#without terrible agony then so be it guess!!

[poppitron360]

I might not have as much to say as I did before, as I haven’t actually picked up a PJO book in over six months and am a bit burnt out on it all. However, I had my notes app open in a window as I read, so I could write down my thoughts in real time.

Also it is gone midnight over here so most of this probably won’t make sense. I am sleepy.

- “The only slight comfort was that Jason would have been dead right away- hopefully he hadn’t been in pain for long”- this is an interesting point to bring up, because Leo knows for a fact what it feels like to die, and knows how painful it was. And if I recall correctly the way it’s described in Leo’s POV makes it seem like not only did the explosion hurt, but the act of being dead itself also hurt, so much that Leo wondered if it was his eternal punishment. Idk- that’s my personal interpretation. It just hits me that Leo can’t be comforted by speculation that dying isn’t so bad, because he himself died in agony and knows what it’s like. Fun times.

- I have never been able to figure out how to write Caleo. I want to show both of their flaws without sounding harsh or judgemental or angry, and also while making it clear that they shouldn’t be together. Perhaps that’s a testament to the fact that I don’t like the source material I have to work with. But you’ve got them down perfectly, in a way that frames their relationship as toxic as it is but also makes both their actions understandable without condoning them. Leo feels in-character in terms of his negative self-talk and it’s also framed in a way that’s relavant to the messaging of the fic

- I don’t want to get ranty about Caleo again but one problem I have with the writing in the books is that for most of the other ships we see both POVs of the characters and are equally invested in both- but in Caleo, Leo is the only main character featured in the ship, and so we for the most part only really care about the relationship for him. So people who try and defend anti-caleo arguments with “Leo was a piece of shit to her too” don’t get that that’s the fault in the writing. There are some points in the books that make Leo actually hatable, and as someone who’s grown attached to him it just felt off. Readers generally don’t like hating their favourite character.

- Because Leo is actually factually correct in saying he’s a garbage boyfriend to Calypso, and this fic is genuinely holding him accountable for that, while still making him a character I want to root for. From what I remember about the books, this wasn’t handled as well in canon.

- You’ve kept Leo as a sympathetic character despite the fact that he’s objectively being a terrible partner, which is something that I don’t think even Rick did very well (to be fair, I started reading TOA a year ago so I’m probably remembering it harsher than it is) I guess because this is Leo’s POV and not Lester’s, it makes it easier to explain why Leo’s acting that way, but also it’s because you’re a fantastic writer.

- Idk if that made any sense but I hope you get the gist. Book Caleo Bad. Fanfic Caleo nuanced and complex, with no wishy-washy “happy ending” lens to it.

- Leo being the only competent person at Food in the Lost Trio is a recurring situation that never fails to be a fun read. It almost acts as a reward to avid readers of your fics, because the narrative impact of this nice, funny, relatable domestic moment is emphasised greater by the familiarity and cohesiveness between this and your other fics.

- Also, as a vegetarian myself (pescatarian technically but it doesn’t really matter), I love Leo being accommodating and making everything vegetarian (although the joy of pick-your-own-toppings is that the meateaters can fry up something on the side without making a fully separate meal)

- Piper clearly has no understanding of balanced food groups because beans AND tofu is WAYY too much protein

- Thank the fates I have the buffer of PJO burnout. If I was in the throws of the hyperfixation I would be in tears by now

- (Also no promises because I might still cry later you are an AMAZING writer)

- Congrats on finally getting it finished!!! Fourteen months on a fic is just wow, especially since I know you’ve had exams.

- I can already tell that this fic is now my favourite PJO book and I wish I could have a paperback copy.

The choiceless hope in grief (chapter 2)

Summary: Leo Valdez has lived and died for the gods. Their war has shaped his life since he was a baby. With Gaia defeated, he sort of hopes he can finally rest. He has friends and some semblance of home to return to for the first time since he was eight years old. Just this once, he allows himself to hope the good things might stick.

But the gods aren’t done with them just yet, and by the time Leo finds his way back, Jason is gone.

This time, Leo decides he’s done just taking the Fates’ bullshit lying down. If getting his best friend back means striking a deal with the gods and venturing into the Underworld… well, it’s probably not even the most reckless thing he’s ever done.

The caveat of said deal? He has to trust Jason will follow him, or his self-doubt will doom them both.

And after the life he’s lived, Leo is so intricately familiar with self-doubt that he could probably trademark the word.

Or: The only possible way for Orpheus to succeed is if he learns to think of himself as a person worth loving.

Word Count for chapter 2: ~6k

Rating: Teen and Up

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General notes for this chapter: -More grief/self-loathing themes. Not sure if I’ll be warning for those for each chapter individually since they’re quire relevant to the overall fic, but it’s been a minute, so I thought the reminder probably couldn’t hurt. (It having been a hot minute since I posted the first chapter is also the reason why I put the fic summary here again, I won’t do that for every chapter) -This does also go into the demigod deaths from Tyrant’s Tomb (at least a little bit). The death toll in that book is huge and I honestly found it really upsetting. I’m aware the Hunters don’t canonically stay behind to help rebuild but this is my fic and I can do what I want <3

-For my sanity and yours, we’re suspending our disbelief and taking the fact that Calypso is mentally sixteen in canon at face value. Her and Leo have a variety of problems, and, as should be clear by the premise of this fic, they’re not gonna last, but please note that I will be treating them both as traumatized teenagers.

———

Chapter 2: Piper tries to make burritos unsupervised

The first Iris Message came through on the ninth of April, barely ten minutes after breakfast. Piper’s dad was already at work, which at least meant they thankfully didn’t have to explain why there was a floating rainbow that had people’s faces in it chilling in the middle of the living room.

It was Thalia and Reyna. 

Leo hadn’t even realized they knew each other, but apparently the Hunters of Artemis—Diana, whatever—had come to Camp Jupiter’s aid. This should have been a relief, but there was no relief to be found in Reyna’s expression. The only flicker of joy he saw on her face was when she told them she’d be joining the Hunters.

It wasn’t the kind of decision Leo had expected from Reyna. Then again, she barely looked like the same girl that had shown Leo around New Rome with a proud smile, eagerly listening to and expanding on Leo’s ideas for fortifications and long-range weaponry. Had it really only been a few weeks since then? It felt like a lifetime ago now.

There was still that same grim set to Reyna’s jaw, but her usual proud posture looked more like she was… well, posturing, for lack of a better word. And the expression on her face… 

Leo knew that expression. He had seen it in the mirror many times as a child, and again in the last few weeks. It was the expression of someone who’d seen their home get burnt down to the foundations and found themself sitting in the wreckage.

He knew the kind of news they were getting even before Reyna started telling them what had happened.

Thalia was easier to look at—Thalia, whose grief was all fury, small bolts of electricity dancing through her dark hair like she was the human embodiment of a storm cloud.

At that moment, she looked nothing like Jason. It was such a relief that Leo almost cried.

They’d won the battle against the emperors, but Reyna called it a Pyrrhic victory—one that was so disastrous for the victors that it was basically indistinguishable from a defeat.

New Rome was in ruins. So many had been wounded. Even more people were dead.

Leo felt sick to his stomach. He’d known some of these demigods. Not well, admittedly, but he’d fought side by side with them. The thought that so many lives had been cut short, and that none of the gods had bothered to interfere for the longest time, despite the fact that it was their kids down there, made him want to punch something. 

Knowing that at least some of them had probably been friends with Jason in the life he’d never properly remembered, and how desperately Jason had always tried to protect everyone when the gods couldn’t be bothered to… 

Leo clenched his trembling fists, flames dancing in his curls and licking at his arms, all the way up to his elbows.

He needed to go outside and cool down for a bit to avoid lighting Piper’s bedroom on fire by accident.

~~~~ They were talking about Jason’s funeral when he got back. Thalia hadn’t been able to make it, which felt like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t found out he’d died until after it was already over. Percy and Annabeth still didn’t know, and Reyna wasn’t sure about Nico.

And there was the regret Leo had been so terribly afraid of feeling. He didn’t regret keeping Piper safe, especially not after hearing just how hard-won the ensuing battle had been. She was sitting here, next to him, alive, and nothing would ever make him regret that. It wasn’t even that he suddenly thought attending the funeral would have brought him any closure. How the fuck could there ever be closure for something like this?

But the thought of Jason, who’d been abandoned by both of his parents and had his memory wiped by his patron—whose camp had barely looked for him after he’d gone missing—going into death alone, surrounded mostly by strangers who had only known the person he’d been before he’d lost his memories, if that, made Leo feel sick to the stomach. 

It didn’t matter that he knew Jason would have cared more about them being safe than he would have about them attending the funeral. It felt like failing him all over again.

“I ditched you both in life, and now he’s gone, and I couldn’t even bother to be there for him, then.”

His eyes were swimming again. Piper wrapped her arms around him wordlessly. 

Reyna—serious, stoic, collected Reyna—had an expression on her face like she wanted to reach through the Iris Message and pat his head.

“I held some private rites for him,” Thalia said gently. It wasn’t worded as a suggestion, but the meaning was clear anyway. “I’ve also spent a lot of extra time shooting arrows at stuff lately. It helps, if only a little.”

“The only thing I could shoot here is Leo, and he hasn’t annoyed me that much yet,” Piper commented, so Leo promptly kicked her in the shin. “Ow! Actually, keep it up and I might use you for target practice, after all.”

“You can’t. I still owe Thalia hot sauce.”

It was such an absurd statement that even Reyna almost cracked a smile. “Yeah, I’m going to need context on that one.”

~~~~

Two hours later, a rainbow image of Frank and Hazel popped up. The worst part of that conversation was them asking how exactly it had happened, because apparently Apollo had performed a song about it, which had been emotional but not super clear on the details. Piper struggled to tell the story again, and she was reassured several times that she didn’t have to, but she pushed through. The only slight comfort was that Jason would have been dead right away—hopefully he hadn’t been in pain for long.

The second worst part of the conversation was way more mundane: Frank asking what their plans were going forward. 

Leo didn’t think there would be much going forward for him, just in general. In his mind, he’d been planning on staying in this reprieve forever—playing video games and getting lost in the woods with Piper as they continued to pointedly ignore the emptiness of the third chair at their little table.

Jason’s face kept popping up in his dreams, but the days were mostly bearable as long as he was here with Piper.

But then Piper talked about school, and the classes she was planning to take, and the possibility of college somewhere in the area. She talked about her dad and camping and maybe getting a job to help out.

Things that a person with a normal life would have done.

And, okay, maybe a part of Leo had realized that his idea of the future wasn’t exactly realistic. He also realized he couldn’t stay 

there forever. He didn’t want to be a burden on Piper and Tristan. He knew how long Piper had been wanting to properly spend time with her dad, and now she actually had the chance to, and here Leo was, inserting himself right into the middle of their already complicated father-daughter-relationship. He wasn’t supposed to be here, messing this up for her.

As much as he disliked thinking about this, he couldn’t keep ignoring that particular part of reality. He’d already spent too much of his life in homes where he wasn’t wanted. He couldn’t stand the thought of bothering Piper so much that she started feeling that way about him, too.

As good as it felt to see Hazel and Frank, a part of Leo was relieved when they ended that call. The even more horrible, selfish part of him was also glad Hazel had promised to be the one who told Nico. Leo didn’t know him that well, but he knew Nico didn’t have many friends and that he’d already lost too much. That particular breakdown Leo felt like he was in no way equipped to handle. He could hardly even deal with himself right now.

The calls didn’t stop. 

Piper’s siblings called, asking how she was and what had happened, and so they had to tell the story again, tearing off the scab and making their wounds bleed all over the place. 

Then, like everything else wasn’t bad enough, Leo got an IM from a very anxious Harley, who seemed relieved he was alive and asked when he was coming back to camp. 

“Don’t know yet,” Leo said, forcing a smile. “Probably not for a while. I’ll call you, though. I promise.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell his kid brother that he wasn’t sure he was ever coming back—that even thinking about stepping into this place that was brimming with memories of Jason made him feel sick to the stomach.

Leo supposed he couldn’t blame Reyna for wanting to leave behind a city full of ghosts when he couldn’t even handle one of them.

~~~~

Shel invited Piper out for coffee two days later. Via letter, of all things, because obviously Piper hadn’t had a phone number to give her but Shel apparently wouldn’t let that stop her.

“You falling out of a tree really did it for her, hm?” Leo teased, trying to read the letter over Piper’s shoulder. 

“Har. Har. Har.”

“Hey, you were the one who said you liked me being supportive and annoying.” He nudged her. “Come on, what’s it say?”

“Like I told you, she just asked me to grab coffee with her.” She folded the letter before he could get a proper look at it, but Leo knew it had way too much text to just be that. 

“Liar.”

“Okay, okay.” Piper held up her hands defensively. “She really did just ask, but she might have done it with a poem.”

“Damn.” Leo raised his eyebrows. “You think she’s picked out engagement rings yet?”

“Shut up.”

“I will refer back to your comment about liking that I’m supportive and annoying again! You’ll never get me to shut my mouth now. Besides, I did promise to make you regret saying you missed me,” he teased her. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

Piper snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Shel’s picking me up in an hour. Are you sure you’ll be alright here on your own?” 

It was clear that she was reluctant to leave him, especially since her dad was at work. 

Truthfully, Leo wasn’t super thrilled about the thought of being alone, either. But it was clear that Piper wanted to do this, and that was more important than him not wanting to be alone for a few hours.

He could totally do this. He’d spent a pretty large chunk of his life alone. He had plenty of experience keeping himself busy.

“I’ve third-wheeled on enough of your dates for one lifetime, thanks,” Leo informed her, still grinning. “Besides, I should probably call my own girlfriend. That’ll be a lot less awkward without you being around to give me shit.”

Because contacting Calypso may have barely crossed his mind in the past few weeks due to him being both a garbage boyfriend and a garbage person just in general, but at least in theory, they were still dating.

Piper stuck her tongue out at him, and he just hoped his laugh wasn’t too obviously fake.

“For the record, though, this won’t be a date,” Piper said determinedly. “I’m not- I don’t think that would be fair to Shel. Not when I still have so much to figure out, and not when I’m still dealing with… you know.”

“For the record, I don’t think Jason would be the type to show up and haunt his ex during dates. If he does, let me know, because then I might have to unfriend him post-mortem.”

He knew Piper didn’t love when he made these kinds of jokes, but she never told him to stop. Humor had always been how he coped. Piper got that.

“Leo.” Piper groaned, exasperated. “Be serious for a second, yeah?”

“Oh, I’m super serious. Possessive ghost exes are a total friendship dealbreaker for me.” Leo nudged her again. “As the resident expert on constantly getting rejected, maybe don’t take my advice on this, but I don’t think there’s a timeline for these things. It’s okay if you find her cute. I think he’d want you to be happy. That’s the kind of awful sap he is.”

Leo realized he’d slipped into present tense again, but he didn’t have it in him to correct himself. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“I do find her cute. I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship at the moment.”

“That’s fair.” Leo shrugged. “If I don’t get to be best man at your wedding, I’ll be really pissed, though.”

Piper stepped on his foot, so he kicked her in the leg and a moment later, they were swatting each other with pillows like they were little kids. Piper was actually laughing. For the first time in weeks, she seemed genuinely excited about something. And Leo wanted her to be happy. He was glad at least one of them was.

~~~~

The door closing behind Piper was terrifying. Suddenly, Leo was truly alone with his thoughts for the first time since Jason had died. Even late at night, when his thoughts inevitably drifted in all kinds of awful directions, Piper was there. Even if she was asleep and all he could do was hear her breathing, that still helped. This? Being alone with his thoughts in a completely quiet room? 0/10 experience, would not recommend.

He didn’t give himself much time to think. He rummaged around in his tool belt and pulled out a golden drachma for an Iris Message—as upset as Leo was with all the gods right now, he supposed at least his dad had the decency to actually give him an allowance—then pulled out the device he’d been working on. It was a small cylinder, no larger than the palm of his hand, and it obediently folded out into a prism at the push of a button. You just needed to fill it with water, switch it on, and voilà: you got yourself a rainbow. It even had an inbuilt flashlight in case you needed to use it when the sun was out.

He tried to swallow his anxiety and flipped the drachma into the rainbow.

“Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering. Show me Calypso. Waystation, Indianapolis.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the rainbow flickered and an image appeared—blurry at first, then slowly taking shape. Calypso was sitting at a desk by a window, brooding over some notebook that almost looked like…

Leo blinked.

“Huh, am just heroically saving you from your homework?”

Calypso’s head snapped up. Her eyes went wide as saucers. “Leo?” 

“I do recall that being my name, yes.” He grinned and waved. “Hi.”

He tried to remember how to talk to Calypso. The thing was, Leo wasn’t sure he’d ever actually known. Hell, even if he had, how exactly did you greet a girl you’d sort of ditched a few weeks ago and hadn’t called since?

Calypso didn’t look very amused. “Where are you? You were gone so long that- I was beginning to think you’d died!”

“Well, yeah, I did,” Leo said with a shrug. “That’s how I rescued you, remember?” 

It was easier to say that than to say anything else. To admit it really did feel like there was a part of him that had died and that he was never getting back. He didn’t want to have to actually talk about Jason—to tell the story again—especially not without Piper there. 

He realized his mistake a moment too late. Calypso’s eyes flared with anger.

“For the last time, you did not rescue me!” she snapped. “And do you think that’s funny? You disappear for weeks without a word, and that’s one of the first things you say to me? Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Right. Joking back and forth with Piper had been so natural and easy that he’d briefly forgotten Calypso didn’t like it when he did that.

Okay, admittedly, Piper probably wouldn’t have appreciated that particular joke either. She would have crossed her arms and told him off. But they would have been okay, after.

He never felt like he and Calypso were okay, coming out of these arguments. Most of the time, he just felt like shit.

“Yeah, well, things happened. And it’s not my fault communications were down.” He didn’t look at the image in the rainbow.

“What is it?” Her voice softened a little. “What happened?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well that’s not exactly helpful,” she huffed. “Will you tell me when you’re coming back home, at least? Maybe we can talk then.”

Leo was pretty sure he visibly winced at the word ‘home’. He wasn’t sure what the Waystation was, but he’d only spent a few days there. It wasn’t a bad place, but it most definitely wasn’t home. Home had burnt down when he’d been eight years old. The only other home Leo had ever found was ashes scattered across the ruins of New Rome now. 

Leo pushed the thought away. He had to keep it together. 

“I… listen, I don’t know yet. I just need some time to… I don’t know. Process, I guess.” 

“Process whatever it is you’re refusing to tell me about.” Calypso crossed her arms. “Fine. But you are coming back?”

There was an edge to her voice now—that of someone who had been left behind a few too many times. Over the course of her life, every person who’d ever kept her company had eventually dipped and left her heartbroken, never sparing her another thought. 

And now Leo had done the exact same thing.

Wow, he was a terrible person.

“Obviously.”

He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t continue bothering Piper when she clearly wanted to at least try to move on. And he had promised Calypso to try and stay somewhere with her—to live a normal life with her. Going back on that wasn’t fair to her. Not even when he was sure he was too broken to live that kind of life—too broken for anyone to ever properly put him back together. 

Staying here wasn’t fair on poor Festus, either. Leo knew his dragon friend didn’t like being folded up into suitcase form as much as he was, but Piper’s new home wasn’t exactly made for huge metal dragons. 

Leo tried to keep talking to Calypso. He really did. She lit up a little when he asked about school, and so they talked about that for a while. Calypso told him about classmates she got along with and how she liked marching band and Emmie tutoring her in the subjects she didn’t understand. 

Leo listened and tried to get past the fact that he just didn’t get it. He tried to grasp her excitement for a place that had at best been boring as hell and at worst been actual torture for him. 

“That sounds… I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I wish you were here. You’ve already missed several weeks of classes, but I think you’d like this school.”

Leo almost laughed. “I highly doubt that. They have yet to invent a school that can even contain me, never mind one that I actually like.” 

“If you’re still refusing to engage in any sort of actual conversation with me that even vaguely implies there is a future where you may be coming back,” Calypso said bitingly, “will you at least tell me where you are so we can all stop worrying so much?” Leo kept brushing past the answer to that question because he knew it would prompt more questions that he wasn’t ready to get into. “Did you manage to help Camp Jupiter?”

“I-” Leo’s throat closed up. Not enough, his brain supplied. I couldn’t save Jason, and I couldn’t protect his home, either. I’m not sure me going there made a difference at all. He couldn’t bring himself to say any of that. “Kind of. I’m with Piper right now.”

Calypso’s expression soured even further.

“You ditched me and let me think you were dead for weeks so you could hang out with your friends? Let me guess, Jason is there, too.”

Somewhere, there was a rational part of Leo’s brain that realized this did sound bad. If he had been listening to that rational part right now, he probably could have had a mature conversation about this with Calypso. They could have resolved this like reasonable people.

But at the mention of Jason’s name, he just shut down. He did not tell Calypso anything. He just hung up on her.

~~~~

Leo showered, so by the time Piper got home he didn’t look like he’d spent the past hour curled up in a corner, bawling his eyes out.

Piper wasn’t an idiot, though. She knew that something was up the second she stepped through the door to find Leo in the kitchen making burritos.

“You okay?”

“Just got hungry.” He shrugged, like he wasn’t in fact trying to cook out the feelings he hadn’t been able to get rid of with his tears. It hadn’t really worked—cooking couldn’t exactly fix relationship issues or the fact that his best friend was dead—but rolling up the ingredients in one of his handmade tortillas at least helped keep his hands busy, and he actually was a little hungry. “You can have one, if you didn’t already eat on your date. Ingredients are pick what you want,” he said, gesturing at the mess of bowls and the still sizzling pan of fried tofu, “but they’re all vegetarian.”

“You are my favorite person in the whole entire world, and also definitely trying to distract me,” Piper said, shaking her head, but she did move to fill up one of the still-warm tortillas with a ridiculous amount of black beans, lettuce and tofu, combined with not nearly enough salsa, as far as Leo was concerned. “And it wasn’t a date.”

“Mhm, sure. Did you guys-” Leo broke off in horror. He’d been watching Piper work, and sure, he’d been lovingly judging some of her completely unbalanced food combos in his head, but this he could no longer tolerate. “Pipes, what in the world are you doing? I’m unfriending you.” 

He set his own food down on his plate and moved to stand beside his best friend. Screw the date interrogation, for now he had to save Piper’s poor tortured burrito.

“I thought I just had to roll the tortilla. Did I put too much stuff on it and that’s why it doesn’t work?”

She’d been trying to roll the entire thing in a single direction, impressively managing to make her excessive amounts of filling spill out of three sides at once. 

“This is what I get for briefly forgetting you grew up a rich kid with a private chef,” Leo groaned, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. He gently shoved Piper away from the kitchen counter to do rescue breathing on her half-slaughtered dinner. “You can’t roll it like that, you absolute heathen. You need to tuck the sides in. Here, like this. That way you won’t end up with ingredients all the way down your shirt.”

He gently opened the tortilla back up, took a spoon to move the filling Piper hadn’t spilled to the middle and then rolled it properly, like his mom had shown him when he’d been five. He made a point of doing it way slower than necessary, like he actually expected Piper to memorize the steps and maybe take notes.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” Piper raised her hands. “But heathen is a hilarious insult considering we both have a Greek god for a parent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a riot.” Leo grinned, neatly cutting the burrito down the middle and handing the plate back to Piper. Then, he started wiping down the counter. Kitchens were the only work spaces Leo had ever properly bothered to keep tidy. “Now that neither you nor your food are at immediate risk of death, tell me how things went with Shel. You engaged yet? For your sake, I hope she’s better at rolling burritos than you, because otherwise you’re both doomed.”

He made a show of looking at her hands like he was actually expecting to find a ring.

“Shut up.” Piper rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “It was pretty great, actually.”

“Hello? Details?” Leo waved his hands in circles for emphasis. “You don’t seriously think I’m letting you off the hook that easily, do you?”

Instead of moving towards the table like she should have, Piper flopped down on the small couch with her food, so Leo grabbed his plate and joined her there. He wasn’t complaining about dinner on the couch.

“I’m only telling you if you tell me what’s up with you first. Because, distraction or not, you won’t get rid of me that easily, either.” She nudged him gently, then stuffed her mouth with food like she was trying to emphasize she wouldn’t go first.

Her face melted into a completely content expression, and Leo immediately felt happier.

“That good, hm?” Piper made a humming noise of confirmation. “Then I think you owe it to me to tell me how your date was. I promise I’ll tell you what’s up with me after,” Leo said with a grin.

He knew he had to give her something or she would never talk, but he really wanted to hear about Piper’s day before he went and ruined the mood.

“Ugh. You’re the worst.” Piper sighed, letting herself fall against the sofa’s backrest dramatically. “Fine. But only because you’ll be completely unbearable otherwise.”

“You know me so well.”

Leo tried not to feel a sting at how great Piper’s day had been without him there. What he felt when she talked wasn’t the same painful sting he’d felt when it had been her and Jason dating, though Leo couldn’t quite explain why. Most of him didn’t mind this. Hell, most of him was happy for her.

But it certainly didn’t help the feeling that he wasn’t exactly needed here.

The not-date itself actually sounded pretty nice, as long as Leo managed to make all the useless voices in his head shut up.

Shel and Piper had grabbed coffee (which Leo couldn’t sympathize with) and just talked for ages. Shel was apparently on her school’s swimming team, did theatre in her free time and liked a lot of the same music and movies as Piper. She’d lived in Tahlequah her entire life. She’d also known she was a lesbian since she was eight years old.

At that point, Piper had apparently felt like she owed her some sort of heads up—both about the fact that she was still new to all this and about having recently lost a really close friend that she’d dated at some point and how that didn’t leave her with much headspace to figure out… everything else.

That seemed like a lot to share so early on, but Piper said Shel hadn’t minded. She’d just thanked her for being so honest, and told her she was there if Piper needed someone to talk everything through with.

“Which I obviously can’t, because well, if I told her a Roman Emperor came back to life and stabbed my ex, she’d definitely think I’ve lost it completely, but it’s a nice sentiment.”

“Yeah, I thought everything else was already a bit much, but ‘my mom is a Greek goddess, I can brainwash people and me and my friends saved the world last year’ really isn’t a conversation for a first date.”

Leo wasn’t sure how Piper could stand it. The thought of having to keep most of his life secret from a mortal parent and any new friends he made seemed impossible to him. Hell, even if he’d wanted to, Leo was pretty sure he’d inevitably slip up and make a joke about the time he almost got eaten by a giant killer shrimp, and that was if he didn’t anxiously catch himself on fire first.

“Anyway, she said it’s totally understandable that I need time, and if the worst she can get out of this is a friendship with a pretty girl, that’s still a win in her book. And she still insisted on paying, to welcome me here,” Piper told Leo fondly. “It was… I don’t know. She’s nice. I’ll probably end up at the same school as her, and she’s offered to show me around.”

“So, how soon can I expect a wedding invite?” Leo asked with a grin. “You’ll remember the best man thing, right?”

“Keep this up and you won't get an invite if I do actually get married one day,” she teased back, gently flicking him in the head. “Now, tell me what’s going on with you. You promised. Did your call with your girlfriend go okay?”

Leo winced, which was answer enough in his opinion, but he knew Piper would disagree with him on that one. He still didn’t want to have this conversation. He also really didn’t want to bring Piper down when she’d finally had a good day for the first time in ages.

But she was looking at him expectantly, and Leo knew that no matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

“It wasn’t great. Apparently, me being gone for so long had everyone pretty worried. Go figure,” he admitted, hoping he could avoid elaborating. He didn’t exactly want to dump all of his relationship issues on Piper, especially since there wasn’t anything she could do to fix them. He knew it was sort of necessary to keep talking, but he could barely get the words out. “And, uh. Because of that, I think it might be time for me to head back to the Waystation.”

It was something he’d been thinking about on and off since that IM with Frank and Hazel. And as much as the thought of going back made his stomach pool with dread, the call with Calypso had just sealed the deal. Once he’d managed to stop crying like a baby and his heart had quit throbbing out a painful rhythm of Jason, Jason, Jason until he couldn’t breathe, Leo had at least tried to figure out what he wanted to do now. He couldn’t keep staying with Piper, who was finally starting to be somewhat okay again. He couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that he’d just ditched Calypso for the world’s longest, most depressing sleepover.

If he wanted any chance to salvage that situation, and if he wanted to give Piper a chance to actually move on instead of continuously dragging her down with him when he didn’t want to move on the way she was trying to, then he had to go back to the Waystation.

The teasing smile slid off Piper’s face.

“Oh,” she said, her lip wobbling a little. “Do you really have to go?”

Leo felt almost relieved that Piper seemed sad, though he realized maybe that was a bit of a shitty reaction on his part. At least he hadn’t completely annoyed his way out of this friendship just yet.

“See, that’s why I refused to go first. Instant mood killer.” He tried for a half-smile. “But yeah, I should probably go back soon. I’ve kind of been neglecting my girlfriend a whole bunch—I haven’t seen her in over a month, which is pretty shitty of me. Besides, poor Festus deserves to be in a place where it’s easier for him to stretch his legs. You know he doesn’t like being in sleep cycle this much.”

Piper wrapped her arms around herself. “I guess that makes sense, but- do you have to leave right now?” 

Leo shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think another day or two will make a difference at this point. I’m going to get an earful once I get back either way.”

“Okay. Good. I know that you can’t stay here forever. But I need a few more days with you. I’m sure Festus will forgive you eventually.” Piper was obviously trying to sound like she was teasing him, but something pleading, almost desperate crept into her voice, which had Leo worried. 

“Yeah. Festus.” Leo cringed internally. He actually wasn’t all that worried about Festus staying mad at him—sure, he might pout for a bit and would probably complain most of the way back to the Waystation, but he was usually easily appeased with enough motor oil, Tabasco sauce and maybe an upgrade or two.

Leo was unfortunately pretty sure his relationship issues with Calypso would need fixing that was beyond the magical abilities of Tabasco sauce—though what would fix them, he had absolutely no idea.

Them having problems wasn’t exactly new, and hadn’t entirely been caused by him running off on her now—even if that admittedly hadn’t helped.

“So, are we doing the world’s longest goodbye movie marathon, or do you need me for anything specific?” Leo joked, trying to hide his relief at getting to stay for a few more days, consequences for his relationship with Calypso be damned. “I know you’ve been lucky to bask in my presence for so long, I’d be reluctant to let me go, too, but that sounded like you might have actual plans.”

Piper didn’t laugh. She didn’t even roll her eyes at him, which was a terrible sign. 

“If you really have to leave, there’s something I want to do first.” She reached out and took his hands with shaking fingers. “I- I’ve been thinking. About what Thalia said. And I want to find a way to properly say goodbye, too. But I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Leo felt like someone had punched him. He could basically feel the way all color drained from his face at Piper’s words.

“I- I don’t know if I can-” he stammered, fighting his instinct to immediately turn on his heels and run—out of this room and this house and preferably the entire state of Oklahoma.

Joking about it was one thing. Facing the reality of it��the fact that Jason was truly gone and he’d never get to see him or hug him or joke with him again—was an entirely different beast.

Leo wasn’t sure he was ready for that. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

“You don’t have to say or do anything you don’t want to. I promise,” Piper told him, gently squeezing his hand. “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t feel ready for, okay? I just need you there. Please?”

Piper wasn’t charmspeaking him. Leo would have known if she was, and he knew that she’d never do that to him—not when it came to something as important as this. But she was looking at him with such wild desperation in her eyes that it was still impossible for him to say no.

It didn’t matter if this didn’t help him. Piper needed it. He’d left her for over six months. She was the one who’d actually been present when Jason had died.

The thought of that kept him up at night. He kept imagining Piper kneeling over Jason. Piper shaking Jason’s shoulders and screaming his name, hoping desperately for an answer she’d never receive. Piper clutching Jason’s body to her chest for the very last time. Piper wailing on that awful beach while Leo was a thousand miles away.

He hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him the most. This was the least he could do to start making things up to her.

“Okay,” he said, reaching out to pull Piper into his arms. It was a mostly selfish act, really—if he hadn’t been holding onto something, Leo wasn’t sure how he would have kept himself from falling apart. “What do you want to do?”

“Jason wasn’t just a Roman demigod. Not since-” Piper broke off, but Leo caught her meaning anyway. Not since he met us. “He belonged to both camps. That was important to him. I think he should have a proper Camp Half-Blood funeral, too.”

———

Some more notes:

So, it’s been six months since I posted the first chapter of this fic and about fourteen months since I first started working on it, and I am delighted to announce that it’s finally done! I can therefore reliably promise both weekly updates and that this fic won’t be abandoned partway through! Hooray!

It still feels kind of dizzying whenever I think about this story actually being done considering how long it’s been my main writing project. I originally thought this whole fic was going to be done in like three chapters. It turns out what my brain wanted instead was a whole Leo Valdez novel. I cannot say that I, personally, am upset about this outcome.

Special shout-out to my friends who have listened to me ramble and rant about this fic for months LMAO

I poured a lot of love into this story and I hope you’ll have a good time with it! Comments obviously super, super appreciated. Thank you all for reading!

Tag list: @poppitron360 @bookIshpolythist @lilyfrey @lady-silkwing @intenebrisobscurat @manygeese @ann-rex

(If anyone wants to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!)

[magnagaruzenmon]

Accident

Karina looks too cute like this

You were on your way to the restaurant for your first date, stomach buzzing with nerves, when the universe decided to throw in a plot twist—by way of a speeding luxury sedan.

You didn’t even get a chance to swear before the front grill smacked you like a linebacker. You bounced off the hood and landed badly, ankle twisting with a sickening crunch.

“Ah, god—” you groaned, curling around the pain as your foot ballooned to nearly twice its size. The agony was sharp and immediate, then settled into something duller but constant—like your ankle had been replaced with a live wire.

A car door slammed. Footsteps rushed over.

“Oh my god—are you alive?! I swear I didn’t see you!”

You looked up, expecting some panicked auntie. Instead, you were met with the most disarmingly beautiful woman you’d ever seen—glossy black hair, porcelain skin, wide eyes full of panic and… chaotic sparkle?

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t texting, I swear—well, I was looking at the restaurants, but that’s not the same—wait, what’s your name?”

You blinked, still on the ground. “Malcom.”

“I’m Yu Jimin—but you can call me Karina! Okay, I feel terrible, so I’m taking you to the hospital. Can you stand? No? That’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And just like that, she crouched, looped your arm around her shoulders, and half-carried, half-dragged you back to the passenger seat of the car that had just hit you. You stared, dazed, as she buckled you in with the tenderness of a mom securing her toddler.

Fifteen minutes later, you were in the ER, staring at a doctor whose mouth kept twitching like he was holding back laughter.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, glancing between you and Karina, “she ran you over and then personally chauffeured you to the hospital?”

You nodded.

Karina stood beside the gurney, arms crossed like a scolded puppy. “It was an accident,” she mumbled. “And technically I clipped him. Just a little clipping. Barely a love tap.”

The doctor gave up and left the room before he could laugh in your face.

After you got a boot on and were waiting in to be discharged Karina laughed and said, “You know I was actually supposed to headed to a date before this. That’s probably ruined,”

You laugh and say, “if it’s any consolation I was supposed to as well,”

“I guess this can be our first date then,” Karina said with a goofy smile. You laugh and say

“Sure,”

Over the next few weeks, you spent more and more time with Karina—and learned one undeniable truth.

This girl? Absolutely insane.

Not in a bad way. Not the dangerous kind of crazy. More like… a fizzy soda shaken too much, a firecracker in a Hello Kitty box, a sunrise that forgot it wasn’t supposed to talk at 200 words per minute.

Karina was a whirlwind of sunshine: too energetic, too happy, too much—but in the kind of way you start to crave. She skipped instead of walked. She made up songs about brushing her teeth. She got excited about vending machines like they were ancient wonders of the world.

But here’s the thing no one warned you about: her body? Ridiculously sinful for someone so wrapped in pink chaos.

Every time she bounced around the room in one of her oversized crop tops—grinning, giggling, hopping like an overcaffeinated bunny—there was a real risk of divine intervention. One bend, one innocent lean, and boom: cleavage apocalypse. You’d try to keep eye contact, but it felt like a test sent straight from the heavens. And you were failing. Hard.

Then there were the lap moments.

Karina didn’t mean anything by them. That’s what made it worse. She’d plop down on you mid-conversation with zero warning, back wiggling against your chest like she was trying to unlock some ancient, primal curse. Sometimes she’d shift without realizing it, and your brain would short-circuit while she nibbled Pocky and asked if ducks had teeth.

She was, somehow, both God’s most adorable angel and the devil’s most tempting succubus—wrapped in one soft, giggling, maddeningly affectionate package.

And the worst part?

She had no idea what she was doing to you.

Or maybe she did.

But either way… you were hopelessly, blissfully doomed.

The plan was simple: a chill double date. Dinner, drinks, and maybe a board game or two at Giselle’s place.

The execution, however, was anything but chill—because Karina, bless her chaotic soul, had once again decided to dress like a Victoria’s Secret model pretending to be wholesome. Which was ironic because you knew Victoria secret models who were more modest and wholesome than Karina.

She wore a baby pink cardigan that only had two buttons fastened—right at the middle—and underneath, a lacy bralette that could barely be called clothing. High-waisted jeans hugged her hips like they were in a committed relationship, and her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail that made her look infuriatingly effortless.

Giselle’s boyfriend tried very hard not to stare which would have annoyed you but you had your own issues . You tried very hard not to combust.

The whole night, Karina was a golden retriever in human form. She bounced around the kitchen helping Giselle cook, humming pop songs and spinning in her socks like the floor was a skating rink. Or she clinged to you like a new puppy would.

“Do you want more wine, Malcom?” she asked, leaning across the table to pour you a glass—from the wrong side. Her chest hovered right in front of your face like a sentient temptation. Your soul briefly left your body.

“Oh my god,” Giselle muttered beside you, hiding a snort behind her hand. “She’s not even trying.”

“She never tries,” you hissed, face hot.

When dinner ended, Karina claimed your lap like it was her rightful throne. She wriggled slightly to get comfortable, which meant your life expectancy dropped by about five years. She stole bites off your plate and pressed her cheek against yours like a cat marking its territory, all while giggling at a dumb story Giselle was telling about her boyfriend getting locked out in boxers.

You didn’t hear a word of it.

All you could focus on was the fact that Karina’s bralette strap had slid off her shoulder. Her skin was warm against your jaw. Her hips were grinding against your thigh every time she laughed too hard.

She looked up at you with wide, oblivious eyes.

“You okay?” she asked sweetly.

“Peachy,” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager.

Giselle made a strangled noise. “This is the funniest date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m just sitting!” Karina protested, still perched innocently in your lap, pouting like a kicked puppy. “Malcom’s the one acting all weird.”

You met Giselle’s eyes over Karina’s shoulder. She grinned like the devil. You were never going to live this down.

Later that night, after you’d survived dinner, board games, and the lap of doom, you and Karina finally made it back to your place.

She flopped onto your couch, kicked off her shoes, and gave you the look—head tilted, brows scrunched, lips pursed. The interrogation look.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial. “Why were you being so weird all night?”

You blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah! You were jumpy and awkward and barely spoke during dessert. Did I say something dumb again? You’re not secretly allergic to lasagna or something, right?”

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Karina… it wasn’t what you said. It’s you.”

Her expression softened in that open, trusting way that always made your heart lurch. “Me?”

“Yeah, like—look, you’re adorable and funny and insane, but also you’re just… really sexy. And you don’t mean to be, which makes it worse. You sat in my lap in that bralette like it was no big deal, and leaned over the table, and giggled with your boobs basically—okay, you know what I mean.”

Karina just stared.

Then blinked.

Then laughed. Hard.

“Nooo way. You’re just saying that to be dramatic!”

“I’m serious!” you groaned, collapsing beside her. “Giselle even gave me that look like, ‘bro, I’m so sorry for your suffering.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “I need to hear this from a second source.”

And just like that, she grabbed her phone and FaceTimed Giselle.

You tried to stop her. She smacked your hand away like a mosquito. The line rang once before Giselle answered, wrapped in a blanket, holding a popsicle.

“What’s up, chaos goblins?”

Karina shoved the phone in her face. “Was I sexy tonight?”

Giselle blinked. Then howled.

“Oh my god—YES. Babe, you were almost radioactively hot. I nearly had to throw a blanket on you for public safety. You sat in his lap like it was your throne and bounced like you were trying to get him to fuck you right there.”

“I wasn’t even trying!?” Karina cried.

“I know! That’s what made it worse! You’re like an adorable succubus and he was suffering in absolute silence. Honestly, it was impressive.”

Karina turned slowly to look at you. Her mouth was slightly open in disbelief. “Wait… you were turned on that whole time?!”

You gave her a flat stare. “Karina. I nearly bit through my cheek during Uno.”

She gasped like it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

Then she burst out laughing again—and tackled you onto the couch, straddling you without a second thought.

“Aw, baby,” she cooed. “You should’ve said something.”

You groaned. “You think I didn’t try?”

Giselle was still cackling through the phone. “I’m hanging up before I hear something I’ll never un-hear. Good luck, Malcom. You’re gonna need it.”

The line went dead. Karina grinned down at you, straddling your hips like she was born to sit there—like gravity itself had conspired to put her in your lap and keep her there. That wild sparkle lit up her eyes, mischief blooming across her face like fire meeting dry grass.

“Oh?” she purred, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you what me actually trying to be sexy looks like.”

And then she kissed you.

Not the shy, fluttery kind. No. This was a kiss that didn’t ask permission—it took. Her lips met yours with a hungry certainty, all heat and rhythm, like she knew exactly where you were weakest and aimed straight for the center. Her hands cupped your jaw, keeping you exactly where she wanted you, and every time you tried to catch your breath, she pulled you back under—deeper, slower, harder.

You groaned into her mouth, clutching her waist like a lifeline, your brain fogging up with nothing but the feel of her.

By the time she finally let you go, you were panting, light-headed, your pulse galloping like it was trying to outrun your restraint.

She didn’t stop there.

Karina leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear with infuriating gentleness. Her breath was hot, intimate, maddening. Then her tongue flicked out—just once—before she slowly dragged it along the edge of your ear and finished with a teasing nip at your lobe.

You gasped, hips involuntarily twitching beneath her. She giggled at the reaction, soft and smug, like she’d just discovered your cheat code.

Her fingers trailed down your chest, feather-light, tracing invisible patterns over your shirt. She wasn’t rushing—no, this was deliberate. Torturous. Seductive in the most innocent-seeming way, which somehow made it even worse.

“I’ve been waiting for the right signal,” she whispered, voice all faux innocence wrapped in sin. “Didn’t want to scare you off.”

She leaned back just enough for her bralette to catch the light—those two ridiculous buttons on her cardigan threatening to pop at any second—as she tilted her head, her short fluff of hair bouncing playfully with the motion.

“But it seems like you’ve been ready for me…” she purred, running her nails lightly along your abdomen, “…for a very long time.”

You swallowed hard. She smiled wider.

You had absolutely no idea if this was heaven or hell, but one thing was certain:

You weren’t leaving her lap any time soon. She slowly began to undress first the cardigan, then the bralette.

You almost drooled at how hot her body was and then somewhere along the way. A red light turned green and you took the offensive. You kissed her as you fumbled with your pants and belt as she took off hers.

Before you could think or even consider anything you plunged into her tight wet heat.

Karina smirked in the smug knowing way as you entered her.

Your ears ringing as blood rushed down to your dick. She smiled and said, “fuck me” her voice soft and seductive in all the right ways as you slowly plunged in and out as she greedily sucked you in,

“Fuck yu, your pussy is a vice”

Karina smiles at your struggle before saying, “well I do love you,” her words send you down a spiral as her pussy tightens around you leaving you ragged and breathless before exploding inside her velvety walls. Your seed enters her greedy womb as her walls desperately try to drain every drop from you. She smiles after your spent and says.

“I’ll tone down my accidental sexiness,”

Still inside her you say, “no keep me hard because I want you to know how much I love you as well.”

Karina smiles then says” oh you sweet poor boy,”

[yellowocaballero]

Tumblr's bugging out again so I'll have to make the Actual Promotional Post Later but, after MANY AGONIES -

The Way of All Traitors is out!

ORDER 66! Millions of men have been waiting their entire lives to fulfill their duty - with varying degrees of success. Marshal Commander Bly embarrasses the Imperial Army by betraying his life purpose and 'rescuing' his girlfriend Aayla Secura and her padawan Quinlan Vos. Captain Rex embarrasses all of Mandalore by failing to assassinate Ahsoka Tano, Darth Vader's infamous Jedi Master. Qui-Gon Jinn embarrasses everybody one last time by sacrificing his life to help Mace Windu escape. Meanwhile, true patriots like Marshal Commanders Neyo and Bacara murder the Jedi gleefully.

Marshal Commander Cody hands over his padawan commander Obi-Wan Kenobi to the Empire without complaint. Obi-Wan Kenobi's death at the hands of his former master Darth Vader will happen in darkness, and the galaxy will come to regret it.

No Chip AU anthology story featuring age swaps, explorations of fascism, and utterly terrible parenting.

I guess this is the post for my followers while I'll make the actual post later but CHECK IT OUT you have to CHECK IT OUT everybody is EVIL and there are EMO TEENS and SPACE DINOTOPIA and Cody is a REALLY BAD DAD and also it's 470k of me sitting in a corner muttering to myself about fascism, genocide, authoritarianism, conservatism, the patriarchy, toxic masculinity, STAR WARS -

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her Glenn was up early. Maggie was still sleeping and she needed it... so he'd headed downstairs and dug through the cabinets until he found an old box of chai tea. He'd put on the kettle, poured his own cup and a spare, and sat himself down at the kitchen island, and he waited.

And right on time, Daryl's boots shuffled up the stairs from the basement and he dragged himself into the kitchen to face another day.

"Hey," Glenn greeted him kindly. Daryl looked up, struck by someone else being awake at the early hour.

Daryl tried to answer, but nothing came out at first until he cleared his throat, and then he managed a gravelly, 'Hey" in return.

"You look terrible," Glenn said sympathetically.

"...Thanks," Daryl growled back. Then he noticed that there was a second cup of tea sitting on the kitchen island beside Glenn. Swirls of steam lazily rose and drifted in the air.

"Come on and sit down for a minute. I think we should talk," Glenn said. He gestured to the stool in front of the mug.

Daryl hesitated, but then went to join him.

"I think I know why you've been looking so rough lately," Glenn said.

Daryl stared back at him, his blue eyes narrowed in something remarkably like suspicion. "I just ain't slept—"

"—since she left," Glenn interrupted. "I know. And it's not exactly a coincidence. Is it?" he asked.

Daryl shifted nervously and dropped his gaze to the counter, to his boots, to the mug sitting untouched in front of him, to anything except Glenn.

"When Maggie and I got separated after—after the prison... it was agony. I mean, I really thought that if I couldn't find her... I'd just give up and die. That would be it, you know? Because nothingness seemed like the better option compared to living without her." Daryl's blue eyes furtively glanced up to meet Glenn's. "But I knew, I knew, that she was out there. And that kept me going and it was the only thing that could put my world right again. So I did everything I could in my power to make that happen."

Daryl gulped and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, so hard that he tasted the tang of copper. "Why're ya tellin' me this?" he drawled, his voice gritty and tired.

"You know why. She's the one who sets your world right. And if that's true... then you have to go after her and bring her back. Whatever it takes. You have to find her and tell her. And I'm not telling you anything that you don't already know. I'm just trying—to... speed it along a little, I guess," he said with a dry laugh and a sympathetic look. "Whatever is stopping you—" Glenn shook his head, "fuck it. Do it. Set your world right, Daryl. You can't keep going like this. More than that, you shouldn't." Prompt: "I haven't slept since she left." A/N: I'm not crying. It's just raining on my face...

[wildsaltair]

Nightmare

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff)

Word Count: 2.3k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted

Author’s Note: Up until now I've never posted any Maximus fanfiction because it's always just sort of been something I did for my own enjoyment, but this is one that I don't mind sharing :) @streets-in-paradise inspired me by sharing some Maximus love with me, so this is dedicated to her (and all you other wonderful people who have made Tumblr a place where I can share my passion for this wonderful man)! There's a lot of love poured into this fic, so I hope y'all enjoy it :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You are not surprised to learn that Maximus has nightmares. The details of his past are something you can only guess at, though he has alluded to the terrible battles and bloody escapades that haunt his memories. You also know that his refuge in your home is the first peace he has known since he was a child.

But you are not prepared for the sheer forcefulness of his first nightmare. He’s asleep next to you in bed, pale blue moonlight filtering through the window of your room, but you are awakened by his movements in the middle of the night. He’s jerking back and forth, his face twisted in a look of concentration, agony, and terror. You can’t help the fear that rises in your throat at the sight.

He makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, one hand gripping the sheets tightly enough that his knuckles turn white. Blinking yourself into consciousness, your heart tightens at the sight. Even all these miles and months away from battle, still his past pursues him in dreams.

His next convulsion shakes the bed, and you instinctively reach out to him, hoping to wake him from the nightmare. It proves to be a mistake the second your hand presses onto his shoulder to shake him awake.

His eyes fly open at your touch, but it’s abundantly obvious that he is not awake, still seeing visions of whatever memory he was in a few moments ago. The look in his eyes is one of pure survival instinct, of a desperation that breaks your heart.

A split second later, you’re flat on your back, and the full weight of his body is pinning you down against the bed. You barely have time to register the shock of his swift movement before you realize that you did not wake him up. Blinded by memory, all he can see is his opponent, and the thought drives you to panic and try to wriggle out from under him.

Grinding his teeth, he grips both your wrists in his left hand and restrains them above your head effortlessly, despite your struggling. You call out his name softly, then more loudly, but still he is lost in the nightmare.

You thought you had tasted his strength before, when he’s made love to you and demonstrated how easily he can hold you in whatever position he chooses, but this situation gives you an entirely new perspective of his strength. A second after flipping you over, his right hand is around your throat, his thumb pressing into your jugular with enough force to crush it.

You’ve never been afraid of him once, but in this moment, without a single hint of recognition in his eyes and all his power focused on choking you, you are so terrified you can barely react. You can’t even use your hands to try to push him away.

Knowing that you may only have a few seconds to react, you gasp out his name as loudly as you can, the word immediately drowned out by the pressure on your throat. Your vision is fading to black a moment later, all the feeling in your hands gone from his vise-like grip.

But your strangled cry reaches past the fog of his nightmare somehow. The pressure on your throat releases, and his eyes widen suddenly, letting you know that he’s finally awake and realizing what he has been doing.

You can never forget the look in his eyes at that moment. All the terrifying forcefulness, the single-minded fierceness, the brute strength that made him such a force of nature on the battlefield — it all vanishes in a split second, dissolving into a gaze of such horror and regret that it shatters your heart instantly. You know that from this moment forward, he may never truly trust himself with you again, a thought that devastates you for him.

You can’t move for a moment, still struggling to catch your breath, and the look of horror in his eyes only increases as he pushes himself off you. He seems torn between the need to gather you in his arms and the fear of hurting you as he just did. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

You draw a ragged breath, reaching out one hand toward him desperately. “I’m all right,” is all you can manage. “I’m all right.”

You try to push yourself to a sitting position, but you find that you simply cannot, still so shaken from thinking you were about to be choked to death by the man you love, who you know would rather die than cause you any harm. His hands are trembling wildly when he reaches out to steady you.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he says, his own breathing so erratic that you wonder if he can feel your pain. “I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know it was you.”

He’s repeating himself in absolute shock, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, your neck, your arms to see what damage he’s done to you. His shaking only worsens, but he doesn’t lay a hand on you during his frantic checking over you for injuries, just lets them hover as if he’s afraid to touch you again.

You manage to sit up this time, steadying yourself with a calming breath and trying to give him a relaxed smile. “I know, I know,” you murmur, reaching out to brush your hand over his ruffled hair. He almost recoils at your touch.

“I could have killed you,” he whispers, involuntarily shifting himself to the edge of the bed away from you.

You keep running your hand lightly through his hair, determined to reassure him. “Of course not,” you promise. “You were only dreaming. It was just a dream.”

“It was just a dream,” he echoes, but not in agreement. “A dream of a battle in which I almost died. In which I killed so many men I could never count them.”

You don’t betray a single hint of fear, just scooting forward to close the distance between you. You use both hands now, framing the sides of his face as his eyes search your face desperately.

“I’m perfectly all right,” you assure him with a smile. “See? No harm done at all.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists vehemently, his voice breaking. “I could have killed you. I didn’t know it was you. I only saw my enemy and thought of killing him.”

Seeing how shaken he is, you push forward and clasp your arms around his neck to steady him. He still doesn’t touch you, doesn’t return your embrace. You can feel his whole body quaking in your arms.

“You don’t understand,” he repeats. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t need to know,” you whisper in his ear, stroking his hair rhythmically in the way he always responds to.

He actually pushes you away this time, his hands gentle on your forearms as he puts space between you again. His eyes are blazing, his face as white as your sheets. “You don’t know,” he murmurs again, dropping his hands. “I could snap your neck with one twitch of my wrist. I could break your wrists, your ribs, your spine as easily as I can hold you down.” He holds his hands up in front of you, eyes wide and haunted. “You have no idea what these hands have done.”

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” you argue, seizing his hands with yours before he can pull them away. This time, though, he doesn’t make a move to pull away, freezing in place while he watches you carefully. Slowly, intentionally, you kiss the backs of both his hands, his knuckles, his fingers, to demonstrate your words. “I know you, and I love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

He shakes his head, though his eyes drift closed at the touch of your lips on the base of his palms. “No,” he half-whispers, “no, no.” Your heart tightens seeing him so tortured, knowing that all this anguish lurks beneath his stoic exterior every day, hiding so you can’t see it. “I should never have risked you like this.”

“You’ve never risked me,” you insist. “You’ve never done anything but protect me.”

“Until tonight,” he counters sharply, his eyes flashing open and fixing on yours with his typical intensity magnified. “It only takes one time. I should never have taken the risk.”

You can read the meaning behind his words — that he thinks he can’t trust himself to sleep next to you. The thought of giving him up, especially for this reason, is utterly unacceptable to you.

“I am not afraid of you,” you tell him firmly. Your words seem to affect him, because the tension in his shoulders lessens fractionally. You kiss his hands again and again, then rest your cheek against the roughened skin that you love so much.

“You should be,” he replies softly, the severity in his voice already decreasing. You can see the waves of exhaustion and sorrow washing over him, and you reach out your arms to enfold him again. This time, he accepts your embrace, folding his arms around your waist gently and resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His skin is burning hot against yours, his arms still trembling.

“I could never be afraid of you,” you whisper. “I could never be afraid of the man who has protected me and cherished me. You have treated me so gently, so tenderly all these months. Never once has it crossed my mind to be frightened of your strength.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “I take pride in having the heart of a man so strong, so capable. I know you would never hurt me.”

He shifts you in his arms, lifting you slightly to align more easily against his body. You can feel the deep, shuddering breath he draws while he thinks about your words. “I would never mean to hurt you,” he replies, “but in a dream, I cannot tell the difference between memory and reality.”

“I believe you would be able to keep yourself from truly hurting me,” you reassure him, threading your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. He reacts to your touch with a hand sliding up your back to cradle you closer to his chest.

“And if I could not?” he whispers in response, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “If I should wake and find you dead by my hand?”

You shake your head, feeling tears spring to your eyes. Any fear you felt in the moment while he was holding you down is completely gone, lost in the tender embrace he holds you in now. “I do not believe the gods would allow such a thing to happen. Not to you. Not to us.”

He releases a shaky breath, one that glides across the exposed skin of your neck. He ducks his head to press a kiss to your collarbone, letting his lips linger there in a way that makes you shiver in his arms. “I am honored by your trust.”

You smile in response, dragging your fingertips lightly down his sides, over the deep scar that slices down his ribs. “I could never trust another man on earth as I do you,” you reply. “My only fear is that I may drown in the love I see in your eyes every day.”

He kisses your collarbone again in response, then moves upward slowly, pressing his lips to the soft hollow of your throat, then the underside of your jaw at your pulse point. Lifting you up effortlessly with his hands hooked under your arms, he repositions you so that you’re straddling him.

He then rests his fingertips, feather-light this time, against the sides of your neck. He strokes his fingers over each mark they left, then presses the softest of kisses against each one. Goosebumps break over your skin at the intimacy of his actions, of the wordless apology in every touch.

He lowers his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he breathes you in. “I do not know what blind fortune allowed me to find you,” he murmurs, touching his lips softly against the corner of your mouth, “but I thank them every moment for the gift of holding you like this.”

At your affectionate smile, he finally gives you the ghost of one in return, though his eyes are still haunted. You suspect that he will retain that haunted look for some time, no matter how many reassurances you offer.

As the intensity of the last while calms, he shifts you in his arms again, cradling you gently and laying you back against the pillows. He leans up on one arm, facing you, and you reach up a hand to stroke the side of his face. His expression softens again, giving you a look of utter fondness and devotion that makes your heart melt.

He leans forward slowly, as if asking your permission, and you gladly grant it. His lips touch yours with a gentle brush, then a bit more pressure. His tongue slides across yours in the way that always sends shivers up your spine, and one of his hands reaches up to stroke your hair, the other resting lightly on your waist. He kisses you once, twice, three times, each one more tender than the last, then lets his lips linger against yours for a moment more.

“I love you,” he says softly that you barely hear it, but rather feel it against your mouth.

“I love you,” you return, “more than I can say.”

One last kiss, and he finally lays down beside you, his face mere inches from yours and his arm folded across your waist. He takes his time in going back to sleep, choosing instead to gaze at your profile in the soft moonlight, but sleep finally takes him. And when you finally close your eyes, content to sleep peacefully beside him again, it’s to the sound of his even breathing and the warmth of his protective embrace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[jintaka-hane]

A Visit to the Infirmary

Masterlist

Img by Buffoland

This is a gift for the lovely @akagami-no-laney 🎁!! I like Hongo thanks to you, and when I went to look for more content about him, I saw there was very little! So I decided to write this. I hope you like it! 💕 Summary: You've fallen in love with the doctor aboard the Red Force. In complete denial of your feelings, you think it’s best to avoid him for a while until the feeling passes. But a terrible pain in your back will force you to pay him a visit. Word count: 2650 Notes: Love in denial. Flirting. Confessions of love. Use of 'Darling' and 'Doll'. Reader is a brat. Beckman is a saint. Hongo doesn't really know how to approach you, though in the end it seems like he manages to 🤪. I have no knowledge in medicine, so everything here is pure fiction XD.

"Dammit, Beck!!!" you roared, kicking and flailing in the air. "Let me go!"

The tall man's grip tightened as he hoisted you over his shoulder, stoically advancing toward the ship's infirmary while your fists landed futile punches on his wardrobe-like back. "Scream all you want Darlin’, but we’re going to see Hongo whether you like it or not." 

“NO!” you whined, writhing harder. “NOT HONGO! PLEASE! I-I’ll do anything you want! I’ll… I’ll get you the finest cigarettes at the next port!”

Beckman chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused by your desperate efforts to escape.

"BECKMAN, I’m serious! Let me go!! I-I swear that… that…  OUCH!!" you twisted in agony as a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower back.

The man stopped immediately to give your body a moment to recover.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, one hand moving to your back and rubbing it gently, “you need help… and he’s the only one here who can give it to you, do you understand?” 

You shut your eyes and nodded, then held onto his shirt, trying your best to handle the wave of pain.

You had been dealing with unbearable pain in your lower back for days. You didn’t know what caused it-whether it was some bad posture, the fall when you climbed down from the lookout, or the time you landed hard on your backside going down the ship’s ladder. Whatever it was, you must have injured something, and the pain, coming in waves like stabbing knives, was horrible. 

Stubbornly, you had tried to let it pass on its own, avoiding asking anyone for help and steering clear of the infirmary. Yet your walks on the deck, face twisted in pain and hand pressed to your lower back, hadn’t escaped the ever-watchful Benn Beckman. Guessing your reluctance to see the ship’s doctor, he had kept his distance and observed you from afar without asking questions, but, as he watched your condition deteriorate further, he decided it was his duty to act.

“Hongo’s a decent doctor. Give him a chance,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you with his concerned gray eyes.

The problem wasn’t whether Hongo was a good doctor. You knew full well that he was competent and professional. The real issue was that he was also kind, tall, funny, and undeniably attractive...

Okay, yes. You were maybe… probably, a little bit in love with him. But it was an insignificant detail, considering you were fighting it. You were convinced that keeping the right distance would make the feeling fade and spare you from a potential broken heart. All you had to do was avoid him and act like a brat when he was around, and everything would be fine. You were as certain of this as you were that your back pain would eventually subside on its own.

BAAAANG!!!!

The infirmary door swung open with a deafening bang as Beckman kicked it harder than intended, hands fumbling as he tried to grab hold of your increasingly elusive body.

“Sorry, Hongo,” he said, noticing that part of the doorframe had splintered.

“Oi, Beck,” Hongo said without turning around, completely unfazed by the door’s loud crash as he meticulously washed his hands in the sink. “I see you’ve convinced y/n to come and see me.”

“That’s not-” you began to say.

“YES,” Beck shot you a reproachful look as he carefully set you down on the floor. “She’s a smart girl and understands what’s best for her.”

You opened your mouth to speak but his huge hand covered it. His cold eyes bore into yours, and he mouthed the word “behave,” leaving no room for an argument.

“Perfect,” Hongo turned around with that charming smile that always drew you in. “Welcome to my office, y/n.”

You held his gaze for a moment, observing how his eyes crinkled beneath the scar that ran down his temple. Then he took a small white towel and dried his hands with an unusual gentleness for a pirate. The gesture made you look away, focusing in a sturdy wooden table that held a collection of bandages, ointments, and surgical instruments.

“Do you need me to stay?” Beckman asked.

“Yes-” 

“NO-” Hongo said at exactly the same time.

Beckman’s gaze shifted from one to the other. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” he finally said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips.

Shit.

You shooted him a dirty look as he walked out. Once the door shut, Hongo's eyes were on you again. His smile stayed as he moved a bit closer.

“So…” he began, halting when he noticed you flinch and step back, “you’ve had a sharp pain in your lower back for days, haven’t you?”

Of course, that bastard Beckman had told him.

“Maybe,” you replied nonchalantly, avoiding his eyes.

“And you didn’t come to see me until now, why?”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged, the careless movement causing the pain in your back to flare up again, but in a wave you managed to endure with dignity.

“Uh-huh…” he examined you. “Let’s take a look, okay?” Slowly, he took another step forward. “Can you lay face down on the exam table for me?”

Your gaze darted to the exam table to the doctor.

“Absolutely not,” you looked at him with a defiant look, arms crossed over your chest.

Hongo’s eyes narrowed.

“Very well,” he kicked aside a stool that stood in his way as he moved towards you, “by force then.”

You swallowed hard, realizing your back was already pressed against the wall. His figure loomed closer, and you wasted no time scrambling to take cover behind the wooden table. As you clutched its edge and dragged it in front of you for cover, several bandages, bottles, and ointments scattered across the floor, some breaking open and spilling.

“Eeehm, do you need help!?” Beckman’s raspy, concerned voice came from the other side of the door.

“No!” Hongo bellowed as he charged after you, his eyes fixed on you and ignoring the mess on the floor. “No need for help! We’re behaving like two perfectly normal, civilized people!”

He moved along the right side of the table while you quickly circled to the other side, moving as fast as your body let you. As he reached out to grab you, you twisted to evade him, but a sharp, agonizing pain shot through your back again, spreading to your hips and down your thighs. Your legs gave way under the intensity of the feeling and just as you began to collapse, Hongo caught you in mid-air.

“I’ve got you…” he soothed, his usual tenderness reappearing as he held you tightly against his chest. “I’ve got you…”

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, sobbing and swallowing your pride, and you stayed wrapped in his arms for a few minutes until he felt your body gradually relax.

“I’m going to take you to the exam table now, alright?” he said, feeling your head nod against his neck. “You know…'"he helped you to sit down, "you must be made of steel, because in all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve never come to see me…” his fingers danced lightly along the edge of your shirt. “Can I examine you?”

“NO.” You swatted his hands away.

"Alright, alright..." He smiled, raising his hands in surrender. "Let’s focus on your back, then." He gestured with his finger for you to turn over on the examination table. "Can you lie face down, please?"

You glared at him and lifted your chin proudly. But when he saw the spark in your eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

“Face down, Doll. NOW.” He said, his commanding tone making it clear who was in charge.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes you gave in, knowing full well there was no choice but to comply with your doctor’s orders. You turned over on the table, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your back, forcing you to moan and press your face into the sheets. You felt Hongo’s fingers ghost over your back, right at the spot where the pain was the worst.

"It’s right here, isn’t it?"

You nodded, surprised by how well he found the exact source. With your head buried in the soft, cushioned surface of the table, you heard the sound of a stool being dragged toward you. You turned your head to see him, but found his knees and the tops of his thighs instead, legs set apart.

"Okay…" you heard him muse,“... intramuscular analgesia”.

His left hand rested on your lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place, while his right hand deftly prepared the cotton and antiseptic. As he turned his torso, his defined abs peeked out from above the waistband of his pants right in front of your eyes, and you snorted, turning your head away.

“Don’t worry Doll, I’ll be gentle…” he said, assuming your reaction was due to the fear of needles. “I need you to raise your skirt and lower your underwear, please.”

You didn’t respond. You stayed still on the exam table with your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your lower back was unbearable, but the thought of Hongo right behind you, demanding to see your ass, was much worse.

"Come on, Doll…" he insisted, "be a good girl for me."

This time, a surprised chuckle escaped your lips. Never in a million years had you imagine hearing those words from him. A warm flush crept up from your neck, staining your cheeks. You hesitated, hands trembling as you slowly lifted your skirt over your hips. Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your panties, and as you exposed the soft, vulnerable skin of your ass, you felt Hongo shift slightly on the stool.

“... Hongo?”

"Yes," he cleared his throat with a hint of self-reproach. "Please, keep your ass up."

It was all too much. You couldn't stand the tension, the smell of antiseptic saturating the air, and the way his gaze weighed on your exposed skin. And that last order was the straw that broke the camel's back. You had to say something, anything that might unsettle him and tip the balance in your favor.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor, you can’t just pull down a girl’s panties and say 'ass up’ without, you know, a little courting first, can you?”

He let out a snort of laughter, and the sound made you smirk proud of yourself. Though not for long.

“Oh, Doll…” He lightly brushed your skin with the alcohol swab. “You know I’ve been wanting to court you for a while, right? But you make it hard when you keep avoiding me.”

Your heart raced inside your ribs. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to get up and run out of the infirmary, but unable to do any of that, you simply turned your face away and closed your eyes, trying to focus on anything but what he had just said. He sighed and got ready with the syringe.

"Alright, here we go," he said. The quick, clean poke made you gasp, and as he saw how tightly you were holding the sheet he took your hand and held it in his. "Good girl, you’re doing great… just hold on a bit longer…"

You focused on his words, letting the rhythm of his calm breathing soothe you, and as soon as he finished, he rose from the stool and moved away to give you space.

“Try to rest a bit until the medication takes effect."

With your face still turned to the wall, you pulled up your underwear and waited. Behind you, you heard the sound of pieces of glass being picked up and thrown away. You felt extremely guilty, thinking about Hongo cleaning up the mess you had left in your frantic attempt to escape. As soon as the pain in your back became bearable, you slowly sat on the exam table.

A sigh escaped you at the sight of Hongo kneeling on the floor, his back hunched and his shaved neck bowed, carefully picking up the spilled liquids and shards of glass. Without hesitation, you moved closer and crouched down beside him.

“Is your back feeling better?” he asked as soon as he noticed you presence.

“Yes… ,” you said softly, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. "Thank you."

“Anytime.” 

You felt his gaze on you as you focused on the task, sorting the broken jars and glass shards into a bag. You worked side by side in a silence that, oddly enough, didn’t feel uncomfortable, and you wished it could stay that way. But when your hands brushed against each other and you pulled yours back, he spoke.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” you replied without looking at him.

“But you avoid me…”

You stayed quiet, a rag in your hand scrubbing the floor hard.

"Look at me," he put a hand on the top of your head and guided you to face him. "Isn’t a ship’s doctor good enough for you?"

You shrugged off his hand and stood up , trying to hide the mixed feelings on your face.

“It’s not that, Hongo, it’s… it’s complicated.”

“It shouldn’t be complicated… " He rose to his feet to match your stance, and his eyes locked with yours with a hint of pleading in his expression. "Actually, it’s very simple. At least for me, loving you is as simple and natural as breathing.”

His words pierced your heart like arrows set aflame. He might have tended to your back, but his gaze and his words were leaving your mind and heart reeling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

“You love me…” You shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. Your heart felt so tired from struggling.

“Of course I do… You know I'm crazy about you.”

You opened your eyes again to meet his, his face calm yet sharply attentive to your reaction.

"I just..." your eyes darted between his, "need a little more time to sort out my feelings and make things... right."

He held your gaze for a moment, weighing the situation.

“I’ll be right here,” he said at last, raising his hands as if to hold the whole room.

You returned his smile. It wasn’t going to be very hard to come to terms with your feelings if he kept acting like this. As you discarded the dirty rag you had been holding into a bin, you turned and walked toward the door, feeling as though you were leaving a piece of your heart behind.

"I’d really love to see it again, you know? But maybe under different circumstances...” he said as you reached for the doorknob.

“See what?” you turned to look at him.

"That beautiful ass."

Bastard. 

But your heart betrayed you, leaving you flattered and forcing you to suppress a smile.

He was a pirate after all.

“Oh, Hongo,” you looked at him with pursed lips, “I can’t believe it. Where’s your professionalism?”

“Seriously, I’ve been pretty damn professional.” He put his hand over his chest. “I didn’t even smack you, and trust me, I really wanted to.”

“Ugh!” You huffed, stepping out of the infirmary and bumping into Beckman, who was waiting for you outside.

“How are you feeling, Darlin'? Better?” he looked at you with his grey eyes.

With a smile you couldn't stop, you stood on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him startled as you continued walking down the hall. Then the infirmary door opened, and Hongo stepped out, casually leaning against the frame and watching you walk away.

“Much better!” you replied over your shoulder, smiling to yourself before disappearing from their sight.

............................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

[valeriefauxnom]

Dragalia Niche Things In Weapon Lore You May Not Know

-Emperor Dane, ya know, the dude that Jupiter accidentally set on a brutal conquest where he became a dude that would kill two for fun every day?

He was also a weeaboo:

I knew there must have been warning signs that such a nice prince could be beholden to such depravity...

-Karina's real identity maaaaybe is Miralda, princess of Dargas.

The weapon that bears this description is a water axe, the very same weapon and element she wields, and it theoretically fits within her story. She claims that she ran off, but hardly escaped before she was captured. It would make sense that in a pirate invasion that they'd be crawling over the area enough to instantly get ahold of her.

If true, this would be an interesting case of Dragalia telling the future of a character. It's also one I potentially could see, since Karina's story focuses on her wondering how Euden has kept himself as a Good Boi even if he's a prince among all those Nasty Bois and Girls, so I could see her being inspired to change things in her own land later on.

Granted, it's not 100%, 'I have a definitive section where she clearly states she is Miralda', but I think there's enough 'hmm' elements to warrant a spot here!

-Zodiark had a cult around him, who called themselves Meggidothians! Also, they liked sacrificing humans.

...Of course, not officially sanctioned, but that didn't stop them!

Meggidoth might have also been a real person, but it is unknown how much he was involved or responsible for the cult's creation/tenets:

They also have an alternative cosmology:

-This isn't really a hidden lore or fact, but I find it curious that the weapon 'Blackwing' bears such a strong resemblance to Zodiark, without being attributed to him in any way. It looks more like him than his actual high dragon weapon:

-Alberius had a lance made when his kingdom was created and promised to personally kill anyone with it that threatened the formation of the new nation. He meant business, I guess!

-Tartarus may have been cut in half by the Greatwyrms, which is the reason he's now half-steel:

-Humans once got so nutty over a spear that Mercury put it at the bottom of the ocean

-There may be more than just one ark of humans living in the sky and at least one may have fallen and did a whoopsie destruction of a kingdom:

-Kukris are a weapon tied to the southeastern-most part of Grastea:

...And this is another instance of 'very niche lore that the writers kept track of', as Nevin's story also reaffirms this lore that kukris aren't really used except in the SE:

-This is just a funny intermission, but I find it funny if you take the many many many weapon descriptions literally, Euden's handing out weapons left and right quite skilled in delivering torture and otherwise painstaking deaths and subsequent commendations to a similarly terrible afterlife. Oh yeah and some also can destroy the world. Here's a small sample of what I mean:

And trust me, despite the 3/4 examples being shadow weapons, this is far from exclusive to the shadow element. So, uh, yeah.

Don't mess with the Halidom unless you want to face a whole bunch of people capable of sending you and your soul into endless agonies?

Intermission over! Back to the actual lore parts instead of just the 'oh boy you're gonna love to hear what this beauty's capable of...' likely exaggerations.

-There's a prison called Odo somewhere in the world, who seems to have a lot of executioners who predominately execute by the good old axe or by a bow in a proto version of a firing squad, judging by their weapons.

It's unknown if it still exists, however, as Odo was the place Stribog the dragon protected until Agni destroyed it with a firebomb disguised as a Trojan Horse. Maybe it was rebuilt and eventually repurposed as a prison town?

As bonus related lore, the death penalty is very much still active in Alberia, and usually takes the form of beheading or hanging. It can be commanded by local lords (as feudalism is in full effect with local lords having much control over the workings of their endowed region) as well as through courts.

There's also this bit of lore regarding it in another weapon:

-There may have been another race in Grastea, possibly their equivalent of halfling or gnome-esque races:

-This strays into other niche lore, but there was a band of elite Alberian knights called the Alberian Ironsides who seemed to love tower shields:

-Also another crossover between wyrmprints and weapon lore, the Battle of the Thelodian Plains was one at least 300 years ago in which eventually 23 armies unaffiliated with a formal state came together in a senseless battle, with a casualty rate of 80% (quick reminder that 'casualty' counts both injured and dead).

-There was a dude called Count Logan the Brave who seemed to like collecting weapons and bringing them back home. There's three weapons that mention him.

-Interestingly, Troy, the one adventurer dude that pops up a bit frequently in weapon lore, the wand from his last supposed adventure seems to bear a bit of a resemblance to Bahamut...

...Who, by the way, was indeed the explicit creator of the earth, as Xenos crafted sky instead!

-Last but not least, Zodiark really just seems to be involved in a lot of weapons that are Not Good for their wielder:

That's all I have right now, but I do hope that you learned something about the eternally-batty Grastea, through the weapons its residents use!

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Fourteen

Day: Saturday, March 9th / 10th* Time: 3:40 PM EST

There is a crash behind Nathaniel, the unmistakable sound of a body slamming into wood. He turns as Andrew forces his way into the room with Wymack right on his heels. Kurt grabs at Andrew but loses his grip when Wymack shoulders past him. Nathaniel has only a second to see the handcuffs locking Andrew and Wymack together, and then Browning reacts to the violent entrance by reaching for his gun. Nathaniel grabs Browning's arm with both hands and yanks as hard as he can. He only means to slow Browning down and pull him off- balance, but the agony that shoots from Nathaniel's fingertips to his elbows almost takes him off his feet. He let go without meaning to and hunches over like that will somehow make the pain go away. Crushing his hands to his stomach doesn't help, but Nathaniel needs to shield them somehow. "Don't," he says through clenched teeth. He thinks he says it, anyway; he can't hear himself through the white noise roaring in his ears. The weight of a hand on the back of his neck says he's bought Andrew enough time to reach him. Nathaniel doesn't remember closing his eyes, but he forces them open again. He tries straightening, but Andrew catches his shoulder and shoves him to his knees. Nathaniel goes without argument and cradles his wrecked hands in his lap. His hands feel so terrible he expects to see blood soaking through his bandages, but the gauze stays white and clean. "Leave it," Wymack says. He sounds so angry Nathaniel knows Wymack isn't talking to him or Andrew. He guesses Browning or Kurt is moving to haul Andrew out of the way before he hurt Nathaniel further. Either the feds trusts his judgment or they can't get around Wymack to get to Andrew, but Andrew knees in front of Nathaniel unchallenged. Nathaniel turns his hands over and looks up.

Art used with permission by Hamrikaa. Thank you @hamrikaa!

*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Anyway um. The general narrative position of Orzammar in Veilguard makes me want to throw up blood <3

And like the argument can of course be made that it is being percieved through a very biased lense, Kal-Sharok has held this grudge for nearly a thousand years now and therefore obviously are going to percieve themselves as the more morally pure culture in comparison. And Lace is a surface dwarf who really knows nothing about Orzammar except for the discrimination she has encountered when interacting with it. Okay, sure, Dragon Age has always somewhat awkwardly attempted to be an entirely unreliable-lore tale, nothing can be taken without a grain of salt etc etc.

So I suppose my main grief and agony is more with the DECISION to make these people the only ones who get to say anything about Orzammar in this, the final reveal of the true crushing extent of the Dwarven tragedy!!!! I have spent literal decades within the understanding that Orzammar is living on borrowed time, like pretty much every codex entry written by a dwarf about themselves mentions the 'long struggle' that will eventually be lost, the darkspawn will someday claim Orzammar too and with nothing of the Deep Roads left to conquer they will finally surge to the surface and begin the endless blight. Orzammar was made the unwilling blockade for the surface against the darkspawn.

And now we find out?? That the thing that was going to be the death of them, that has been eating away at the dwarven people for millenia, the cause of a thousand thousand horrors and griefs and terrible choices and screams in the lonely dark- That was the very thing they were begging to protect them!!! Stone protect me, Stone keep me, Stone's blessings to you, she encircles us and we must protect her here where darkness meet's light- but they were not protecting her!! And she wants them all to be consumed by the tide of her righteous retribution, for forgetting her, for using her, for building their civilisation upon the wreckage of her and leaving her trapped and alone in a purgatory between life and death, between existence and absence, cut off from they who made her whole and yet they thrive and she is left behind.

But they didn't know! They don't remember! All the dwarves have been doing for generation upon generation is unconsciously trying to clumsily recreate that lost soulful feeling of being part of a cohesive whole, Solas literally calls them 'the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood' (biting him biting him biting him b-) but the point is they were also traumatised by the loss and have spent ages and ages just trying to figure out how to exist without like... THEIR CONTEXT!! Their dreams!! Like Dwarves ARE STILL part of the Titans, evidenced by the fact that when the Titans lost their dreams so did all the dwarves, even those born post the calamity, they just are disjointed, disassociated!!!

... But Orzammar is just a stupid, hidebound, oppressive, politically-putrified, 'immoral' city of people whose perspective on all this is ergo completely superfluous, uninteresting and unimportant. And Kal-Sharok (who are just sooo morally pure they're making all the GOOD choices and don't have any prejudice in them at all and their own tragedies only drove them towards good things so I guess it was good Orzammar cut them off after all???) Well they apparently already know most of it anyway and they're ready to move on and grow and learn and it's all just so neat and clean and no dwarf who venerates and loves the Stone has any catastrophic or ugly feelings about this whatsoever! Orzammar APPARENTLY doesn't even care so yaaay how cool wow that's so cool an entire culture just doesn't care about their religion and it's origin? They just don't care? Haha! They just don't care! They're probably even suppressing it for evil oppressive reasons, completely ignoring the fact that even the Casteless have a relationship to the stone, wow! That's so compelling haha! I hate it when societies have to actually struggle with something or when religion is important to people, booo imagine... imagine......

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 25, 2021 6:50 p.m. myshuno restaurant

why are you surprised?

grant fixates his gaze far away from his father’s fiancee, suddenly shrinking into himself when he realizes what her appearance means. she intends to talk. she’d walked him right over to the nearest bench–why else would she do that? and grant wishes he hadn’t agreed. he wishes he weren’t so brave now. he wishes he’d left faster, pretended he was in a rush, something of the sort.

you should have avoided this. all of this. this was a terrible–

the gentlest of prods at his shoulder stirs him from his racing thoughts.

“sorry. i'm still space-casing it.” grant shudders; she must have already asked him something.

if she’s bothered by his inattention, varpu doesn’t show it. instead, she smiles. not joyfully, though–it’s a thin-lipped smile that he can only describe as one of abject pity.

“i wanted to know if you were okay,” she repeats, “and no, i think i owe you an apology instead.”

“oh, i'm fine. and really, you don't.”

you are not fine.

fine doesn’t match the nagging ache in the core of his chest.

why are you upset anyway? why the fuck are you surprised? you knew all of this was coming. you knew he’d always–you didn’t. no, you bought it. you believed it somehow, in some way when he preached about being a better father.

“you are not a very good liar,” comes varpu’s retort. the pitying smile is still plastered on her face, though it slips more and more by the second, slowly replaced by an unreadable albeit piercing expression.

“it’s genetic.”

and you knew he was never going to stay. you even gave him your express permission.

and yet…

somewhere in the back of grant’s mind, a much younger version of himself–the child who experienced the worst abandonment life has to offer–is crawling out of the woodwork and screaming for attention, screaming so loud that he can think of nothing but that child’s agony. bad memory after bad memory floods grant’s remaining bandwidth. he’d barely shut them out at the table, only for them to resurface in a tidal wave the very moment he let his guard down.

“yeah, actually, you know, i don’t think i'd probably use the word fine right now, no.”

varpu knew that, of course. not an ounce of bewilderment dwells in her response. “i'm not sure i understood what happened in there, but nonetheless, i do owe you an apology. i'm sorry. it was my idea to invite you, and that doesn’t seem to have been good for you.”

“it’s not your fault.”

“i fear that it is,” she replies, and at last, it’s her turn to avert her gaze–she turns to face the alleyway on their right “it was also at my insistence that he reached out to you last year. i don’t think that was good for you either.”

“maybe, maybe not. i wouldn’t hold my dad being my dad against you, though. i appreciate that you’ve tried to do the right thing. you’ve been much kinder to the estranged son of your college sweetheart than i'd really have ever expected, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.”

varpu, underdressed for the weather without her coat, shivers as a cold autumn breeze whips by them. she turns back towards him, wrapping her arms close to her chest, and just shakes her head. “why wouldn’t you expect that i'd be kind to you? i'm a mother. it’s my responsibility to treat you like i treated my own children.”

“you can probably guess why i don’t expect that.”

“i didn’t want you to feel left out,” varpu muses, now nervously picking at her dress sleeves, “that’s why i invited you tonight. you have a complicated relationship with your father, and him remarrying and having another family must be uncomfortable for you, but i wanted you to know you would be a part of our lives, that you do have a place with us.”

“no, i very much get that from you. i can tell you care about including me.” grant winces. “my dad, your kids...not so much.”

“i only found out he hadn’t invited you to help with wedding plans or told you about the move this morning–he said he had, and i believed him, which was, as i see now, very silly of me. and my children,” varpu says, letting out a deep sigh, “i should have made you aware that they’re apprehensive about you. it’s not you, it’s…”

“no, it’s definitely me.”

varpu shuts him down. “it isn’t you. they have a good relationship with your father, and they’re very attached to him. they spent most of their lives without a father in their lives, my first husband passed away a long time ago, and having someone to be in that role now is…”

“a big deal. of course. if i were in their shoes, i might feel the same way about him. also, my condolences. i didn’t know that about, um, you know, you, but yeah, i'm sorry you had to go through that. that's terrible. and that makes sense. i mean, as in why your kids would probably not trust me. they don’t, right? you can be honest. it has to be a little bit about me. they don’t trust someone who doesn’t like my dad the way they do.”

“yes. i should have told you that, and i think i should have been much clearer about your relationship with your father to them. it was also very silly for me to think they'd change their minds before you noticed there was any distrust.”

“how much do you know about our relationship?”

she shrugs. “that it's complicated, that he let your mother abuse you. he didn’t lie to me about that. no, in fact, he was very forthcoming about his life since we last spoke years ago. at least i thought he was. i'm a little skeptical now, looking back and having realized he wasn’t being honest with you. if he lies to you, he very well may lie to me.”

“it makes me a little mad to know he’s just, like, chill with someone else’s kids.” the ache in grant’s chest flares with the heat of a billion suns. anger–the ache is anger, the purest he’s felt in years. “sorry. dick thing for me to say. and think. it’s horrible that a part of me wants him to be a piece of shit like he was to me with everyone else, right? no, i don’t really want that. you and your kids don’t deserve that, it’s just–”

“it stings.”

he almost laughs. “it’s so fucked. he can move on, have a new family, like a family he cares about, a family he does stuff with, a family he talks to about important topics, a family he’ll move for, a family he’ll fight for, a family he respects, and–” and again, too, the anger flares. “and he can just abandon me with no qualms. i was always nothing to him. jesus christ, none of my siblings were either. one’s dead, one’s still estranged, and he doesn’t even think about them.”

“the unfortunate thing is i think he doesn’t want to abandon you.”

“now that i have to argue with you on. he's done it before, so he's very likely doing it right now, too.”

the pitying smile returns to varpu’s face. “as far i know, as of this morning, he doesn’t believe you’ll ever forgive him or trust him. he feels rejected by you, and he's reacting to that feeling. i think. i can no longer prove he was telling me the truth about this, but..."

“oh, he feels rejected? fantastic, maybe he finally gets how i feel then. rejection fucking blows, doesn't it? also, that’s just ridiculous. i don't know how he can claim that. i came to meet him last year, i met him earlier this year, i let him meet my ex-fiancee, i took his phone calls, and i showed up tonight. he’s even admitted before i'm putting effort in. where the fuck is this rejection claim coming from? is it because i'm not falling over myself to kiss the ground he walks on?"

“i've truly disrupted your life by encouraging him to talk to you. i'm sorry.”

grant shrugs. “it’s okay. you were very positive in assuming things were salvageable, but he’s always going to be the same piece of shit to me at the end of the day, and i'm always going to be bitter and refuse to forgive him. i think we’d only be on the same page if i just rolled over like i used to."

“why did you try to reconnect, though? why agree?”

“fuck, i have no idea. it’s ultimately my fault for saying yes.”

why did you?

nothing comes to mind. nothing in particular. only the vaguest list of shitty excuses, the same ones he’s thrown at family members time and time again trying to justify his perennial need to prove the people who hurt him love him, actually.

he no longer wants to roll over like a coward, but–

“simple enough, i guess i want to hope he loves me.”

“what does that look like to you?”

his first response, once more, is to shrug helplessly. “i don’t know. i can’t say he didn’t try at all. he tried to apologize, tried to talk things out, tried to include me. even if he was lying about it or faking to win me over...well, i still bought that he was trying, but it never pleased me. it never felt like enough. god, this all, like, sounds insane, doesn’t it? i'm having this whole meltdown over one night.”

“but it’s not about one night, is it?”

grant’s breach catches in his throat. it’s not, not at all. the unruly child screaming in his head is showing him a pile of evidence, thirty years worth.

“no.”

“and it’s not salvageable, is it?” varpu asks next.

if his father ran outside right now and proclaimed with his soul his love, would it satisfy him? would it cure the ache in his chest, soothe the raging child in his head, turn his bitterness into saccharine peace?

he dwells on it for only a moment before an earth-rending realization dawns on him, and for once in his life, the answer is clear as day.

“no. there’s…” grant stops himself, peering up at the sky. “there is nothing he could do to fix this. i don’t think i want him to love me. i want for what happened to me to have never happened, but time traveling to the past inherently violates the second law of thermodynamics, so that’s unfortunately impossible.”

“i suspect you don’t need my advice, but you shouldn’t be afraid to act on that. your father is a grown man. he can continue to live with the consequences of his actions. you live with them, so can he.”

“that’s very true. uh, and yeah, i think i have to. again, that is. i have to tell him to fuck off again. i'll give it a few days, but yeah.”

varpu stays quiet, acknowledging him with an encouraging nod.

“so, i'll be completely honest with you..." grant trails off.

"please do."

"i doubt i will ever see you again after tonight, but it’s not personal. i just want to make that clear, in case it matters. i do mean it when i say your kindness is appreciated. i care that you care, and you’ve been nicer than my own parents did somehow. thank you."

"you're welcome seems a terribly inadequate response, but..."

"you're welcome is fine. best of luck with the wedding and the house search. regardless of how i feel about my father or the fact he has a new family, i don’t wish any harm your way. if you want to build a life with him, have at it. i know what i said earlier is not in line with what i'm saying now, but i hope the future is good to you specifically, and i hope it’s not disappointing i don’t want to be a part of it.”

[thefrogdalorian]

You Are Eternal

✯ Read on AO3 ✯ Word Count: 1423 Rating: Teen Summary: When devastating news that High Magistrate Karga has become one with the Force reaches Din in his cabin on Nevarro, he reflects on the complicated nature of their relationship. Din pays his own tribute to the man who witnessed firsthand his shift from bounty hunter to father. Content Warnings: Major character death. Grief, mourning... I wrote this to try and cope a little with the awful news and it's just.... really sad. Author's Note: I just had to get this out of me tonight. It was my way of coping I guess. I hope Greef lives on somehow in the show, I really do. But I think he was Din's first real friend and their arcs are so similar, it's so sad to think he won't be there anymore. Thank you for reading. RIP Carl, Mando will never be the same without you 💔

Din Djarin was, unfortunately, all-too accustomed to loss. The feeling of grief was not alien to him. Ever since that terrible day on Aq Vetina, when he had lost everything and everyone that he had ever loved, the fear of losing others seemed to loom large over his life, a constant uneasiness that had long clouded his interactions with others. That was, until he had been sent to Arvala-7 and encountered The Child, who he would eventually adopt as his own. It was a chain of events that would not have been possible were it not for the very man whose loss had struck him harder than any blow he had sustained in the profession that had once united them.

Despite how many times Din had undergone the mourning process throughout his life, he found that the news of one of his oldest acquaintances’ passing had hit him particularly hard. The rapping at the door, well after the sun had set on another bright and sunny Nevarrian day, took Din by surprise. But nothing could have prepared him for the message that had promptly been relayed to him. News that had been delivered by a copper-plated droid, of all things. 

When he opened the door to his cabin on Nevaro, the last thing Din expected to hear was news that the High Magistrate had become one with the Force.

In those first few horrible moments after hearing such devastating news, Din found that the sensation resembled a punch to the area just underneath the shiny beskar plate that protected most of his chest and abdomen. Although Din was an extremely skilled fighter, he had occasionally been delivered such agonising blows in that incredibly vulnerable place. Now, Din was reminded of such agony as he processed the news.

Din’s relationship to Greef Karga had undoubtedly been complicated and at times, volatile. A former adversary, to an acquaintance, to possibly something even more… like a friend. Din Djarin did not typically have friends. But as he sat there in his cabin, processing the news after dismissing the droid and removing his helmet, he began to wonder whether, perhaps, he had had one… without even truly realising it.

A friend that had passed to the afterlife, before Din had the opportunity to comprehend how much Greef had truly meant to him.

Of course, there had been Paz. But Din was bound to Paz by Creed, as a fellow Mandalorian. There were no inherent bonds such as that with Greef. Instead, the former leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro had become increasingly close to Din. Greef had gradually become a trustworthy presence in an often cruel and treacherous galaxy.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of the siege in the cantina, when Din and Greef had barely escaped with their lives, which had been the catalyst for their increasing closeness. Until then, Din had wondered whether he could fully trust the older man. After that, though, there was no doubt. Greef Karga was, at the very least, an ally.

All Din knew with any degree of certainty was that as soon as the Razor Crest needed repairs, when Din and Frog Lady had barely escaped with their lives on the frozen planet of Maldo Kreis, it was the coordinates for Nevarro that he had punched in. After being rendered an apostate for removing his helmet and violating the Creed, it was once again Nevarro that Din had journeyed to in order to secure a droid for his expedition to the Mines of Mandalore. On that very visit, when Grogu had been in danger thanks to the rogue IG unit, Din had not hesitated to thrust his son into the arms of Greef Karga, knowing that he would protect the little boy.

Back then, Din could never have foreseen himself settling on Nevarro. He had been so consumed with his quest for redemption that he had promptly rejected Greef’s offer for a tract of land by the lava flats. Yet after retaking Mandalore and adopting Grogu, the land had suddenly become an extremely attractive proposal. The little parcel of land had become the perfect place for Clan Mudhorn to rest between jobs for the New Republic. Din was eternally grateful for Greef’s offer. 

It was true that Greef had done much for Din during the time that they had known each other, but it was equally true that when Nevarro had been under threat from the pirates headed by Gorian Shard, Din had not hesitated to raise a band of Mandalorians to follow him. There were few people in the galaxy that Din would have gone to such lengths for, but Greef Karga was undoubtedly one of them. 

Not to mention the repurposed IG unit that Greef had given to Din, for Grogu to operate, despite Din's reservations. Although it had initially annoyed Din (and the stall holders of Nevarro) as it had given Grogu a way to verbalise his insolence and feed his insatiable appetite, it had been an invaluable aid during the retaking of Mandalore. An aid that would not have been there were it not for Greef. Both Din and Greef owed an enormous debt to each other.

The realisation of what a key figure Greef had been in Din Djarin’s recent history almost sent him tumbling to his knees. That Greef was the man who had perhaps witnessed more closely than any other the shift in Din from a lonely, selfish, bounty hunter with a strict adherence to the Creed, to a man who would do anything to ensure the safety of The Child, even if it meant violating the Way. That Greef was gone.

For a second, Din wanted to run from the cabin, screaming and sobbing, pleading that this could not possibly be true. That Greef would never realise how much he truly meant to Din. But he quickly came to his senses and soon sought solace elsewhere.

Din crept down the hall towards his son’s room, ensuring that in spite of his emotional state, he was as quiet as possible so Grogu was not awakened. He just wanted to be close to him, to feel his presence nearby, a comforting closeness to the special little boy who had changed everything for him. Din was relieved that Grogu was sleeping soundly, his shallow, even breaths continued even as his distraught father stood in the doorway. 

Din feared how much the news would devastate the little boy who was currently sleeping soundly in his crib. Despite how much Din ached to hold him close as comfort for himself, he didn’t have the heart to wake Grogu. Although Din supposed, given the way that Grogu seemed to understand the galaxy around him, that perhaps somehow his son had already sensed the enormous loss of such a monumental presence. A loss that would surely leave a void incapable of being filled in all of their lives. Every sunset on Nevarro, a sight that had once left Din awestruck with its beauty and the vibrance of its colours, would surely seem a little darker from now on.

Din turned his back and left Grogu's room then, fearing that if he stood there for much longer, the tears that had begun to silently creep down his cheeks would develop into a more audible indication of his grief that would wake Grogu. Plus, Din had remembered a certain cupboard in the kitchen, the contents of which would provide a fitting tribute to the High Magistrate.

He had hoped that one day, he might invite Greef to the cabin for the advised smaller gathering to share this luxurious libation with him. Perhaps even face-to-face, without his helmet, such was the increasing number of ways that Din had discovered there were to walk; ways to be Mandalorian.

That would never happen now, Din realised with a pang of sadness as he stepped out onto the porch and into the moonless Nevarrian night. He placed two glasses onto the table by the bench and slowly poured the amber liquid. 

Then Din sat back on the bench, and raised a glass of the Coruscant wine to the stars, in a toast to his old friend. He spoke the sacred words of the ancient language of their people, a daily remembrance that he would now carry out for the man who, despite everything, had become his friend.  

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Greef Karga.”

(I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.)

[ask-postcrash-curly]

…hmm. ok let’s take this one step at a time.

yeah i remember saying the gift thing. i don’t actually know why i said that to be so honest. to be fair, you were a little bit snarky with me at the beginning. its fine! i wasn’t and i continue to not be mad! (okay cmon now we both know you ARE terrible at pretending to like someone.)

…yeah i remember saying that. i’m sorry. i uh. i’m death. i’m not a human being. i can get… what’s a good word… biblical? i’m good at acting the way i do, but keeping that up every second of the day isn’t doable. i get intense from time to time. i wish i could keep that in, but i cant, and when i love someone who knows me, it can get ugly. i’m sorry. hah, maybe i am the malevolent grim fucking reaper. i don’t want to be.

…

i don’t really know. i think i started communicating with you because you were in this terrible limbo between life and death where your body should have have stopped breathing a very long time ago. it irked me to see you so miserable, so trapped, and i wanted so badly to release you from it, and i couldn’t. if i couldn’t, and if there was conveniently a way to speak with you at all, then i would console you another way. i realize i might not’ve been the most comforting presence, im sorry. also, you weren’t really able to do nothing about my presence. you couldn’t tell anyone, and honestly for a while i hoped that you’d bite the dust eventually.

i think you didnt know me enough yet. i think the image of the evil luciferian hooded skeleton in your head was still how you imagined me. i- oh honey, if i ever made you feel like i didnt like you, i am so deeply sorry. of course i like you. i love you. i’ve always loved you and i will always love you, until the stars fall out of the sky.

yeah, i think the main reason i started speaking to you is because i was so dismayed by your state. you were teetering between me and living agony, and you couldn’t speak or move or do anything.

i don’t think i can answer “why” i continued down this path after that. i just did. i can’t understand either, i just did, i guess.

it’s not inappropriate, you deserve to get some of your questions answered. just know that i can’t answer everything.

i’ll certainly try though.

…

oh my god, these french fucks.

🖤

Okay.

Really? I remember that as one of our first meetings. Ah, but I guess I didn't believe you were "Death itself" at the start. So I imagine there was a tad of snark involved. (Okay well I wasn't pretending with you. And if I am it doesn't come up much because usually I like people.)

No, no, it's okay. You've already apologized ages ago. It doesn't matter, really. I don't think you're that, uh, malevolent grim fucking reaper, as you put it. Anything but. And I don't think getting intense here and there changes that. That you put in so much effort to be softer and kinder to those who need it... It says a lot.

...

Mm. Still have no idea how the hell I lasted so long. What was it I said? "Where the hell have you been?" Hah. Please, don't apologize to me. You've been very, very comforting. And honestly, I hoped the same back then.

Eh. You never struck me as evil. No, hey, it was just that one time, really. You're... I imagine that if you didn't you'd have no reason to stay, yeah? It's not like anyone could force you to be here. Seeing as you're Death and all. ...I love you too. Such a strange thing. How many people can say they love death without it sounding insanely depressing or sadistic?

Well, whatever the reasons were, thank you. For everything you've done for me.

And thank you for trying.

...

Hahah!

[wormworker]

( content notes: fatphobia, medical negligence )

GUESS WHAT. Doctors have been wrong about me for nearly 10 years, if not more!!

I told them I had a hard place in my belly. That it wasn't all just adipose. They NEVER LISTENED. I thought it was a tumor that kept growing bigger.

2-3 years ago, I did the "family testimony" cheat. Instead of telling my primary care physician that I was concerned about my abdomen, I said my family was.

FINALLY got my ultrasound scheduled after that. Smh.

Ultrasound results: Gallstones.

Doctor said it wasn't serious enough to have surgery.

But it had to have been serious, because the hard place in my belly was so huge that I often felt it pressing against my ribs & it was becoming too painful to sit or stand without a bra.

This was because the weight of my chest would rest on the hard place if it wasn't supported with a bra. Didn't hurt when lying down.

Eating hurt, too. Exercising hurt terribly, as it had since I was little, only it's much worse in adulthood.

There was obviously something serious. But I was so sick of going to the doctor & of being treated like I was a woman from the 1950s with "hysteria."

And then, a month ago, I had the worst abdominal pain I'd ever experienced.

I went to bed early with discomfort. And then I woke up with extreme pain. Enough that, despite my history with doctors telling me not to, I HAD to go to the hospital.

At the time, I thought it was my appendix. I had no idea gallbladder complications could cause such acute pain.

Around 8 hours after I got to the hospital, they took out my gallbladder laparoscopically. I went home an hour later.

I thought my belly looked funny. There was a weird dip in the middle, Like I was made of memory foam & had been punched in the gut.

It almost seemed to keep changing shape throughout the month.

Now, 4 weeks later, the swelling is gone. Once I noticed a strange shape again, I finally felt safe to press on the area with my hand.

Pushed right in. No hard mass anymore. It's all just fat now! No more pain!

YEARS of so much agony, confusion, body image issues, & disordered eating could've been avoided if just ONE doctor, nurse, etc, would have just LISTENED to me!! And treated me like a PERSON!!

[epickiya722]

Your recent posts about Gojo... It's literally why I interact less and less in fandom. People see hot characters and project stereotypes on them without a care of what they are

It can sound petty especially with how it doesn't matter in the long run but it's like seeing people saying that in a no curse au Sukuna would be a playboy... Like yeah it's an au, he will be a bit different (like not being a mass murderer cannibal) but that is just... Seem so ooc to me, even in an au.

But well yeah. They just change them into male lead of romance novels. They don't matter in another context to them which is why you'll see me blow up about how vain it all feel like

Another example is how interesting Jogo is but nobody care about him because they don't want to fuck him. Like his last fight with Sukuna? The fact that he's the first person Sukuna ever praised for being strong in the story? A "stand proud. You are strong." Like? When I game to this moment I was zo shocked because it's not expected on Sukuna at all. And how Jogo mourned the death of Hanami and Dagon too?!

Yeah you know I just know now that outside of fanworks it's better to just ignore fellow fans because they have nothing to say beside how hot a character is

It really does suck that when it comes to liking a character some people just stop at their appearance and that's it. Nothing else intrigues them and they go as far as to misinterpret them -> leading into misinterpreting the story and having terrible ass cold takes that just feels like they need something to say to make them sound "logical".

And it's people like that who are the loudest. So when others want to engage in the story and they check out meta posts and reviews for it, they'll see that trash first and run with it.

When JJK first came out, I did see it was quite popular but at most I saw fanart for it and kind of just ignored everything else. I went ahead with watching the anime and then went to see what people were saying and honestly? What the hell?

Gojo is a character that has a bad case of "likeable character, unlikeable fans".

I truly do believe that some of his fans only take to him for being attractive and powerful. When it comes to his story? "Eh, what's that?"

Look, I'm all for finding characters attractive. I, myself, find some characters attractive. But I don't see the thrill of stopping there when that character also has a whole story you can explore.

I know Gojo fans are mad, but... his pretty ass is in a story that is meant to be written tragically. People will say "he should be the MC, that's my MC". Well, guess what? He's part of the main cast, so his ass is getting that full experience.

I like Gojo a lot, too, I do. But watching the first season, something deep in my soul told me "oh, he's a sad one", so I guess a part of me was already prepared for something like 236.

This is going to sound harsh, but when he said "I would win" way back in the beginning? I clocked in that he, in fact, wouldn't. That fight against Sukuna was going to be a lost battle. Oh, I believed in Gojo and I wanted him to win. But whenever a nearly, seemingly invincible character say they are going to win... most likely they're going to lose.

And again, it's JJK. There's going to be loses and agony. It also doesn't matter sense for Gojo to win when YUJI STILL EXISTS!!! Like, sometimes, I feel like some of the fandom just wants Gojo to take the frontlines just so Yuji can't do anything.

I didn't expect for him to die, no. Still hurts. But... come on... the manga wasn't ending that soon.

The fanon interpretations I see of him (Gojo) is just... if you asked me to pick one I hate the most it is the "Gojo is a womanizer/playboy" interpretation. Same case for Sukuna, I do not see it. Especially, when in canon this guy just does not care for all of that. But it's fanon stuff and since I don't like it, I just steer clear of it.

And good point about Jogo. I'll be honest, I find that the Disaster Curses were interesting antagonists of the beginning of JJK. They were the first real threats for our cast. They were challenges.

They were curses made from humanity's fear of disasters and other humans. And yet, even with being curses, they showed "human" qualities. They were able to talk, a rare case for curse spirits, and feel other emotions. Mahito often displayed joy, example. Dagon and Jogo displayed sadness. They were a group that did hold some care for each other.

And yeah, I would say because of their physical appearances they're often ignored. (Unimportant, but I actually loved Hanami's design, that's my favorite design right there.)

[tea-with-eleni]

Volenta Popofsky died about three centuries ago.

The lord of the land was more intimidating in the dark. He wasn’t the jovial host, tonight. He was more like a storm. Unreadable. Unknowable. He looked down at me. The candlelight caught in the ruby in the collar of his vest. It looked like a burning ember. 

“I did not expect you this evening, Miss Volenta,” he said, after a while. “But it seems that you have again managed to charm my wife.” Ludmilla, behind him, said, “She wanted me to kill her, milord. That seems a waste.” Strahd tilted his head. “You wish to keep her as… a pet?” 

“The thing in the mountain temple wants to make me into a monster,” I said. I wouldn’t cry in front of his lordship. “It wants me to betray the people I love. I would rather die.” 

“You came here to throw yourself to the vampyr, then?” Strahd asked. He sounded almost amused. “Would you rather I make you into my monster instead? Is that your choice?” Ludmilla stepped forward to take his arm. “Milord, I will point out that we have not confirmed what freed me. I propose a variation on your idea. The thing in the temple wanted to make her a vampire, most likely… a vampire not beholden to any other. It can hardly do so if we do it first.” 

“Your theory may not be correct. She could die.”

“She requested that first.” 

“Why are you so interested in this now? Why do you need this knowledge tonight?”

Ludmilla curtseyed to her husband. “Milord. Be sensible. This is a rare opportunity. Surely you would rather find out the way of things now, with someone willing, rather than… perhaps… as a woman you love dies of a disease you cannot cure.” 

This didn’t mean anything to me, but it made Strahd flinch. Ludmilla nodded with a faint smile. “I thought as much, milord. Let me keep this one.” 

I got the sense that this was a battle over me, for some reason. I also got the sense that Ludmilla had somehow won. I wasn’t sure that I was willing, but I’d ceded control over the situation to Ludmilla without a fight. So, apparently, had Strahd. That sense was heightened when Strahd nodded, then gestured. An unseen force lifted me to my feet. His eyes, just as red as Milla’s, burned with the same intensity as the gem he wore. Whatever happened now, I wasn’t going to walk out of here alive. It would save Nyshka from me, though, so it had to be worth it. 

I couldn’t look at Milla, but I felt her lips against the nearly-healed punctures at my throat. Her fangs stung, but the sensation faded quickly. My fear enhanced the electric rush. It distracted me, and I did not notice at first when Strahd took my wrist. 

His bite was different. It was far more painful; this pain did not fade, it only intensified, from a stabbing spike to an all-consuming agony. I could not move. I could not push him off. I would not have fought Ludmilla. I could not help but fight this. It was pointless. My vision began to gray around the edges. I would not have stayed standing without Strahd’s magic. 

It may have been a mercy that I could not cry out as dizziness swamped me. Eventually, Strahd tilted my head back and dripped something – I could no longer focus well enough to guess what – into my mouth. It burned. I coughed, choked, tried to spit it out. 

“You need to drink, sweetness,” Ludmilla said. “Or you’ll die and rise a slave. Drink.” I wanted to obey, but I couldn’t move. I felt her thumb brush my lips. More of the burning, acrid, terrible liquid dripped into my mouth. “Drink,” she whispered. “Please, sweetness.” 

I tried. I don’t know if I succeeded. A noise I was scarcely aware of hearing seemed to falter. Something on the edge of hearing skipped. Paused. Tried to continue. Silence.

Well. Hopefully, I at least tasted good. 

[linda-ravstar]

Torn apart, made anew (ELDEN RING DLC SPOILERS, a new conversation between Trina and Miquella on the Lands of Shadow)

“What are you going to abandon here now, Miquella? What do you have left?”

Trina's voice was getting fainter, but urgency and fear were evident in the sweet tones of her words. Miquella gasped as he reached the edge of the cliff. The cave was hidden, distant enough that no one would dare to search inside. Enchanting the creatures that inhabited the place was no problem for him, but for anyone else, it would be a significant risk. This had to be the place. Besides, it was a cozy place, dark as she liked it. Secret.

He had lost a lot of blood. He knew it wasn't really blood from his body because his body remained tainted, broken, and desecrated in Mohg's Palace. Remembering the Red Knights' blades made him shudder for a second, but he dismissed those thoughts. There were no more doubts in his mind. There were no more hesitations. He had torn them from himself. It had been so painful… and so liberating to tear apart those thoughts from his mind. Filled only with conviction and hope. Now he only moved forward. Moved forward without looking back because only the certainty that he must continue remained.

The lost blood still hurt. Every piece of flesh torn away, even if it wasn't entirely his flesh, was torture. He had only one of his eyes left, which had wept tears of blood for his torn brother. The energy was slowly leaving him, but that was good. It meant he was close.

“There's still much to lose”, said the boy, kneeling on the stone. “There's much of me that remains. That must disappear”.

“Your agony will corrode this land, Miquella… There's still time to turn back. What you've lost can be recovered. There's still time to obtain forgiveness”.

“Here… you will remain”.

Trina fell silent and for a second seemed uneasy. She looked around at the silent cave, surrounded by water and small flowers. Then she looked at her other half. Miquella had chosen a fine place to tear her from his soul. A place where she could dwell, mutilated… but safe. A final mercy from the gentle boy.

“Will you leave me here?”, she repeated, without a hint of reproach in her voice. “Will you continue alone?”

“Yes… There's no point in delaying it any longer”. Miquella couldn't look her in the face. His eyes remained on his lap, still kneeling as the light of his power began to manifest a new cross, a new sacrifice, a new death. “There can't be anything left of me when I reach the Gates. And if I arrive with you there, I know you'll try to stop me. I can't allow it”.

“Are you afraid I would succeed in convincing you? That just before falling to your knees at the gates of heaven, you would turn back and come back with me… to our home?”

“No”, said the boy, but his lie was clear as the water surrounding them. “I just don't want… to take you with me anymore”.

Trina smiled. How easy it was to read Miquella. How easy it was for her to guess the paths to his heart. Maybe it was because it was also hers. Because his soul was also hers, even though they were distinct beings. Many times Miquella had called his twin sister his other half, the half of his soul, but Trina knew that place belonged to her. And Miquella, as always, looked and felt just as he always had: a scared boy, a trembling creature that could never rise as a god. It was terribly cruel for him even to try.

“You will walk to the gates that received Marika and surrender yourself, wounded and mutilated, to its embrace. It is not Miquella who will reach the Gates; he will have disappeared before. Only a shadow that longs to be a god will arrive, without remembering why. And that shadow, just a spirit with power, will wait, caged, until our brother returns. Who may never return”.

“You know my plan”, said the young man, warily. “This is the path I have chosen. Radahn will return, as he promised. As he promised me. There will be others who will help… others who will follow the path. They won't be able to resist. They will pave the way and carry out the final orders. When the time comes, my Great Rune will also disappear, and with it all my power. And then… I will await my return. As a god. And that will be all”.

“What if you never return?”, Miquella looked up but immediately turned away. There were no doubts in his heart. He no longer had a heart or doubts. There were only certainties, so what Trina said were only illusions. If there were doubts, they were only Trina's; he could no longer have them. He had torn them out. Why, then, were his hands trembling?

“I will return. When that happens…”. Miquella closed his eyes, and Trina saw how the fantasy and desperate dream that gripped him, yellow, golden, impossible, coursed through what was left of his body, like a balm for his wounds. “When that happens at last… everyone will be able to find rest”.

Trina said nothing more. There was no point in continuing to talk to the young demigod.

“Alright. Go ahead. This is our goodbye then. I mourned you a long time ago, Miquella”.

“I won't leave you alone”, said the boy, and Trina tilted her head, unsure of what he was talking about. “My other half stays here. The Saint who first found rest for Malenia when as a young boy, I spent my nights in her room crying out for her fate… who calmed our hearts at night… who sought peace and serenity among frantic souls… who gave me comfort and banished the neverending nightmares… She will sleep in these waters forever”.

The ritual seemed the same as always. Miquella didn't look agonized like the other times. Maybe their separation had occurred earlier, and that's why it didn't hurt entirely. It was just a profound loneliness, perhaps deeper than what the boy had felt all his life. An intense certainty that there was nothing and no one by his side, and that it would be so until the end.

Miquella closed his eyes, and the cross began to shine, emerging golden from the ground. Miquella placed his hands on his chest, still kneeling, and Trina was frightened when he lowered his head and began to sob. What was Miquella sacrificing now that caused him so much pain?

“I abandon here my love…”, the boy whispered, and the cross formed beautifully and slenderly in the darkness. Something bright and white began to emerge, with difficulty, from the boy's chest. Trina wanted to scream and remove the hands from her other half, but it was in vain. “I leave here all the love I feel, that I have felt, and that I will feel… along with the only one who can receive it now because it is also a part of me”.

Trina, this time, fell to her knees, and purple tears welled up in her eyes.

“Miquella… You can't do this”. Trina had tried to beg him once. She knew it would be just as useless. “You can't abandon your love… Do you know what that means? You're abandoning… everyone. You are abandoning yourself. You are destroying what we are”.

The white light finished emerging from Miquella's chest and attached itself to the golden cross. Miquella sobbed like a child, with his head on the ground.

Radagon's hand on his head, smiling, proud as he watched the golden rings dance in the courtyard.

Marika's serene voice by the fireplace, weaving the threads of the world while caressing his hair, golden like hers.

The eyes of countless friends, servants, and comrades, who bowed their heads and shared their lives among the golden gardens.

The silent alleys of the depths, the travelers who offered their food and knowledge to a boy who asked hundreds of questions.

Loretta's firm hand in his fragile one, the gratitude of her people, and the pride of her spells.

The soft words of the Lord of Blood, unaware of his betrayal, eager to bring love and peace to the displaced. The bright heart of his knights and followers, their rebellion and sin.

Ranni's letters, offering unnamed knowledge, sharing the stars and the moon in each of her words.

Godwyn's voice and bright lights, rising in the air with dragon wings. And his fall… his empty, motionless eyes, the sticky certainty of horror.

Radahn's strident laughter, his soft and honest promise, dressed in red and gold, the clash of swords with a timid redhead empyrean, the gift of a stubborn horse.

The slender silhouettes of knights and sworn ones, who knelt before both twins but also laughed in their presence and offered him tea when night fell.

The grateful tears of those tortured by madness, freed from the frenzy that gripped their flesh and mind.

The strong and somber faces of the burned people, seeking dignity and freedom, seeking to live outside the embers.

His only child, a tree of pale golden, growing and growing until he couldn’t anymore. Drinking his blood like an eager child, grateful for his life. Embracing everyone, being a haven and a paradise to those who needed it. Caressing his souls with a promise of a new world, a broken one that could never be fulfilled.

The grass under his feet.

The light in the dim and cozy night.

The fresh water, the scent of flowers.

The world around him, his world, his people.

His sister's golden eyes. Malenia's sword rising in a red field. Her laughter in the rooms of Leyndell, her solemn company in the snowy fields, kneeling beside him, planting hope. Her impossibly tender embrace. Her tears at night, terrified of a voracious and endless force. Her dance when no one else was there to watch. And a promise.

“I will return…”

Miquella let out a cry of pain, Trina rushed to him and hugged him, unable to contain herself. But as soon as her small arms surrounded the boy, the white that had been torn from his chest vanished, leaving only trails of bright blood. Miquella's eyes, filled with tears and shining with pain and agony, went dark for a moment. The torture ceased, and the young man sighed, empty of almost everything… of everything that now remained there, in that cross, abandoned.

The pain still coursed through his body. Love was his weapon, after all. Who could really refuse to love him? It was something so easy to obtain… Only a few felt it truly for him, after all, if that. Why did it hurt him so much then, if it was something he could find in abundance, real or not?

“Because the love you felt for this world, for its people, for your family… was real”, said Trina; her face was stained with soft tears, but she smiled at him, despite everything. “Even if you use it as a weapon against your enemies and as a shield to protect yourself from the horror of the world, the truth is that your heart was full of love, and its companions, guilt and despair. And now you tore apart the most tender and genuine part of your soul. You rip apart yourself…”

“Do you think me selfish, Trina?”, said Miquella, tired, with barely any energy in his voice. “For leaving you here, with… this that will no longer torment me?”.

“I think a part of you wanted to rid yourself of that burden… but you're wrong. It will follow you just the same. Until there's nothing left of you. Of us. Your sins and your love will follow you, even if you can no longer feel it, even if you can no longer remember it. I'll ask you one last time, Miquella. Stop… look at yourself. You can barely walk without trembling like a newborn… Can you still feel fear? Fear of failing? Fear of achieving your goal? Fear of what you will become?”

“I will also abandon that fear”, he said, without answering Trina's question. “Not now… It's enough for now. But it will also be left behind. Everything will be left behind. I will keep moving forward…”. Miquella sighed, weightless and lower his head. “What was the purpose of my love, Trina, if I couldn't save anything with it? What was the point of crying for this world if I couldn't rid it of its corruption? What was the point of carrying the sin if I couldn't absolve it?”

Trina trembled. Miquella's words, now free from that stream of urgency, guilt, and frenzy that previously preceded them, seemed like mere loose reflections, like raindrops dancing on the grass. But Trina knew the truth. They were still Miquella's fears, engraved in his soul, the source of all his pain. A pain that would destroy the world.

 “Miquella… I swear I will find a way to stop you”. Trina's voice had taken on a desperate tone, sweet and toxic like poison. Miquella felt extremely light, as if filled with air and spirit, and languid like a breeze. He felt nothing at Trina's words. “If you insist on this path of chains… I will find a way to kill you”.

Miquella laughed softly and closed his eyes, as if feeling a gust that didn't exist in that dark cave.

“You would die too, dear Trina”.

“We died a long time ago, Miquella. When the golden needle pierced Malenia's skin and her flesh remained corrupted by rot, even though it had been stopped for the moment. When the bloodthirsty tree grew just enough for us to harbor hope. When Godwyn became a specter, and no prayer granted him rest. When we talked by an oil lamp… We have been dead this whole time, Miquella… Now you're just punishing yourself. I will give you the rest you seek”.

“No… I'm saving us. I'm saving them all. Have faith, dear Trina”. Miquella's voice sounded more placid and frail than ever. As if he wasn't there. “We will see each other again…at my hour of victory”

Miquella stood up, with a dull but still golden gaze. He smiled with an expression that barely existed, that was barely there. Trina saw the boy she had grown up with, saw how he slowly moved away from her. He had only one arm left and one of his eyes. He walked empty and fearful across the wet stones. But surely, he could no longer remember the despair that brought him to this land, the failures that led him to Marika's pilgrimage, the unforgivable sins he had committed just to be there and the ones he would continue to commit.

The saint could see him with her eyes closed, walking and walking, leaving blood, memories, soul and personhood on these burned lands. Walking and walking to the gates of heaven. Alone. What would come out of those gates? It couldn't be Miquella. That Miquella was disappearing with each step. What would emerge from the golden gates after this path? A being of bright light and brilliant power that would subdue everyone in a gentle embrace, that would prevent conflicts and steal the hearts of men to make them docile and kind?

“If someone can hear me”, whispered Trina, feeling herself fall asleep with each step Miquella took, moving away from her. “Come… Drink the sweet nectar of rest, and hear my words. Let us drink the poison of dreams and never wake up. If someone is there… please… come… we have to stop him… The poor thing cannot be a god… Please… someone… kill him…”

Trina closed her eyes and began to dream.