her thumb brushed against his thick beard. Her lips pursed, almost as if she were cooing at him like a toddler. “You think you’re so smart… but you don’t know half of what’s really going on, do you?”

Roman felt his pulse quicken, not from the fact that Natalka Volkov, of all people, had her hand on him, but from the way she seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying… too much.

He needed to keep her talking.

“Enlighten me then, Princess.”

Nate’s eyes fluttered, half-lidded as she took a deep breath, the action only emphasising her chest to him. God, that dress… looks too damn good on someone so scheming.

“You think I’ll spill everything… about my dad,” she smirked, “When you know just as much as I do.” Her eyes locked onto his, the subdued lighting causing a menacing shadow to cast under his eyebrows and shield half of his eyes. 

“I might… despise my father,” she recklessly, and finally, admitted. “But even if I did know every little thing about whatever it is you’re trying to uncover…”

She attempted to push herself up from the wall, but only succeeded in anchoring her lower half forwards, causing one of her bare legs to brush up against Roman’s jeans. It shouldn’t have caused his arm to give out, even slightly, but it did.

“I still wouldn’t give anything like that,” she hummed, “To a man like you.”

Roman pulled back slightly, looking down at her straight-on. There was something in her expression, something that told him she wasn’t bluffing. He thought he’d gathered everything he needed on the Volkovs themselves. He thought he knew their dynamics, that the reason for their almost immortal, untouchable status in New York City was down to the very core of their operations: an unbreakable familial bond.

But this was one of those rare moments where Roman Reigns could definitively, and humbly, admit that he was wrong.

And in this situation, that made her either the most dangerous individual out there… or the most valuable.

Without breaking eye contact, Roman reached into his pocket, fumbling for anything he could write on. He pulled out an old receipt, ripping off a scrap and pulling a pen from his jacket. He quickly scribbled down his number, not wanting to think too much into his decision, and then looked at her with a hint of a smirk.

“Call me when you’re sober,” he said, holding the piece of paper between his fingers. Then, with calculated boldness, he slipped it down the front of her dress, making sure to tuck it right between her cleavage, the act intimate yet authoritative.

Nate’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening slightly at the cold touch of her enemy’s fingers, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched him with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “You Samoans love playing with fire, don’t you?”

“I know,” he replied, before lowering his head one more time, his whisper close enough to allow Nate to embrace the heat of his breath, the combination of whiskey and mint potent. “Almost as much as the Russians, baby girl.”

With that, he clicked his tongue twice and winked, before pulling back. He gave her a once over and turned on his heel, hands making their way into his jean’s back pockets as he headed back to the crowd. But even as he walked away, he could still feel her eyes on him, the knowledge that she had just unintentionally given her family’s number one on their hitlist, priceless information.

But she’d figure that out soon enough.

[vermilionsun]

Time to yee the haw

Boothill

aka Pom-Pom

➢ Braids Boothill is surprisingly good at it. Since he decided on growing his hair, he had to find ways to keep it out of his face, and braiding was one of them—well, not something he thought of himself, but friends and family liked to do it for him and it just stuck. Now, he occasionally braids his own hair, though his metallic hands make it increasingly difficult.

➢ Hair His hair in general is a topic of its own and it needs to be talked about. Originally, his hair was raven black, but when he was undergoing the lab tests and maintenance, due to different factors, most of his hair turned white. He once looked at a mirror and aside from the dysphoria caused by the metal, the thought that he kinda resembled his dads flashed in his mind. He never looked in a mirror again.

➢ Kids He’s so good with kids. They just love him and no one knows why. Boothill, as the type of guy he is, will try to pretend to be annoyed, yet failing miserably as small hands would cling onto him. (If he could shed tears he would.)

➢ Swearing He actually doesn’t like to swear, thus the weird alternatives he uses. It’s a habit he picked up from having many younger siblings and friends—not wanting to swear in front of them—and one that he kept, no matter how ridiculous it might seem to others. When he adopted his little girl, he would barely not kill anyone who would swear in front of her, despite her being too young to understand.

➢ Nicknames If he happens to form any kind of bond with anyone, he will give them a nickname. They range from random words, a characteristic of the person, to inside jokes, to sweet pet names. And every person has multiple different ones. The only one who remembers them all is the one responsible for them.

➢ Flirting He isn’t the type of guy who will hit on anything that moves under the sun, but he does enjoy some casual flirting and bantering. It’s also his weak spot. If he gets back a more–than–equally flirty response he’s gone. In improbable cases he might even actually faint—if all his remaining blood leaves his brain to reside in his cheeks (a good smack will bring him back) (if you dare).

➢ Stars He and his family used to stargaze together, pointing out constellations and sharing stories. Now, he finds solace in the familiar twinkling lights above, feeling a sense of connection to his loved ones despite them being gone—a bittersweet comfort nestling in his lonely heart.

➢ Zoning out Sometimes his mind is just… elsewhere. He gets lost in thought easily, often planning stuff. Other times, he's simply reminiscing about days lost. It's like he's constantly searching for something that he can't quite grasp, leaving him feeling disconnected from the present moment.

➢ God He had always believed in justice and righteousness and that a higher being was watching over him and his loved ones, yet the destruction of his home shattered his faith in the universe's inherent goodness. He struggled to make sense of the chaos and devastation surrounding him, questioning how such tragedy could be part of a greater plan. Now, he finds himself grappling with the concept of fate and whether his life was truly guided by a divine force or simply subject to random chance. He sometimes prays, not for himself, but for the ones he lost, hoping that somehow his prayers may reach them in the afterlife, and the ones he still has.

➢ Skills Despite popular belief, Boothill is quite skilled in many areas. He is particularly adept at problem-solving and has a keen eye for detail. He can recognize disease and illness in animals with just a quick glance. As a cowboy, his experience working with livestock has honed his resourcefulness. Plus, he's a talented craftsman. The bullet earring of his? That's a real bullet casing that he fashioned into jewelry himself.

➢ Touch Boothill always adored physical touch. He thrived on hugs, cuddles, and any form of affectionate contact. Even a simple pat on the back could make his day brighter. With the only thing remaining of his original body now being his face, he craves the sensation of touch more than ever. The memories of warm embraces and gentle caresses are all he has left to hold onto.

➢ Songs If he hears anywhere a song that reminds him of home, he will subconsciously murmur it, maybe tap along to the beat. If he hears someone he knows singing it, then KABOOM! It’s karaoke night and some bring him a fudging guitar already—

➢ Wheat He likes to munch on it like gum. It's a strange habit, but it seems to satisfy his cravings for something chewy and subtly sweet. Sometimes he even chews on it while…ehm, working to help him concentrate.

➢ Hat When Boothill was young, Nick had promised to give him his hat one day. The day he did was the day Boothill found his girl. The hat was destroyed in the explosion, but Boothill made a replica, going as far as damaging it to have the same tears and bumps as the original.

➢ Survivor's guilt. Wishes he was with his family.

[backlitmademoiselle]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thank you for the tag, @kotaka-kun ! This was such an enjoyable way to reflect on my work. :)

How many works do you have on AO3?

I currently have 5 works posted.

What's your total AO3 word count?

31,484 (and counting)

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

1. A PLACE TO BELONG — The Phantom of the Opera - rated T - 5,398 words - Erik/Christine

2. TRICK AND TREAT — Phantom - rated M - 11,538 (so far) - E/C

3. NOTHING OF TRUTH — Phantom - rated M - 3198 - E/C

4. RED DEATH & THE PRINCE — Phantom - rated T - 4,194 - Meg/Christine

5. MOONLIGHT FLOWERS — Phantom - rated M - 7,156 (so far) - Multi

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always respond to comments, even if it takes a while! I’m of the mind that if someone took the time and effort to read and comment, the least I can do is express my appreciation. 

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Probably Nothing of Truth. It’s a Lerouxish insert, set between when Christine is dragged away from the torture chamber, and when we meet her again before Erik forces her hand. I wrote it after reading maybe slightly too much Angela Carter, and so it’s appropriately drenched in (menstrual) blood. 

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably A Place to Belong. Another Lerouxish piece, but a bit of a fix-it, a bit of an exploration for me as to what type of Christine would end up accepting what type of Erik, her thought process for doing so, and the journey of her various realizations after the fact.

Do you write crossovers?

Not yet! I was considering one for crack week, but didn’t have the appropriate time to devote to it.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, and I would love it if I never did :)

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I’ve written things, but never posted. :) My pieces tend to flirt with it, though. Phantom, to me, is inextricably linked with desire, no matter the characters or pairings or chosen canon. If my renderings of characters don’t at least kind of want to fuck each other desperately, maybe even reluctantly, bluntly-stated or otherwise, it’s not a BacklitMademoiselle fic.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! God, but what a new fear unlocked.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet. I tend to be very twisty when writing, trying to figure out exactly the right phrasing, trying to find exactly the right rhythm to the prose, and I feel that would be difficult to involve someone in right from the get-go.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

For the tragedy of it, Erik & Christine. For a couple that isn’t canonically a huge clusterfuck, Usagi Tsukino & Mamoru Chiba, from Sailor Moon — specifically the original manga interpretation of their relationship. It’s soulmates/fated across time, done right; they get to know and love each other before they ever find out their past and future lives. It’s a true partnership, and their devotion to and faith in one another is so strong it ends up saving the world way more than once. You could argue Kagome & Inuyasha, from Inuyasha, are somewhat similar. Honestly I guess I just love a strong, empathetic woman and the weirdo/dork who loves her (to varying degrees of success haha).

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Thankfully, I don’t have one of those at the moment! Knocking on wood so hard!

What are your writing strengths?

I think I can be very good at getting into the mind of a character, detailing their thought processes and ways in which they see and move through the world. I also have a soft spot for dialogue; it comes pretty naturally to me (most of the time).

What are your writing weaknesses?

I have so little interest in describing setting that I often have to force myself to put it in, or read over a fic in revision with setting specifically in mind. I also know I can get too lost in the weeds and the interiority of a character, to the detriment of plot, and have to forcibly remind myself that the ease of interiority is literally what sets the written word apart from most other media. (But gosh darn it sometimes I do wish my strokes were inherently broader in nature.)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t particularly favor it. It’s incredibly difficult to get right, if at all.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

There’s so much in Sailor Moon with possibility, that could be expanded and expounded upon, so perhaps I’ll dabble in that fandom some day, but for now Phantom takes up a bit too much of my brain to let any other fic potentials in haha.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I don’t know if I can pick. A Place to Belong is probably the most solid, top to bottom; Trick and Treat the most wacky; Nothing of Truth the darkest; Red Death & the Prince the most overtly thirsty; and Moonlight Flowers is definitely still in progress, but just by nature of it being my first longfic, the most ambitious. I love all my weird children in different ways.

Tagging: @illuminaughti-online ; @shinyfire-0 ; @sloanedestler ; @battydings ; @madamedestler ; @danygiry ; @brendadaaedestler and anyone else that wants to use this as an opportunity to do some reflecting on your works

[arclundarchivist]

C3E98 Spoilers!

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Sam’s new character seems fun! Tragedy Bard multiclass with either Ancients or Watcher Paladin, deeply friendly and kind yet a servant of Asmodeus. I want to know more about him.

And that didn’t end at all how I thought, and I am deeply invested in seeing Brennan DM for Exandria again after Calamity but…

I’m worried.

Because Ludinus wouldn’t show them this unless he thought it could convince them of his cause, and sure maybe he’s wrong.

But the Antigod Sentiment has already been there with the Hells, and… a lot of the narrative hasn’t really put in work to dissuade them or push against the beliefs of people like Ludinus.

And I have a lot of trouble personally accepting that and this new way the Gods are presented.

Because the previous campaigns and all the side material involving the Gods don’t mesh with this projection of “Well all the gods are bad actually” and the way the Raven Queen, Sarenrae Melora, Kord, etc especially when looking at the Legend of Vox Machina are depicted just doesn’t track.

And I get Matt has said again, and again, “They’re trying to survive, they’re not actually evil.” But I just… isn’t coming off that way, or it doesn’t seem to be to the players. Who willing joined up with an “oppressed” group, and have seen the Eugenics Ruidus and Aeor were practicing and yet are willing to listen to Ludinus? Why did they follow him so… willingly.

It just doesn’t at this moment, make sense to me. They’ve also fully forgotten that the Titans wanted Predathos gone as well, but that’s another problem I have.

And I’m not sure what is going to be shown, but if it tries to make Aeor out as not deserving of their fate when they were building crazed slaves, mutating their own children, fucking about with demons and were very likely being influenced by Tharizdun, outside of their own pride/corruption and the knowledge they utterly destroyed a whole other city of nominally innocent people, just to make the Gods look worse, I’m genuinely going to be disappointed.

Why can’t there just be good gods, why does everything need to be “grey”, why can’t there just be gods that genuinely care? That aren’t in it for some power trip/gain? It’s comforting to think something with all that power would actually give a shit about something as small as me. Cad and Fjord’s stories were some of my favorite’s, Kord helping Yasha refind her sense of worth and self, Sarenrae’s love of Pike all of those stories had deep meaning to me! And it just feels like having those Gods die/be liars this whole time just makes all of those stories lose a good portion of their meaning and heart.

And I don’t think I’d ever be okay with that with how things have been laid out.

I want to be wrong. I want this to be more nuanced, and allow the Bell’s to see more or take away differently than Ludinus did. I’m not fully sure what Downfall is going to be, but Brennan’s description did not speak to me of Aeor. It felt… older, more esoteric, and so I’m wondering *what* of the Gods we may actually get a chance to see.

[crowncrown]

MORE GENLOSS BRAINROT LETS GOOO

!!!MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!!!

Generation loss’s ending is so incredible I can not STAND IT OH MY GOD I need to write out my thoughts before my brain explodes because I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.

The first episode was an absolute curveball to everyone who’s been keeping up with the spooky ranmail and everything and I’m not gonna lie I was a little nervous about what this show was really gonna be when I was watching it. But the thought process it took behind every detail to make something so goofy actually be horrifying once you understand the context of the next two episodes WAS BRILLIANT. Every piece of the puzzle just adds more and more to the storyline and it makes me want to dissect every detail of the vods for hours.

But I think the most bone chilling part of this-very intentionally I must add- is the final sequence. We witness every one of the characters sacrifice themselves for GL!Ranboo and GL!Slime isn’t any different spending his last breaths being killed by the wire creature (for lack of better words) to make sure Ranboo hits the finish line. But as soon as you feel any level of triumph you realize that Slime is just like Sneeg in the episode before sacrificing himself to ensure the show goes on.

Because it was never about the hero.

Ranboo isn’t special. He’s just another pawn in the game with the illusion of being the protagonist to make it more interesting for the desensitized viewers watching these people die over and over.

He was never meant to win.

And then that leads to us.

The audience.

Given the illusion of choice.

Do you publicly execute this man? Or do you let him live to be tortured the rest of his miserable existence until he is inevitably killed by Showfall for breaking the rules. If you spare him, is it a fate worse than death? We fight with this moral dilemma, trying to decide if it’s our decision whether people live or die.

But he’s a murderer! He killed people and showed no remorse! Showfall metaphorically whispers in our ear that he earned this fate for the terrible actions he committed. But was it him? Did he have any control over the actions he committed throughout the show or is he a victim?

He begins begging to be let go. To just escape from this snare he never asked to be trapped in the first place. The audience heavily leans towards letting him live because maybe being alive in this horrible show is better than the execution. But he knows that was never an option for him. He watches as a cartoony figure jokes about his demise and a audience poll decides his fate. And in that moment he realizes his choices were never his own.

So he gives up.

Begs to just be put down because being part of the cast means he will hurt more and more people the way he’s been hurt. That he will be the cause of more and more pain, and very likely more murderers.

And the audience decides death is the best route for him to take.

Maybe he died believing this is his fault. That the audience decided he should be dead for the horrific things he chose to do. But did he ever really choose?

His story was a tragedy before he could even pick up the pen.

And then there’s Showfall. Once again the ever present voice in our ear. Whispering that we are just the same as he is.

You just chose to murder a man. Is that not any different than him killing the innocent to progress in this game? Showfall now has the audience in the same grip as the man in the guillotine.

Your story as an audience is a tragedy long before you will ever pick up the pen.

[thyshadowwriter]

Hi! I love your Viking headcanons, but I don’t see anything for Floki! Can you do what Floki would be like with a younger female S/O, how they met and what the relationship is like, how he treats her etc?

A/n: You know, I’ve been wondering why the lack of Floki myself too.

Also, I’m doing this as he never left after avenging Ragnar 🙂

Floki is not going out of his way to have another relationship, he’s in fact actively avoiding it, so she’s making all the push.

They’ll meet through the religious practices. Floki is a devout man, so a woman that has a deep belief in the gods and is comprehensive will call his attention.

Even though, he’ll not make a move. He’s already old and too heartbroken to deal with the dating game. Even if she catches his attention, he isn’t doing a thing about it.

She’ll have to be constant and ready to face his standoffish behavior for quite a good time before he shows any signs he’s returning her affections.

It will be something subtle. A simple conversation or maybe just a look, but from there on her presence will be more welcomed.

As it progresses, he’ll be more open to talk with her, share a story from his past, talk about the Gods walk around with her, let her see him work or just share a silent peaceful moment.

When it reaches that moment, Floki will expect her presence and even hope for it.

Even so, she’ll have to make the first move.

He’ll question why she wants to be with him. He never knew why Helga loved him so much, nor did he feel worthy of it. But at least they were both young, which is definitely not his case now.

The best option to convince him is to simply be truthful about her feelings. It’s likely he’ll need some time before making a decision, but by the time that conversation happens, he’s more accepting of a new relationship.

He comes with baggage, a lot of it. Betrayals, jealousy, defeat, tragedy, pretty much all of it, so she’ll have to have patience to get through his very thick walls.

He also comes with an unofficially adopted son with anger management issues, so she has to know how to work with that.

Floki doesn’t want any more children. He never put his foot down with Helga, letting her have her way and look how that played out for him. His new lover needs to be ok with him not wanting children, either his own or adopted. There’s not a single thought that terrifies him more than that and he would rather not.

She has to be ok with a more secluded life. Floki was always a bit of a hermit and that became much more evident in his late years. Even with all the chaos among the Ragnarssons and the war with Christians, he manages to lead a life quite separated from it.

If she’s alright with all his conditions, Floki will welcome her in his life, if not he’ll break it off before it starts because to him, she’ll come to her senses and find a more suitable man.

Floki was never a ladies man, so she won't have to worry about him straying like his bestie Ragnar.

Love for him will be a slow thing. It will be built day by day, but it will be solid.

He never believed he would have love in his life before Helga and believed it even less after her. Part of him is wary that this is another cruel play on him.

Either way, Floki will be loving and caring. He’s a romantic at heart and as such, fully enjoys spending quality time with her and little gestures of affection.

She’ll never feel unsafe after settling down with him. Not only is he a talented carpenter, he’s also a capable fighter, even in his old years. Few would dare facing him either because they’re afraid of his brutality or because they respect him as the legendary boatbuilder.

His unrivaled talent as a boatbuilder provides him a rather comfortable life and he has no problem providing for her. She’ll live comfortably and have nice things.

Given the age difference, it’s likely there will be times she’ll need guidance and support to face life dilemmas. Floki was never known to be reasonable, or sane, but he lived enough to know better and he can read people like no other, so he’ll be happy to guide her and support her through adversities.

Floki is in another stage of his life. He’s not as brash or as radical as he first was. He’s much more understanding and calm, so a life with him would be quite peaceful.

All in all, it’s a solid relationship and one she would feel secure in, appreciated and loved.

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

hadestown isn’t meant to be viewed as ‘real’ even in the context of the show. like. it’s a myth. it’s a story. the performers are explicitly and openly telling you a story. the show starts with them not-in-character. they walk on as the cast. they walk on as themselves. they settle into their seats. they get comfy. and the music starts. they introduce their characters to the audience. they tell you what the story is about. they tell you how it ends. you watch it all unfold as they carry you through those scenes. orpheus turns. the story ends. this is a tragedy and they told you that at the beginning. but you stayed to watch it anyway. they start taking the set apart. they return it to the state it was in at the very start. the story has ended and we are back in reality with a cast of actors and storytellers looking out at the audience and saying….. you stayed. you stayed even when you knew how this would end. you stayed because maybe, maybe things would turn out differently. we stayed too. and we’ll stay long after you’ve left the theatre and gone home. we’re staying forever. we’re telling this same story over and over again forever because maybe just once it will get a happy ending. it’s a sad song and we’re gonna sing it again. and then - then - they pause for a moment. and they say their farewells to the audience. and they ask just one thing of everyone in that room. they ask you to believe a better ending is possible. they ask you to act as if a better ending is possible. the seasons are wrong and the gods are out of tune and life is hard and things can feel hopeless and unbearable and the urge to give up is so so strong sometimes. but if you could stay there while they told you a story you knew would end in tragedy, then you can hold on to hope even against all odds. you can bloom in the bitter snow. you can sing in the dead of night. they raise their cups to you.

[silent-silver-slip]

…okay I finished it (the sea never dies) and read a select few au of aus…I feel like tornado ran through me and I love it so much. The resolution was tied up so well and it’s so good. Toru, when I get my hands on you you WILL have love and happiness and peace on this earth OR I SWEAR TO GOD! I’m being overran by working a lot so I haven’t really digested it yet but FUCK gives me hope that if we grit our teeth it will be better

I want you to know "Gives me hope that if we grit our teeth it will be better" has been living in my head rent free ever since you sent through this ask. I've been staring at it, loving it, doing my best to live it.

That, and the fact I've been too busy grinning at this ask whenever I see it, is why it's taken me forever and a day to actually get around to responding.

I'm thrilled to hear you enjoyed the series! It definitely still holds a special place in my heart. And I am still very proud of how everything resolved!! Like I do think it worked out rather well, for the plot and for the characters, which is ultimately what most endings try to do (except for tragedies, but that's a different story).

Toru fully deserves all the peace and happiness and you can BET that his family are going to make sure he gets it. He'll live a long life, and a happy one I think.

I hope you managed to get some sort of break from working, though I do very much know how it goes! I'm knee-deep in work shifts at the moment, though thankfully the break will come soon as the new year kicks over. In the meantime, however, I leave you with this fun little excerpt that's definitely not from an original story possibly based on the sea never dies

“This is about the fact I got injured, isn’t it?” Toru asks. There’s a bandage around his thigh, still—though hidden beneath his clothes. Nel had found him in the hospital when he was being discharged, however, and had walked beside him as he limped each slow step back home. “It was an avoidable injury,” Nel says, voice sharp enough to cut. She’s right, too. It was an avoidable injury. If Toru had been sharper, been more wary, been waiting for it—then he would have avoided it. But that’s not the kind of life Toru thinks he could live. He can’t expect everyone to turn on him with a blade in their hand. He can’t spend each day holding his breath waiting for the betrayal. He can’t watch everyone and wait for them to turn on him. He can’t do it. He just can’t. And- And maybe one day that will change. Maybe one day he’ll be more wary. Maybe one day he’ll look at a stranger and expect the worst from them. Maybe one day he won’t be so foolishly hopeful. Not today though. Not tomorrow either, Toru hopes. “I just-” Nel cuts herself off with a sharp exhale. “You go around and expect no one to hurt you. There’s no way that can end in any other way but pain.” Nel’s right, and she’s wrong. Their lives as mages are dangerous, but- “I think,” Toru says slowly, thoughtfully, “there’s a difference between expecting no one to hurt you and… just living your life waiting for it. Being a mage means that we’re always going to run into an enemy, and sure sometimes our allies will be friends and sometimes we’ll only have enemies. But—you can’t live your whole life without trusting someone.” “There’s a difference to trusting someone and being willing to trust anyone. People aren’t kind, Toru. They’re not nice. Not to strangers.” It’s this that has always divided them, Toru thinks. Not in a bad way. It’s good that they can hold opposing views, and good that they can be friends despite their different beliefs. Still, some part of him wants him to try and explain, wants to iron out the differences, wants to remind Nel that people can be good, too. “I mean maybe, but maybe not. I think, more than anything else, people are people really. Good, bad, indifferent. They’re all just words. Sure, maybe the next mage I’ll come across will draw their sword, but maybe they’ll just wave as we pass on by. There’s no knowing what the future holds for us Nellie, and it could be such a gorgeous thing.”

[fshoulders]

Just saw someone on here say the Baz Luhrmann Romeo & Juliet is “considered the most faithful movie version of Romeo and Juliet” and had to stop myself from chasing them down the internet like the meme goose going “BY WHO?! BY WHO!?????” Don’t start internet beef over this, self! They didn’t say THEY liked it best! They might be an innocent bystander! Also you are weirdly aggressive about Shakespeare!

Okay, deep breath, short post. Short post! We can do this!

Romeo and Juliet has an oddly small cinematic footprint, compared to its cultural impact. That’s probably why Luhrmann’s version can still hold any primacy. (Gods, are there English teachers showing this in class? Because they don’t have to fast-forward through the Zefferelli nudity? What a thought. Stay on target.) I can only theorize that other Shakespeare plays get more adaptations because they’re centered on a huge male role, so they can be a Serious Showpiece for a single male actor. R&J doesn’t operate that way.

And in my experience (having seen four or five live productions, off the top of my head) it’s a play that really lives in the theater. Stupid as it sounds, every time I see Romeo and Juliet live, some part of me feels like this time, it might end happy. The letter might not go astray: the messenger won’t get caught in a quarantine, Romeo will know Juliet isn’t dead, and everything will turn out fine. It’s so often noted that the play isn’t structured as a tragedy, but as a New Comedy (like Midsummer Night’s Dream, et c. — a story about young people defying their parents for love) that goes wrong: somehow this works on me, in person, such that I really think maybe we’ll pull it off! The kids will be all right, the parents will be chastened, and all will end well. It breaks my heart, every time, when it doesn’t.

I have small quibbles with the Luhrmann R&J, but I won’t enumerate them here. I simply want to point out that Luhrmann makes the most appalling directorial choice he possibly could. And he’s not the only one! This choice was in vogue during the 19th century in England (which is also when Bowdler took the naughty bits out of Shakespeare, so…yeah. Not very concerned with being faithful to the text.) Luhrmann, and the rest of the 19th century text-criminals, have Juliet wake up while Romeo is still dying.

I suppose some of you are now going, “why is that such a terrible thing? It allows for more acting!” Well, yeah, that’s why the hams of the London stage liked to do it in Romantic and Victorian times. Everything for more melodrama!

But it’s a sin against the text, and I’ll tell you why. That breathless stupid hope I talked about above, that the entire play’s structure induces? The hope that everything will turn out right? It builds up in you like a flood, and everything goes wrong again, and the entire weight of your hope is penned up in your heart, and they came so close! It was so close to being all right, but Romeo kills himself, and nothing will be all right.

And Juliet wakes up, still a citizen of the Country of Hope where this trick is so clever and Romeo’s going to save her, and she finds him there. And nothing makes sense to her. He was supposed to be here, but he was supposed to be alive. It’s a cruel inversion of her hopes, it’s her love made Death at last, it’s her whole world collapsing. We know how close it came to being all right, but she doesn’t know. She despairs. She sees he poisoned himself. And then she kisses him. And she says,

“Thy lips are warm.”

Now she knows as clearly as we do how nearly they were together, how close they came to a happy ending. Total understanding crashes over her, and crashes out of us. It’s the perfectly weighted moment of catharsis for the entire play. No lie: just typing her words above, I started crying with no warning. It’s the sharpened point of the play in Juliet’s heart, and ours. Those four words are the most devastating, understated thing. They are the cold, uncaring touch of Death.

And if she saw him die, they don’t work. They make no sense. She sounds like a fool saying them. And the whole weight of the play lands wrong, because some director thought he knew better than William Shakespeare how to wring the salt tears from human hearts.

[flyingraijinguy]

"Whispers of the Death Note: Tales from the Shadows."

“The Death Note Curse: When Power Leads to Tragedy ”💀✍️

I’ve been fascinated by *Death Note* for as long as I can remember. Not just because of the idea of wielding life and death in your hands, but because of the eerie *inevitability* of it all. Everyone who uses the Death Note… is doomed. It’s like the moment they touch it, their fates are sealed, spiraling into tragedy. This is something that’s haunted me, especially when I think about how the show makes it seem like power is never as liberating as it appears.

So, I started to dig deeper into what I call "The Death Note Curse." Every user meets a tragic end. Let me walk you through the fates of some of our favorite characters.

*Light Yagami: The Fall of a God*

Light Yagami was a genius, no doubt. At first, he used the Death Note with such cold precision. It was terrifying to watch him grow more detached from humanity, inching closer to his god complex. But Ryuk always warned him: “I will be the one to write your name in the Death Note.”

> ***Betrayed, exposed, and bleeding out in that cold, desolate warehouse... That moment still chills me.*** Light’s death wasn’t just physical—it was psychological. The worst part was, as he lay there, gasping for air, his mind seemed to go back to simpler times, like some kind of cruel irony. He wasn’t the god he thought he was. Just a scared, broken human in the end.

**That’s the real curse, isn’t it? Light’s ultimate tragedy wasn’t just death—it was the loss of everything he thought he stood for.**

### **L: The Puppet Cut Loose**

Then there’s L. He was supposed to be untouchable, right? His mind was a fortress, his reasoning flawless, but even he couldn’t escape the inevitable. His death was so sudden, so quiet.

> ***As L fell from his chair, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of horror. There were no final words, no grand revelations—just eerie silence.***

> It wasn’t just the end of L’s life, but the end of everything he fought for. The curse didn’t just claim his body—it took his brilliance, his purpose.

The moment his eyes closed, the curse had won. It didn’t matter how smart he was—he was doomed from the moment he challenged the Death Note.

### **Misa Amane: The Puppet With Cut Strings**

Misa’s story, though, always hit me differently. She wasn’t like Light or L. She didn’t crave power the same way, but she still got pulled into the Death Note’s curse. I can’t shake the image of her standing at the edge of that tower, her face smeared with black kajal, her eyes empty.

> ***Misa wasn’t jumping to escape—she was already dead long before her body hit the ground.***

> The moment Light died, Misa’s purpose crumbled. She had nothing left but the haunting void. **The curse took her, not through the Death Note directly, but by slowly draining her of the will to live.**

Her fate might have been quieter than Light’s, but it was just as devastating.

### **Ryuk: The Observer Who Feeds on Death**

Then there’s Ryuk. The silent observer, always lurking. He warned Light from the start, didn’t he? “No one who writes in the Death Note escapes the curse.” He smirked as if it was all a game to him, but now I wonder… is Ryuk cursed too? Is that why he was so fascinated by human tragedy?

> ***Ryuk, more than anyone, understood the curse. Maybe that’s why he never intervened.*** He was bound to it, watching, waiting, until the final page was turned.

You know, *Death Note* has always been about more than just power or justice. It’s about the cost of wielding something that no one should control. **The Death Note doesn’t kill you in one swift stroke. It pulls you into darkness, takes everything from you, and when it’s ready… it finishes you off.**

“The last name it writes will always be your own.”

> ***And now the question lingers…***

“If you had the Death Note in your hands, would you dare to use it. Or would you too fall victim to the curse that claimed them all”