#[ Lost In The Labyrinth ]•.(aesthetics).•

[ameagrice]

Capsize

Percy Jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-two I see trouble on the way.

There wasn’t an exact word to describe the way Chiron looked at you, that summer. Months and years down the line, you still couldn’t place it. That weary look, like watching something play out that you can’t really put a stop to. Of course, then you couldn’t have known. Not amongst friends, at your cabin table.

“Barbecue chicken wings!”

The food sprouted on the plate, a magic you’d never grown used to seeing. Newcomer Clarissa, a girl with extravagant blue hair, blinked, jaw-dropped.

“Twenty barbecue chicken wings!”

“Greedy-guts,” Annabeth chided beside you, munching on a side of lettuce.

You shoved three wings in your mouth at once, side-eying her. “You’re eating rabbit food.”

Your eyes lifted to the head table, where Chiron talked with an expressionless face to the new guy beside him, in an orange colour of the fruit itself. “I don’t like him.”

“You haven’t even talked to him,” Annabeth stabbed her fries with a fork.

“I don’t have to. Something’s off.”

Your sister groaned at your side, reaching for one of your chicken wings. Your mouth gaped, a sound of protest that she ignored. “Don’t start with ‘the vibes are off’ again.”

“Vibes are very important!” You rebutted.

He happened to be a man in at least his early to mid-fifties, short as anything and skinny, too, with a mess of dark-grey stubble around his jaw and a thin layer of hair on his head. Talking to Chiron, he might have looked like any random convict. But you weren’t convinced he was harmless.

“Seriously, though. The vibes are off. Don’t you think? You’ve been here all summer with him haven’t you?”

Annabeth’s bright eyes raised to the man in question for a fraction of a second, before lowering to her food, pushing fries around with the fork in her grip. “Quintus is…difficult. You should be careful with what you say around him. Especially you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” she lowered her tone, as if it was a super-secret secret. “I don’t trust him…particularly, and I know you always have a lot to say. Besides, something’s happening, can’t you feel it? Nobody trusts Quintus the way we should, since he came out of nowhere. Somebody mentioned the Oracle and he went crazy, he shut ‘em down. You have to keep your mouth shut this year, okay? Don’t disrespect the Gods, and don’t talk back to him.”

Being serious wasn’t in your nature, but you tried, for your sister’s sake. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Annabeth.” Clarissa choked on her food, while Annabeth rolled her eyes.

It was a total pain that, not long after arriving, you had cabin inspection. A bore, grinding your nerves that you had to clean a cabin full of mess that wasn’t even yours—but Annabeth told you to quit whining, so you did, figuring you’d annoyed her enough already. Every afternoon for the first week, a senior counsellor came around with a checklist for every cabin. Thanks to your team efforts, you got the hot, clean showers first every time. Unfortunately for Percy, he fell somewhere around the middle-bottom league. You asked for snacks in return for your cleaning efforts, putting your home skills to use. Your best friend carried through on his promise—goods from the cabin store delivered promptly to your cabin every week.

Somewhere between the end of the first week and the weekend, you dipped your fingers in the lake water, watching the dark trailing swirls as you moved. Your ankle gently tapped Percy’s in the water, sitting at the end of the walkway. You can’t help noticing how much more grown up he looks this year. Older than you—you can’t seem to shed your baby face and freckles. Eyebrow waxing and tinting can only do so much.

“You know,” you say quietly, into the evening stars. “I think the Oracle wants to see me.”

Percy remains quiet at your confession. In the water’s reflection, you watch him nod. Maybe he thought this was a continuation of your want to see the future, carried through from last season. This time is very different, you want to tell him. Because this time, you feel it in your body that your time is here.

Dark curls gently sway with the movement of his nod. Even at fifteen years old, Percy respects your wishes, even if he doesn’t agree with them. “Want me to come with you?” Just being there is enough for him. There are no questions, with Percy. He understands you, and the way you talk. There is a mutual understanding that he’s there if you want, and there anyway. There is an underlying message in his words: I’m here if you need me to be.

“Yeah,” you dip your head, to your fingers laying just beside each others, not touching. “I’d like that.”

Intuition as a demigod means a lot. It can help the demigod avoid dangerous situations, or get them to act appropriately in time. In a few years from now, walking, lonely, along a shoreline yearning for someone who isn’t there, you’ll remember this moment, and question your own sanity. On the other side of the water will be a boy, sitting and praying on his knees in the sand, for your return. You’ll feel a million miles away yet so close, just the way you do now. This moment, in the present, feels so prominent and so odd that you commit it to memory, for later. Later always comes too soon. You shouldn’t get so caught up in the past, you hear a woman’s voice telling you. You want to scream until your throat feels raw; so why is the past always catching up to me? We live in memories; they shape you, they guide you—maybe that’s why you eventually feel so lost.

The next day, you kick yourself into action. You set about making a sword from scratch in the armoury (and bribing some Hecate kids to charm it for you, to a bracelet, or something. You haven’t quite decided yet). Something in the style of Percy’s sword would be beneficial.

“Do you think there’s a reason why my sword works so well with you?” The boy mutters, hanging upside down on the dock at night, cicadas singing all around. “Back at the school, I mean. You just…used it like it weighed nothing. It came to you.”

There probably is a reason. Chiron would know. But for now, you’re young, and you don’t care.

You go down to the training arena the next evening and watch newcomer Quintus fight against Percy—practicing. The older man might try to come across as harmless, and friendly, but there’s something you really can’t place your finger on.

“Good try,” the man nods. “But your guard is too low, Percy.”

Said boy parries back, undeterred. “Have you always been a swordsman?”

“I’ve been many things.”

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the purple insignia on his neck was. In the shape of a bird, the symbol sat against his stark skin like a terrible bruise. A reminder, he called it, when Percy asked. You decide you don’t want to know much more. You’ve made your mind up about the man.

The evening that you’ve made up your mind on going to the Oracle, something strange is in the air. It feels different, like it had when Ares met you in the diner your first quest, and the way it had when you ran away from home. Something was changing—had changed. When you raise your eyes to Chiron, talking with an animated Connor Stoll at his table, he raises his gaze like he’d been expecting you. He knows that you feel something is wrong, and you know that he understands what you mean. It’s a sure sign that this isn’t you being paranoid—this is real. Something is coming, and you wish you could avoid it with all your heart. Chiron shakes his head, curls jostling at his shoulders, a silent warning for you to be quiet—to let it be. He’s handling it.

In the middle of the dining place, striking across the floor, sits the crack where Nico di Angelo brought forth the dead. Since then, he’s been missing. And nobody will let you look for him. His grief showed his true colours, a hidden talent buried deep down. If Bianca hadn’t have passed, poor Nico would be here, and happy. He’d be safe.

Annabeth jokingly digs her hand into your side. Ticklish, you almost elbow her. “Shift it! I’m starving!” You draw your eyes away from the past, though it’s staring you right in the face.

You fall asleep that night with your fingers still against the edge of the curtain that stops right above your pillow, playing with it to watch the stars above camp. When you manage to drift off, feeling heavy and tired, you only hear words in the darkness.

“An exchange. A soul for a soul. A soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death.”

You can’t help but think, that’s you.

So you pull on a jacket and shoes, and slip from your cabin, trailing across camp in the quiet of night, taking in the sheer silence. In the distance, Festus snored and the Golden Fleece glowed, but that passed as you took the steps to the Big House, creaking under your feet. The lights inside are on, as they always are—the Big House is never closed. And somebody is always awake.

Unfortunately, tonight, the someone you want is not awake. Mr. D. is. You’re about to turn around when he blinks up from his magazine at the table, and waves his hand briefly. The door flies open, whacking the wall unapologetically. You stand, in mismatched socks and a saggy jacket, unimpressed.

“Where’s the manager?” You ask, folding your arms.

“That would be me.”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Bullshit.”

Inside, the lights are on, the house like a beacon. It smells of alcohol and coffee, though Mr. D. can’t drink ethanol. The scent lingers with him, like the smell of Cola. He sits in a too-big, starry shirt with red cheeks and bright orange pants. A fashion icon, on a different planet. A warm breeze drifts in from the open doorway, brushing your bare legs. The animal on the wall, above the chair where a clock also sits, stares at you, judging.

“I really need to speak to Chiron.”

“Not Quintus?” He lazily raises his brows. You laugh through your nose, shoving your hands inside your pockets. As you begin to walk the space, you blink at the dirt on your shoes, thinking.

“No. I’d rather jump off a cliff.” You stop. Pulling out a chair at the table, you sit heavily, legs outstretched, an arm over the back of the chair. You don’t look up. “I had a dream about that kid, Nico. He isn’t lost—he’s following someone’s orders. And we need to go get him. Someone wants to exchange lives—a soul for a soul. They said, someone who has skipped out on death.”

Silence fills the space. You look up, from your shoes. Mr. D. shrugs. “Okay?”

Fury fills you. “Okay? That’s all you got? Call for a quest!” You exclaim, getting to your feet. “Help Nico! A soul for a soul clearly means me. Did you just ignore the last quest altogether? How many times did I nearly die?”

His watery eyes blink, face unbothered. Mr. D. leans back on the sofa, flicking his magazine again. He hums. “How should I know?”

“You should! You should know these things. Please just…help me out, here. Get Chiron to call for a quest. Let me talk to the Oracle. We can save Nico! We can fix this! He’s a kid…he shouldn’t be out there alone. Someone is clearly controlling him. And personally, I think it’s a god.”

Now, he looks up. Those eyes harden. He doesn’t do anything, but the air shifts, changes, and you hate it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” you sigh slowly, watching carefully. Men can be unpredictable, you’ve learned that. Gods? A little bit more so. “Just…let me do this. Let me fix things before they get worse. Please.”

You plead the same way with Chiron, later that morning. “I know this is meant for me. This is my quest. My chance. Chiron, I swear. I feel this in my bones. We have to do something, because something big is happening. Nico needs somebody to help him, and someone powerful has risen. I’ve dreamt it. I feel it. And I know that you do, too. If you don’t believe me, let me talk to the Oracle! Talk to Percy. He knows about this. He knows how I feel about it all—!”

“Stop.” Chiron utters quietly. He cuts your rising tone in half, and you fall silent, waiting. He looks at you the same way that he has since you arrived—like you’re headed for your grave, and he’s trying to stop it. He sits looking out across the porch, across camp. “Go back to your cabin. Inspection’s due to start, is it not? I’m sure Annabeth would like your help—”

And…you finally snap. You swipe a hand over your hair, tugging on the ends. “Why does nobody listen to me?! I know that you can feel something is wrong. I know. If you’d just let me talk to the Oracle. Just this once. And I’ll stop. If nothing happens, I’ll leave it all alone,” you step forward, so you’re leaning on the railing, breathing deeply, waiting for his reaction. “We both know, though, that something will happen. You’re just scared of it.”

Later, you’ll realise, looking at a young boy on a rooftop, just why Chiron was scared. He was scared for all you heroes, then and always. Heroes die terrible deaths; they get hurt, and they don’t recover. They live difficult but happy lives. It’s the hard parts, he doesn’t like.

“We don’t all die,” you urge. “We don’t all suffer. If you let me do this, I’ll come back from wherever I’ll go. I’ll bring Nico back. I’ll fix all of this! You have to trust me on this one. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares. I know what’s coming, and what will happen if I don’t do something. You’ve always said that intuition is right, as a demigod. Isn’t that one of the first things you told me? Told Percy? Right now, my intuition is telling me that I have to do this! Please believe me.”

Waiting for his response is more nerve-wracking than spilling your thoughts to him at a million miles an hour. He holds a thousand-yard stare, like he’s seeing past you. Who is he seeing, you wonder? Which hero do you remind him of?

Chiron inhaled heavily, exhaling slowly. He looks tired. “You remind me…so much of your mother. So persistent to do the right thing. Not always the good thing, but the right. You young heroes…I will think about it. We have more pressing matters, right now. An Aethiopian Drakon was spotted this morning walking the camp border. We know Luke has made plans to invade, and my guess is this is the start of that idea. Quintus has suggested we have a round of war games tonight. You should tell Annabeth and Sienna, they’ll want to prepare no doubt…”

At breakfast, Quintus announces the war games after dinner. Annabeth yaps about how long it’s been since the last one. Clarissa tiredly asks what the war games are like. The conversation with Chiron plays on your mind while you scrape your offerings into the fire. A bit of toasted bagel and strawberries. The brightness of the flames reflect off your plate, grateful that you’re late to breakfast and there’s nobody waiting behind you.

“Help me get what I want, mom. We both know I’m meant for this. Let me save Nico. Let me save us.”

Whether she’ll listen—whether she even heard—is one thing, and carrying out on your wishes is another. A part of you wants to think about all the times she didn’t help you. But another part thinks of all the times she did, and you have a slither of hope that Athena will hear your desperation and help you out.

You remind me so much of your mother. You have lots in common, then. Maybe she’ll realise you’re more alike than either of you thought.

You turn and cast your gaze across the pavilion. Connor and Travis are throwing food across the table, so you’re not going there. At your table, Annabeth is staring at the sky like it’s the answer to all her problems. Silena Beauregard is sobbing her heart out at her haircut, so you’ll avoid her today. Finally, Percy and Grover. Percy in typical fashion of creased blue tee and jeans, and Grover chewing on lettuce, his horns poking through his curly hair. At the head table, Chiron is standing, not in the wheelchair, tall and…already watching. Maybe he does it on purpose—he just leaves. Campers shouldn’t sit at other tables, sitting with your own cabin is a where you should be.

You approach Percy, anyway, slinking onto the bench. Grover smiles at you, and you can’t tell if you’re paranoid or if Chiron has mentioned your talk this morning. Maybe you’re losing it—because you swore, hands down, that you talked to Mr. D. last night, and according to Chiron, he isn’t even at camp.

“What are we talkin’ about?” You pick at your bagel, eyeing Percy’s much more appealing chocolate pop tarts.

“Chiron wants Percy to convince me,” Grover utters, spearing his breakfast with a fork.

“Convince you of what?”

A plate smacks down on the table, rattling the dishes already there. Annabeth climbs over the bench and plonks down, reaching over you to steal one of Percy’s pop tarts. You have half a mind to snatch it back.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

You look between the three of them. “Labyrinth? Are we talking, like, Theseus’s Labyrinth? Ariadne, and shit?”

“Exactly that.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy hushes. “Either of you.”

“We all need to talk!” Annabeth insists.

“But the rules…” he frowns.

You shove the rest of your bagel in your mouth. “Rules-shmules. Cut to the point—I had a dream about Nico di Angelo, and he’s working with some psycho to exchange souls. He’s being controlled by someone. Last night, the Apollo kids went out to get rid of the drakon in the woods. I’ve had a weird feeling for weeks now that something’s coming and something has changed, and all of this is happening after Luke came up with the plans to invade and take over. Coincidence? I think not. We need to do something.”

Annabeth hums. “When you pair all that with the fact that Grover’s in trouble, and the Labyrinth we found this summer over in the woods? It’s all connected. It has to be. I think the only way we can figure it all out is by going into the Labyrinth. It didn’t appear for no reason, right? Clarisse found it by total accident, and we’ve been trying to investigate it all summer. We only get so far, though…”

“So,” Percy prodded. “It’s not under the king’s palace in Crete anymore. It’s actually under some random building in America?”

“It was never just under the palace, though,” you think aloud. “It was sprawling. It existed for so long before Theseus went inside that it just…adapted. Changed. If it grew there, chances are it isn’t just under some building in America. It’s probably everywhere. Just like Olympus moves with societal changes, and how an Underworld entrance is in L.A.”

“So, is the Labyrinth a part of the Underworld?”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to be confused. Grover shook his curly head. “No. There are probably passages leading down to the Underworld in the maze, but they’re not totally connected. Think of them as…alleys between streets. The Labyrinth is basically just under the surface of the mortal world, like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years. It’s connected everything everywhere. You can get practically anywhere using the Labyrinth.”

It only occurs to you, then, that, “The Labyrinth that opened in camp…is Luke’s way in. It’s how he’s going to invade everywhere. He’s got it all planned to a T. Luke must have connections in camp, because the entrance to the Labyinth wasn’t here a few months ago. Someone has to be feeding him information on how it works, where it starts and ends. How to get inside. But who?”

It all clicks into place perfectly.

You’re your mother’s daughter, alright.

As it so happened, Chiron wanted Grover to explore the maze. Clarisse spent the summer inside of it, trying to get a feel for where it led to, the entrances and exits. It’s always changing, according to her, and she got lost a couple times. Chris Rodriguez went insane down there, says Annabeth. He’s still insane. But no other advancements have been made. Because nobody can find the entrances outside, or the exits inside. Grover still wants to find the god, Pan, and believes that the maze might be the only way to find him. But Grover is Grover, and he knows how he feels, so the maze isn’t a match. Annabeth urges him to go and keep looking. But…everyone knows something is wrong. Off.

When Quintus cleared his throat far too many times to be a sore throat, Annabeth got the hint and took you over with her to your own table.

“Convince him, will you?” She asks Percy, linking her arm with yours to pull your unwilling self along. “Talk to him.”

You eye Quintus and try to decide whether you’re a paranoid schizophrenic. Mr. D. would tell you straight. But he’s not here, and so says Annabeth, he never was. There’s excitement and unsettlement buzzing in your body, like you’re gearing up for something you don’t know about just yet. Sometimes, the body knows before the brain does, and it’s never wrong.

That evening, Quintus ordered the Capture The Flag armour to be handed out. Suited up and waiting for his orders, everyone crowded as the sun began to set, burning orange over the treeline. The mood among the campers was a lot more serious than when you played Capture The Flag.

“Right!” Quintus said, standing on the head table. “Gather round.” He dressed in black leather and bronze armour, like something from the past and the future mixed into one. Throwing in his greying hair into the mix was like seeing a ghost. The giant puppy (supposedly dangerous) that was Mrs O’Leary bounded and barked around Quintus, eating scraps off the floor. “You will be in teams of two—WHICH HAVE ALREADY BEEN DECIDED.” People began to grab at their friends and scream names, until he yelled over them.

“Awwwww!” Came a chorus of disappointment.

“The goal is simple: collect the gold laurels without dying.”

You lean over subtly to Percy, though you can’t just whisper in his ear anymore, he’s got so tall. “We do that every day.”

“The wreath is wrapped in the silk package tied to the backs of the monsters. There are six of these monsters, each has a silk package. Your goal is to find the wreath before the other teams. And…of course, you will have to slay the monster to get it, and not die.”

“Neat,” you mutter. It sounds straight forward enough. Around you, people agreed.

“I will now announce your partners. There’ll be no switching. No complaining. And NO trading.”

He went on to list the pairs, from a terrified Grover and spooked Tyson, to Clarisse and Joan, to Annabeth and Mason, to Connor and Travis, and you and Percy.

Percy grinned at you. “Nice.”

You shoulder-barged him so hard his armour turned ski-whif. You twirled your dagger between your fingers with what you could describe as utter skill, heading into the woods. The teams spread out, some walking, some sprinting. Percy held his sword at his side, and you were almost jealous of it. It was still light when you got into the woods properly but the height and density of the trees made it darker and colder than it really was.

“I spy with my little eye,” Percy spun in a circle. “Uhhhh…something beginning with T.”

“Trees.” You side-eyed him.

“Smarty-pants. Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P.” You hone in on the distant scuttling.

Percy gasps dramatically. “It’s a Percy!”

Your hand flies for his sword-side wrist. “No—package. Run!”

If this were a fun game, you might have run after the package strapped to the back of the creature. However…you were really quite scared. These creatures were huge, bigger than normal monsters, scorpions altered with huge pincers and poison dripping from their sides. When one came, three more followed. How on earth were you supposed to fight them all off? You nearly tripped over backward as Percy yanked on your armour. You scrambled to keep up with him, dirt flicking up off the ground. Another creature came out from that way, too, leaving you back-to-back with Percy.

“They don’t look happy,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you agree.

You move slowly to be side-by-side instead, moving in the one direction the monsters aren’t keeping you stuck in. Your feet shift back, the ground declining. Percy, in front of you, trusts you to guide him, deflecting a hiss of poison with the flat of his sword just in time to catch it before it landed on your face. You exhale slowly, reaching your dagger hand behind you, catching on the side of a large rock, taller than the both of you, and one on the other side. The space between the two is slim, but with the creatures closing in on you, any sort of coverage is better than none.

“Bit tight there, no?” Percy suggests nervously, reaching his free hand up to his shoulder where your hand rests up on his armour, guiding.

“Cover is cover, man. Oh, that’s a bit steep—”

Before you can say another word, the ground under your feet gives way. All the breath leaves your lungs in the sudden, unexpected fall. Percy yells, shocked, falling backward into pure darkness. You land on hard ground, your armour taking most of the impact. Slightly winded, you sit up and rely on Percy to help you up, staring at the hole you fell through, the light sky and scorpions peering down to you. The boy next to you breathes frantically, panicking.

It couldn’t get any worse, right?

Wrong. You watch in total disbelief, the hole knitting together and closing up to leave you both in the pitch black. The make of Percy’s sword provides a tiny glimmer of a glow, casting between your faces—his wide-eyed, unblinking and yours terrified.

“Percy—”

“Don’t panic. It’s—it’s fine.”

Your voice rises to a high pitch. “Where are we?!”

“Well, we’re in a hole.” His voice shakes in response.

It’s freezing down here, and damp. You take a step back, dropping your dagger. It clatters and echoes in both directions. Your palms fly back as you lean and hit a wall, sliding them across dewy concrete. A breeze blows from one direction, whistling, all the way down to the other. The space doesn’t feel tight. When you reach your hand out to find Percy in the darkness, you can’t feel him.

“Are you there?” You whisper, throat tightening.

“Right here,” he gulps, and warm fingertips land in your hair. You slide your hand up to meet his wrist and don’t let go. His pulse flutters furiously under your tight fingers. “The whole woods, and four monsters come right to us. We’re like magnets.”

“Just you, man. Son of Poseidon ‘n all.”

“Glad you find this funny.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

As the two of you calm down ever so slightly, you push off the wall, still holding Percy, and reach for his sword, turning the material’s dim light this way and that. It doesn’t do much. “What is this? Maintenance tunnels?”

You want to laugh. But something weak and nervous has settled on your chest. “Percy…I think we’re in the Labyrinth.” The ground beneath your feet feels like brickwork, jolty, uneven. “Safe from scorpions, anyway.”

“This is new. Has to be. We would have known if there were caves here. Surely?…”

You nod, sniffing. “Definitely.” You thought of the crack made by Nico in the dining pavilion. Had the two of you made this? But how? It didn’t seem right. You lower your hand from Percy’s sword, and he slides his hand down…into your own clammy palm, off his wrist. Eyes widening, you don’t question it. He keeps his hand there. Percy shifts the sword light.

“It’s a long room,” he mutters.

“It’s not a room,” you realise. “It’s a corridor.” The darkness felt emptier in front and behind, and you had the terrible, crawling feeling that something was watching. If this was the maze, it would make sense: the maze is alive, after all.

He took a step forward, slipping your hand away. “Don’t!” You cried, a little too loudly, partially out of worry for danger but mostly so as not to be left alone. “Don’t go down there. We need to just…find an exit. We need to get out.”

If he sensed your panic—which, being Percy, he definitely did—he tried to calm you. “It’s okay,” he tried, somewhat soft. “It’s right—there…oh.”

You tried to think rationally under the rising terror. If this really was the maze, who was the maker? You sift through hours of books and facts and history mentally in seconds, working at a thousand mental miles an hour. The original maker, would have been Daedalus—the father of Icarus. Ancient Greeks and their creations…

“There has to be some sort of exit here,” you utter, trailing your hand up the wall. You let go of Percy’s and brush both across the dewy walls. “A mark, maybe? Daedalus was a creator. All creator’s leave their trademark, I think. If we’re talking Ancient Greece then it’s probably a Greek letter or…sign…something.” You liked to assume the trademark would be something to feel, and close by. You heard Percy copying you without question. You know one another by now, and how each other works. You often lead—Percy often follows. It’s a level of trust you’ve had no choice but to build on over the years. Act first, question later.

His unsure tone came forth in the darkness. “I’m not—”

“Got it!” A eureka! moment brings relief, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. A dented brick in the wall, in the shape of the ancient Delta—a small L. It began to glow bright blue when you pressed into it. You’d have smiled if you weren’t so worried. The roof slid open, dirt falling in atop of you. You’d been expecting scorpions and sunlight, not…stars, and the dark sky. Elatedness turns into sheer and utter bafflement. Metal ladder rungs speared out of the wall, to the opening in the ceiling. People were screaming your names, some distantly, some close by. Percy glanced nervously to you, and nodded to the ladder.

Humid air greeted you. Up on the surface, the ground closed over again, like it had never fallen open in the first place. Percy, crouched, brushed his hand over the place there should have been a gash. Nothing.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Clarisse rounded into your space, face like fury. “We’ve been looking forever!” She demanded.

Maybe it was how you shook, leaning against the rock. It might have been the paleness of Percy’s face.

“We were only gone five minutes,” he said.

Chiron trotted up, followed by Annabeth and a new camper. “You guys okay?” She asked, breathing deep.

“We’re fine,” Percy got to his feet. “We fell into a hole.” People looked skeptically to him, but you opened your mouth.

“Honest.” Chiron looked like his worst fears were coming to life. “We were out here just fighting those scorpions and then the ground just opened. Didn’t feel that long down there, but obviously…”

“You’ve been missing for nearly three hours,” Chiron ran a hand over his face. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth piped up. “We nearly won. Until Tyson fell on me.”

You eyed the golden laurels Clarisse wore. Usually, she’d brag and flaunt in typical Ares-kid fashion. This time, the girl stood judging. “It just opened?” She repeated.

“Chiron, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else? At the Big House?” Said Annabeth.

Clarisse pushed further into the circle. “You found it, didn’t you? You went into the maze!”

You turned your head in a short tilt, scoffing. “Yeah. Yeah, we found it…”

Campers grew rowdy, yelling questions and firing anxiety. Chiron held his hand up and it grew quiet. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He stared at the giant rock formations like they were dangerous. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. You played well, but it’s well past curfew!”

There was a lot of complaining and mumbling, but campers dwindled and retreated to their cabins, no doubt going to talk about your missing evening with Percy.

“That explains what Luke is after,” Clarisse shrugged.

You froze. “So I was right, this morning—we found Luke’s invasion route into camp?”

If looks could kill, you’d be back in that hole. Annabeth nodded, staring at you. Clarisse popped off on a spiralling theory, and Percy pressed his hand into your shoulder. Chiron had turned grey, face stony.

You didn’t know, then.

You’d just just started digging your own grave.

taglist:

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[malfnction-54]

from the inside of a hotel

[izzylimon]

Goth, from Gen X to Gen Z

source: NITE (on fb)

track: NITE - All Your Pain

[namira]

On 2012 depression tumblr people liked to share gifs from Cyberbully (2011), except made black and white so they looked all deep and artsy and like they weren't from Cyberbully (2011). People don't often talk about this but I remember.

[strialternatives]

bonus:

:inhales and slams hands on the desk: akechi. palace. pitch.

disclaimer: the setting for this is all about vibes and aesthetics, it kinda got away from me when i started hashing out the plot around it two months ago so now we're here. in hell. (i'll probably have to make a secondary post i made wayyy too many concepts,)

yes i made an ost for this idea, here is a youtube playlist of chill european jazz

AU details under the cut-

Akechi Goro's palace is "Ampitheatrum Doloris”.

KEYWORDS: Akechi Goro, Tokyo Highcourt, Amphitheater

Akechi's psyche is a massive collection of locked doors, puzzles, and contradictions. He wants to be seen but not understood—heard but never known, ect. This makes his palace infiltration a waking nightmare (affectionate).

His palace is made up of five main layers. They each mirror a stage of grief:

1) There is the outer layer of with the appearance of a Venice-esque water canal maze, there is a door that must be opened to reach the entrance to infiltrate the second layer underneath the amphitheater. The puzzle's actually pretty sentimental and revolves around Akechi's interest in literature.

(This layer is depression, Goro mourns what he lost and the fact that the choices he made for the sake of revenge ultimately led to nowhere. This is reflected in how desolate/meandering the outer layer feels, it is the largest and most time consuming part of the palace for this reason. It takes weeks to finish. AKA, Akira and Morgana have a terrible, no good, very bad month of May.) 

2) The Labyrinth under the amphitheater; it is full of shadows for the arena champion to use as fodder for the enjoyment of the masses. ‘Loki’ resides here—this layer’s theme loosely plays on the Minotaur myth. 

The only way to escape is through a pulley/elevator mechanism which leads to the surface after shattering the Champion’s chains by force. Loki taunts in Old Norse, but gives Akira (and the party by extension) genuine hints on how to escape.

(This layer is anger, Goro is always angry, about the hand he’s been dealt, the futility of his own actions, and the fact that his life has always been a dead end, written in the stars.)

3) The Audience Stands; full of human cognitions and Akechi’s former clients and fans, despite everything, like Sae, he sees them as ‘people’ and is disgusted by them. Their compliments are shallow and empty, surface level like Goro’s facade. Cognition Sae is delegated to a middle manager-type role, and leads Akira and Co. through puzzles.

Different cognitions from Akechi’s shitshow of a childhood throw riddles based around philosophy and the nature of justice at the party, if the answer is ‘wrong’, there’s a mini-boss fight. Answering everything correctly yields a prize—a key, this process is made difficult by all of Robin’s ‘hints’ (which the Thieves can directly ask for) being lies.

(Bargaining. Goro always thought he could still salvage his revenge despite his enemy being essentially invincible, even now deep down he thinks he can salvage all the effort and sacrifices he put in.)

4) The Stage; Robin Hood appears proper instead of in cameo appearances, this is the lead actor's stage. To earn the right to stand with him, Akira has to have to prove his worth in one-on-one combat while showing the crowd a rousing show. The goal is to use the key obtained in the bargaining layer to unlock the Performer's cuffs.

(Denial, Goro doesn’t believe he needs or deserves saving or a life outside of his revenge, he believes there is no other way forward.)

Hereward and the 'treasure' are in the Imperial box area, which I'll save for part 2 of this I think! The second half of this'll have less focus on the environments and more on general plot and character design.

EDIT: here's part two and part three

[ultrakill-confessions]

I have NO clue why I’m doing this, but.

Here is my ranking of Hell’s layers from hottest to least hot.

1. Gluttony:

I described this in another ask, but this layer is carnality distilled into a physical form of throbbing flesh and warm, sweet blood. This is, in my opinion, easily the sexiest layer. I’m not super into the acid, but I’m willing to overlook it if I get to know every tendon and sinew of Hell’s meat, to see the walls pulse and contract as the skeletal hands twitch and the eyes of the room roll back.

2. Violence:

The sleek walls of marble, sculpted elegantly to fit together, forming aesthetic perfection. The contrast between the radiant white and the bubbling blood. The trees, pleading, begging for just a little more. Feed us. Please, please, feed us. We’re so hungry, we’re so desperate. We need you. We need you. Everything about this layer is bloodlust and desperation. The need to escape the labyrinth, the need to free the Tree of Life’s aortal sap, the need to feed on blood and blossom, the need to escape life so desperately that it ends in arboreal agonies, the need to fight, to destroy, to win this war, even if you don’t have a reason besides this need, this gnawing need.

3. Heresy:

Blood oozes from every crevice of these blasphemous corridors, screams echo from the scorching prisons that lie against the walls and floors, every inch of crimson brick, every falling drop of blood, every flickering candle and red-eyed skull is sensual beyond measure. The insolent stench of death and destruction stains these halls, and it couldn’t be any more arousing. Every piece works together in perfect hatred, of peace, of life, of joy, to stomp out and snuff out what little moments of painless pleasure may be found in the brick-lain bowels of Hell.

4. Lust:

The buzzing of electricity, the rushing water and whirring of fans, all creating this pristine cacophony of calm chaos. The shadow of greatness looms, filling every street with the memory of it being something more. You can feel where two friends used to meet, talking about life, about death, about love and all the rest, before they were crushed beneath a husk’s heel. You can feel the sin course through the concrete and steel, screaming that loving one another is not a crime that deserves this fate, but the tragedy only compounds it. It could’ve been different. It should’ve been different. Maybe we could have fought back, or spoken better, or begged more, pleaded more? But it’s too late now. The sorrow of lost peace has sunken into the very foundations of this city, blending with the lightning of the cables and the whispered wishes.

5. Wrath:

A tempest. Chaos, anger, hate, desperation, despair. Everything swirls together, mixing and melding into something colossal. Wrath is the place of everything. Some will never stop, never quit sailing the ferry, never stop for even a moment until their weary bones are cast from the deck and cast into infatuation. Some will try, and try, and try, and one day, they stop trying. They sink, sink, sink to the deepest pits, melding, molding, mixing into the Leviathan, a being of rage, filled with the wills of those who have given up, those who thought they had nothing to fight for. The Leviathan will fight for them. They don’t know who to hate, but they know to hate. Hate the ones who damned them, hate the ones to stand in their way, hate the ones who fight back, hate the weaklings that don’t. All that’s left is hatred and apathy, and neither will aim the blast of the sea serpent.

6. Limbo:

Calm silence as you sit against chiseled stone. The birdsong of the speakers echo and the screens play through the simulation of day they love so much. To frolic through the bushes, run your fingers through the rubbery grass, pluck a flower and smell it, smell the hollow scent of soft plastic, is to know Hell in its most intimate form. It tries to become unsettling, to delve into an uncanny valley, but you know it well enough to not let it stay in that pit. You will smell the roses that smell of nothing. You will feel the winds that are not there to be felt. You will admire the handiwork of Hell, cherishing its careful carvings, its perfect glass, and its beautiful colors. You know Hell, and you will love Hell. And it won’t know how to love you back. But that’s okay. You can teach it.

7. Prelude:

Pistons crash rhythmically, like a foundation, a pounding drum for Hell’s opening symphony, its Overture. The fans whir, filling the music and beckoning you to join. You can be the melody. Fast, energetic, powerful. You can show them yourself. Fast. Energetic. Powerful. Feel the beat of the machinery like the beat of your heart, feel the beat of the machinery as the voice pushing you onward. Press your heel to their skull and push. Push. Push until they pop. See? Didn’t that feel nice? Feeling the beat of the machinery as the tendrils grasping your mind, the hands in yours that guide you forward, the third, double-pupiled eye that lets you see what life truly is. That lets you see life as something to be played with, toyed with, just like how you’re being played with and toyed with, used as entertainment. But it’s alright. If Hell wants a show, you’ll show it exactly what it wants to see. After all, isn’t that what you’re meant for? Isn’t that all your meant for? To serve Hell, obediently and violently is your purpose. And you would never stray from your purpose.

8. Greed:

Sharp and pointed, pyramids pierce the Heavens. The sun beats down on the golden sands, and there’s no escape from it. Greed is intensity, blasting down on you. You feel the intensity of the heat, the miserable, terrible heat clawing at your skin and threatening to rip your very flesh apart. You see the intensity of the labor, the insurrectionists toiling to lift their stones, sweat dripping slowly, so agonizingly slowly down their skin, collecting dirt and blood as their muscles ache and their bones grow tired. There is no respite, there is no rest, there is no requiem. There’s only intensity. There’s only the need to take more once you’ve already given over every piece of yourself. There’s only Greed.

-

[michele-apricity]

𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓪 ˙⟡🪶─

𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Dark academia is rooted in a love for philosophy, history and literature... so here are some recommendations for books that fit the dark academia aesthetic and you should definitely read

𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒔

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

The cornerstone of dark academia literature. A group of elite classics students is drawn into a web of obsession, betrayal, and murder.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

A dark exploration of beauty, morality, and corruption in Victorian England.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

A Gothic classic delving into the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, ambition, and the consequences of creation.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

A story of love, mystery, and self-discovery, set against the brooding backdrop of Thornfield Hall.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

A Gothic masterpiece full of eerie atmospheres, academic investigation, and the dark allure of the unknown.

𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio

A Shakespearean tragedy set in an elite performing arts college, where students’ lives unravel after a murder.

Vita Nostra by Marina & Sergey Dyachenko

A surreal and unsettling novel about a young woman attending a mysterious school where reality bends under the weight of knowledge.

Bunny by Mona Awad

A darkly humorous and sinister look at creativity, academia, and a cult-like clique in a prestigious MFA program.

The Atlas Six trilogy by Olivie Blake

A magical dark academia tale about six exceptionally talented magicians competing for a place in a secret society that guards knowledge.

In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

A memoir with Gothic undertones that explores trauma, storytelling, and academic reflection.

𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒚/𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒔

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón

A mysterious and haunting tale of a young boy discovering a forgotten book and its dark history.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

A supernatural dark academia story set in Yale’s secret societies, where magic and danger collide.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

A chilling Gothic mystery set in a decaying mansion, with a protagonist investigating her cousin's eerie marriage.

The Lying Game by Ruth Ware

A tale of friendship, deceit, and secrets in the shadow of a Gothic boarding school.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

A queer, layered story blending Gothic horror and academic intrigue across timelines.

𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 & 𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔

The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson

Dickinson’s introspective and haunting poetry complements the aesthetic’s love of literature and existential reflection.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius

For the intellectual side of dark academia, this stoic philosophical work is a guide to self-reflection and understanding.

Paradise Lost by John Milton

An epic poem exploring rebellion, ambition, and the fall from grace, perfect for the themes of the aesthetic.

Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake

Poetry reflecting duality, beauty, and the darker aspects of human nature.

𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕

A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

A magical school where survival is key, blending dark academia with fantasy and wit.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Noell by Susanna Clarke

A dense, Gothic tale of magic, rivalry, and ambition in 19th-century England.

The Magicians by Lev Grossman

A modern, darker take on a magical academy, filled with existential musings and flawed characters.

A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness

A historical and fantastical romance steeped in academia, libraries, and ancient mysteries.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

A haunting, introspective story set in an otherworldly labyrinth that plays with memory, knowledge, and solitude.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒕

Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

A suspenseful story of privilege, power, and systemic secrets in an elite private school.

Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas

A slow-burning, atmospheric novel about an experimental university and the price of knowledge.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart

A tale of mystery, tragedy, and privilege among a wealthy, secluded family.

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

A series rich with mysticism, academic undertones, and a search for ancient knowledge.

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson

A romantic and artistic dark fantasy set in a world of fae and forbidden craft.

Did you read any of the books mentioned here? And if so what was your favorite/your opinion on them?

I personally read most of the books here and loved every single one.

-michala♡

[gullemec]

Whiskey on Ice

Golden Cage - Chapter Four

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: You and Hughie navigate the chaos of the New York City subway system. Butcher is an emotionally constipated menace. You discover just how deep the corruption in Vought and CytoGenix goes.

Warnings: Butcher is kind of mean :(, language, mentions of human experimentation, alcohol use, drunkenness, flirting, kissing, mild stalking (not of reader)

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 6.2k

A/N: thank you to everyone who has liked/commented/reblogged or just generally shown love for this fic - this is why i decided to make the jump and share it and you've all made it so worth it <3

Once underground, you tug Hughie sharply into an alcove, pressing your backs against the cool, grimy tiles as the pounding footsteps of CytoGenix security fade into the crowded cacophony of the station.

The hum of the subway drowns out your ragged breathing, but you manage to whisper sharply in his ear.

“Don't say a word. Follow me,” you speak in a hushed tone, pleading with Hughie not to argue with you right now. He nods and you release your grip on him, the two of you stepping cautiously back into the fray, weaving through the dense tide of commuters.

The New York City's transit Lost and Found is a veritable thrift shop, looking something like a mix of thrift shop, dry cleaners, and curiosity cabinet. Shelves heave under forgotten books and umbrellas, mismatched racks bristling with everything from sequined dresses to vintage ski jackets. How someone could have possibly lost a pair of skis on the subway is lost on you, but if you had to bet, it was probably a good story. 

You bring Hughie there now, ringing the service bell obnoxiously. A bored woman with a chipped manicure appears from the back room, already mid-rehearsed spiel. “Lost and Found is by appointment only. Fill out this—”

You cut her off, slapping five crisp Benjamins onto the counter. “Give us fifteen minutes back there, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she eyes the cash warily before snatching it up and sliding it into her pocket. “You get ten. And don’t touch the jewelry,” she says flatly, jerking a thumb toward the racks.

Hughie gapes at you, incredulous. “What the hell was that?”

You smirk, pulling your wallet from your bag and flipping it open to reveal an obscene stack of bills. “This is pocket change to my father,” you say dryly. “If you ever wonder why I still associate with him, well, this is why.”

Hughie shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re like a Bond villain’s kid. This is insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” you quip, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the racks.

The two of you make quick work of the clothing, sifting through the chaos with purpose. You settle on a vintage floral dress, throwing an oversized leather jacket and round sunglasses into the mix, leaning into an Elaine Benes aesthetic. For Hughie, you pull an absurd nylon tracksuit in neon colors, pairing it with a fedora you find hanging from a forgotten rack. 

Hughie holds up the hat, incredulous. “You want me to wear this? I look like a reject from Miami Vice.”

“You’ll blend in. No one will take a second look at you, this is New York.”

He groans but doesn’t argue, slipping into the suit while you throw on your new ensemble. Minutes later, you’re back in the bustling station, walking with purpose as you zigzag through the labyrinth of subway lines.

You board train after train, switching directions, hopping off randomly, and doubling back until you’re certain you’ve shaken any potential tails. The constant movement leaves your legs aching and your head spinning, but when you finally emerge from the station nearest the laundromat, it’s nearly nightfall, and you’re laughing like kids who’ve just pulled off a prank.

“Did you see that guy with the rat?” Hughie wheezes, tears streaming down his face. “He was feeding it chips! Like, actual chips!”

“It was the most New York thing I’ve ever seen,” you gasp, clutching your sides as laughter overtakes you.

You're so lost in the twin haze of an adrenaline hangover and the utter disbelief of having actually been successful in your getaway that you barely notice Butcher barreling toward you. 

“Where the bloody hell have you two been?!” he snaps, his voice echoing off the brick walls.

Hughie stops in his tracks, stunned. “Uh, dude, what’s going on?”

“What’s goin’ on?” Butcher snarls, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve been sat here for hours, twiddlin’ me thumbs, thinkin’ maybe you’d been grabbed by Vought’s lot or worse. Your bloody mics don’t work underground, so I couldn’t hear a fuckin’ thing. Had me…” He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his face. “Had me thinkin’ you’d screwed the pooch and got us all bloody caught.”

You sober instantly, the humor of the moment evaporating. Butcher’s frustration rolls off him in waves, and you find yourself bristling under the weight of his glare.

“I bumped into a lab cart,” you admit, your voice firm but even. “We got noticed. Running was the only option. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought there was another way.”

Hughie steps in beside you, his voice rising with indignation. “She saved our asses, okay? Homelander showed up, Butcher. He shot his fucking laser eyes at us. We’d be fried if it wasn’t for her.”

Butcher’s head jerks up at that. “Homelander?!” His voice is sharp enough to cut. “Fucking hell.” He takes a step back, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.

For a moment, he’s silent, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then he looks at you, his gaze hard and unforgiving. “No more missions for you two. You hear me? You’re benched.”

“Butcher, we—”

“No more,” he growls, cutting you off. “And for the love of God, get changed. You look like extras from a bad ‘90s sitcom.”

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks back toward the laundromat, leaving you and Hughie standing in stunned silence.

“Was that him… worrying about us?” Hughie asks finally, glancing at you.

“Maybe?” you say with a small, humorless laugh. “If that’s Butcher’s version of worrying.”

The two of you exchange a look, then burst into quiet laughter again, the tension easing as you turn and head toward the laundromat.

~~~

When you and Hughie arrive at the  laundromat, you feel like you've just survived a war zone. You're exhausted, confused, and honestly a little shaken by what you witnessed earlier. You also reek of sweat, dust, and old coffee stains, courtesy of your new wardrobes.

As soon as you step through the door, the crew notices. Annie, Kimiko, Frenchie, and MM are crowded around the screens, their faces etched with anxiety, eyes darting to the door as it opens. The moment they spot you, it's like the tension in the room snaps. Everyone stands up, looking like they're ready to either hug you or jump into action. Annie is the first to move, pulling Hughie into a tight, frantic hug, before turning to you with the same urgency.

“Oh my god, I was so worried,” Annie breathes, inspecting you like you're a wounded animal. “What happened? You guys look... like you’ve been through hell.”

“And why do you look like you both just walked off the set of Seinfeld?” MM asks, unable to stifle a laugh. 

You fill the Boys in on your semi-successful mission; the shocking revelation that CytoGenix is just as corrupt as Vought, your near-miss with Homelander, and your daring subway getaway. 

The rest of the team listens intently, but it's Kimiko who reacts the most visibly. She starts signing rapidly to Frenchie, who catches it and interprets, voice low, but urgent. “This is dangerous, very dangerous.”

Annie’s face darkens, her jaw tightening with determination. “A Supe army was bad enough, but now they want mind-controlled Supes? That’s... that’s beyond even Vought. We can’t let this happen.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Butcher bursts through the door, his presence sucking the air out of the room. He doesn’t even acknowledge the group, his eyes going straight to the screens, like nothing else matters.

“Where the hell have you been?” MM demands, his voice laced with irritation.

Butcher doesn’t look up, but his tone is sharp as he replies, “What do you think? Keeping these two morons out of the fryer, making sure they didn’t get turned into some lab rat like the poor octopus bastard back at the lab.” He shoots you a glance, that same dismissive look he's had for the past few days.

You wince at his remark, hurt and confused. He’s angry, but at who, exactly? You? Did he really think you should’ve been faster, smarter, done something differently? Did he think you should have just jumped in the van, alerting the encroaching henchmen to his presence and endangering him, too? You can feel your stomach churn with frustration, not just at him but at yourself. It’s ridiculous how much you care about his approval, even now. After everything, why do you still want him to see you as more than just a screw-up?

Regardless, you fucked up in his eyes. So much for the semblance of friendship you thought you might have forged with him. 

Beside you, Annie grimaces, her nose wrinkling. “Jesus, you guys reek,” she says, stepping away, her hand lightly pressing against her nose. “You need a shower. You smell like sweat and forty-year-old dust.”

You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. You do smell awful, but right now, it feels like a small mercy to focus on something trivial, like your personal hygiene. Annie, ever the caretaker, offers to wash your clothes while you shower, so you don’t have to walk back to your apartment in this disgusting outfit, risking raising any alarm bells from your doorman.

You squeeze yourself into the tiny basement shower, feeling the kind of relief that only comes from hot water rinsing off the grime of a long day. As the water cascades down your body, you check out, letting your mind wander far away from you. What the hell has your life become? What will become of you? Why do you cling to William Butcher's every whim and mood swing? 

You wish, desperately, that you could talk to your mother. You wish she were still here, with her calm, comforting presence. She always knew what to say when your life seemed like a mess. If only you could ask her for advice now, but instead, you're here. Alone. Floating in the wreckage of your own life.

By the time you step out of the shower, you're feeling somewhat human again, even if only for a moment. You throw on the towel, your hair dripping wet, and head for the dryer to grab your clothes. Butcher, still sitting on the couch, looks over to you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says, voice muffled, but not so much that you miss the tone. 

You glance over your shoulder, and there he is, perched on the couch, his eyes briefly flicking to your bare shoulders and legs before snapping away. It’s nothing explicit, but you can feel the weight of it. You’re not sure why, but the moment feels like a thousand unspoken things, all wrapped up in that brief look.

You quickly dress and sit down with Frenchie and Kimiko, accepting the meal they’ve offered. You’re starving, but you eat slowly, the tension still knotting in your chest. The others slowly begin to leave, heading off to their respective apartments, leaving you alone with Butcher in the basement once more.

Butcher hasn’t looked up from his laptop since you sat down, and you find yourself studying his profile, trying to figure him out. Why does he do this? Why does he keep pushing you away, pretending like none of this matters?

Eventually, you take a deep breath, trying to gather your courage. “H-have you heard anything? Was our cover completely blown?” You ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

Butcher finally looks at you, his expression unreadable, but his answer is surprisingly reassuring. “No. There’s talk of an incident at the lab, but no names. Your pops thinks it was just a competitor trying to fuck with him.”

You exhale, tension leaving your body in a slow, reluctant release. You don’t have to worry about CytoGenix security tracking you down, or your apartment being compromised.

Still, there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to face the empty loneliness of your apartment, the feeling that you’re just a ghost passing through your own life. You want to stay, to linger in this space with Butcher, to tear down the walls between you, to talk, to understand.

But as you start to settle in, Butcher speaks again, his voice colder than before. “When are you going home?”

You blink, the question hanging in the air, sharp and final. You try to smile, but it feels thin. “You don’t want company again tonight?”

His eyes flicker toward you, a glimmer of something unreadable crossing his face. “No. Just… Go home. Rest. Relax. Whatever it is you do in that big empty place of yours.”

It stings more than you expected. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know he knew it would hurt. You stare at him for a beat, trying to hold his gaze, but his eyes never meet yours. He won’t crack. And you’re not sure you can, either. You turn away, your throat tight with something unsaid, and walk out of the room.

The moment you step into your empty apartment, the first tear finally escapes. You let it fall, and it's quickly accompanied by another, and then another. The floodgates open, and you allow yourself to feel everything you’ve been trying to keep buried.

And so you do what you do best in this big, empty place of yours: cry. 

~~~

When you were a little girl, your mother warned you never to wish time away. 

Every second is precious, she told you, her voice soft but firm, the kind of truth that settles deep in your chest. And with her, it had been true. Time felt abundant and rich in her presence, a boundless well of laughter, love, and warmth. You never knew the true value a moment held until you realized you would never experience another with her in it, never understood the weight of her words until she was gone. It disturbed you how much you would be willing to give for just one more minute wrapped in her arms, smelling her hair, feeling the hum of her laughter as it grew in her chest. You’d never appreciated the fleeting, intangible nature of time until it had slipped through your fingers, leaving you clutching at air.

But now, time feels different. It’s no longer precious; it’s oppressive. Each second that ticks by on the office clock is a tiny torment, a weight pressing down on your chest, building the unease that’s taken root in your gut. The hours stretch out endlessly, like wading through molasses, every moment heavy and slow. You take on menial tasks, volunteer for mindless errands, anything to drown out the monotonous tick of the minute hand and keep your thoughts from spiraling.

Right now, that looks like driving a stack of legal documents to your father’s lawyer’s office across town. Something about getting them notarized, a task he could have delegated to any number of assistants but chose, for whatever reason, to assign to you. Maybe it’s his way of keeping you in his orbit, or maybe he just likes watching you jump through hoops. Either way, you’d accepted the task without hesitation. Being busy, even with something so tedious, feels better than being left alone with your thoughts.

It’s ironic, really. Here you are, running errands for the man you’re trying to undermine. He has no idea that his dutiful daughter has become a quasi-double agent. And while you’re unsure of how long you can keep up this charade, you know it doesn’t hurt to stay on his good side.

Speaking of your espionage, you’re not sure where you currently stand with the Boys. Despite the messy fallout from your last mission, you refuse to accept it as a failure. You’d gotten what you went in for—valuable intel that could guide your next steps—and ensured that neither you nor Hughie got hurt. Still, Butcher had seemed shaken that day, his cocky bravado overtaken by something darker. And now, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s avoiding you.

It’s strange, isn’t it? Feeling like you’re the one chasing them. After all, didn’t they kidnap you?

In the two weeks since your less-than-graceful getaway, you’ve been going through the motions at CytoGenix. Meeting after meeting, safety walkthrough after safety walkthrough, all of it an endless cycle of corporate theater. You sit through presentations filled with buzzwords and glossy slides, all while knowing that none of it is real. The golden image your father has built is nothing more than a facade, carefully crafted to dazzle investors and appease the public. Beneath the surface, you know there are darker truths lurking.

Your phone has become both a lifeline and a torment. You check it obsessively, waiting for some kind of contact—a call, a text, a sign from them. An unlisted number, a coded message, something. But the silence stretches on.

Each night, you return to your apartment, where the emptiness feels palpable. Some nights, you share the solitude with a bottle of red wine, but the nights always end the same: you, curled up in bed, sobbing quietly into the darkness. You can’t even pinpoint why, exactly. It’s everything—the questions, the doubts, the overwhelming weight of not knowing.

What role did Vought play in your mother’s death? How deeply is your father implicated? What the hell are you getting yourself into?

The questions claw at you, relentless, refusing to let you rest.

Now, you’re stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, the sun beating down through the windshield, and the world feels unbearably stagnant. The air conditioner hums, but it does nothing to soothe the rising heat in your chest.

As you inch forward, watching brake lights flash and turn signals blink in hypnotic rhythm, a thought takes shape in your mind. A decision.

Enough waiting. Enough silence.

Your hands tighten on the steering wheel, and you exhale sharply, determination settling over you like armor.

~~~

You arrive at the laundromat exactly as you did last time, a heavy basket of laundry perched upon your hip. You throw your items—a haphazard mix of spare work clothes and random loungewear you'd been putting off cleaning, into the washing machine and then you take up residence on one of the torturously uncomfortable hard plastic chairs. 

You're halfway through reading the Harlequin Romance novel you found discarded in the waiting area when you hear movement from behind the front desk. An exasperated MM appears, shooting you a look that says a lot of things, but mostly ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

You ditch your copy of The Spanish Groom and flounce over to him, seeing yourself down the basement stairs. MM stops you mid-step. 

“Don’t you dare,” MM warns, holding up a hand as you reach for the door leading to the basement.

“What? I’m just going to—”

“Nope. Not happening.”

You fold your arms, tilting your head at him. “I don’t like being kept in the dark. Especially considering how I was dragged into this circus.”

MM sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I think you’re outta your depth here. You seem like a good kid. You should walk away now while you still can.”

That lands like a slap. 

Maybe it’s the week you’d just endured of your father’s lectures about your inadequacies. Maybe it’s the hollow ache you’ve felt since this mess began, a twisted sense of purpose finally filling the void. Or maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of spending 45 minutes reading bad smut surrounded by the drone of washing machines. Either way, your patience snaps.

You face MM fully now, eyes ablaze and unflinching. 

“MM, I'm going to promise you something right now, and that is the fact that you have no fucking idea who I am or what reasons I have to be here. I know you might look at me and see some spoiled rich kid but I don't care. I'm here because I need to find out what happened to my mom, just like how Butcher needed to find out what happened to Becca. Now, please, I need to go downstairs.”

MM’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Butcher told you about Becca?”

You don’t get the chance to answer. A commotion erupts from below, drawing both your attention.

“Stay here,” MM says, already moving toward the stairs.

“Not a chance.” You push past him, your feet pounding on the steps as you race toward the noise.

The basement is alive with tension. Butcher sits on the worn couch, the rest of the group gathered around him, listening intently. Through the speakers, your father’s unmistakable voice drones on.

“Again, so sorry about that, Ashley. It won’t happen again. I’m beefing up CytoGenix security as we speak.”

Ashley Barrett’s voice cuts back, sharp as a blade. “Let’s hope so, Stanley. Now, do you have any good news for me today?”

“Cut right to the chase, why don't ya?” Your dad chuckles. “I can confirm we're ready to move on to Phase II of V2 testing. We've got twenty participants up at a facility by the Canadian border ready to receive their doses.”

“Excellent,” Ashley purrs. “And collateral?”

Your father interrupts her. “All subjects will be destroyed after the trial has ended. No collateral. They think they're getting paid two grand to participate in a weight loss trial.”

The blood drains from your face. Your grip tightens on the stair rail as the reality of his words sinks in.

~~~

Despite your abrupt entrance and Butcher's absolute refusal to make eye contact with you, you assimilate back into the group seamlessly. No one flinches when you start taking notes, marking down anything they say that you think might be important. 

There will be a transport van delivering the experimental vials from CytoGenix to the test facility. 

This van will be leaving CytoGenix headquarters at six in the morning, five days from today. 

This van will only have two people inside of it. No security convoy necessary (read: your father is pinching pennies here). 

The room erupts into excuses as everyone backs out of the mission. Annie and Hughie have unavoidable commitments, Kimiko gives Frenchie a look that clearly says not a chance, and MM mutters something about spending the weekend with Janine.

None of them want to say it, but the truth is that this mission scares the hell out of them, and after your close encounter with Homelander’s lethal gaze, you can't really blame them. 

That leaves you and Butcher. 

Before he can refuse, you stand, drawing everyone's attention. “I guess it'll be me and Butcher, then. We'll follow the van from the city toward the border and intercept them at some point.”

The group exchanges uneasy glances, but MM speaks first. “Are you sure? This could get… messy.”

You exhale, forcing down your nerves. “I’m sure. Look, I know I came off harsh earlier, but I need you to understand that I know exactly what I’m getting into. I’m not here by accident.”

The silence is heavy, broken only when Butcher leans back and claps his hands together. “Alright. It’s settled, then.”

Your head snaps toward him, stunned. You expected a fight, a dismissal, some offhand remark about babysitting you. But instead, he just… agrees?

This wasn't on your bingo card. 

“It won’t be pretty,” Butcher continues, his voice low and gruff. His eyes flicker to yours but don’t linger. “We’ll have to run ‘em off the road. No witnesses. You get what that means?”

You swallow hard, nodding.

Realistically, you knew this was an inevitability. How were you going to steal and destroy the V2 samples without hurting, killing someone? Impossible. Still, it hurts to hear.

Butcher’s lips curl into something resembling a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good. We leave Monday morning. Follow ‘em at a distance ‘til we’ve got the right spot. No fuck-ups, no second chances.”

His words hang heavy in the air. The weight of what you’re agreeing to presses down on you, but you force yourself to nod again.

“Understood.”

It has to be done. Everything has a price. 

~~~

After you and Butcher volunteer yourselves for the mission, the tension in the room slowly ebbs away. You all slip into comfortable rhythms: Kimiko and Frenchie cooking a meal for the group with a hot plate and microwave, and Annie fussing over everyone with blankets and sweaters. It feels good. You've missed this. 

Over shared food and stories, the group lightens, but one by one, they make their excuses. Hugs, murmured see you soons, and the soft creak of the stairs signal their departures.

Once again, you and Butcher are the only men left standing. 

Except, this time, you know how to take a cue. 

On the heels of Annie and Hughie's exit, you pull your cardigan around your body, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. You turn to look at Butcher, in his usual spot on the couch. You steel yourself against the temptation to overstay.

“Alright, I guess I'll see you Monday, then?” You offer, casual. 

Butcher doesn’t look up right away. Instead, he waves his hand. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to the couch cushion beside him. 

Embarrassment be damned, you don't hesitate. The bottle of Merlot sitting on your counter at home can wait. 

You curl up on the couch opposite him, pulling the familiar scratchy blanket over your shoulders. He chuckles at the sight. 

“Gettin’ cozy, are we?” He teases. There’s a playful warmth in this voice, but you don’t trust yourself to respond. You want to laugh, want to pull the tension free like a thread and unravel yourself for the man sitting next to you. But you cut the urge off, choosing instead to maintain a cool facade. Another part of you wants to interrogate him as to why exactly he took such great offense to your deviation from the plan on the day of the lab tour. Choosing neither, you do your best to appear aloof. 

You spend the next few hours watching dots on the screen zigzag around, making note of locations and time stamps and conversations, none of which you're convinced are relevant. Still, anything is better than enduring awkward silence with Butcher. 

Sometime in between when your father's Mercedes pulls up to a gentlemen's club (Butcher's words, not yours), and Monica's Rolls Royce docks at her apartment building, Butcher leaves the room. When he returns, he's brandishing a quart of whiskey. 

“To a successful mission,” he suggests, waving the amber bottle in front of you. 

It takes almost no effort on his part to convince you to take a shot with him, and it takes even less effort on your part to get him to agree to three more after that. 

The lines between propriety and indulgence blur rapidly.

Soon the two of you are giddy, a glow radiating from your shared kinetic energy. The conversation flows effortlessly, the alcohol in your system shooing out any sense of doubt or lack of confidence in yourself. You laugh a little too loud, share a little too much. You would say or do just about anything to keep Butcher laughing like this, eyes finally meeting yours in warmth.

“You should have seen this guy, Butcher, he had a handful of Pringles and this rat was eating straight out of it!”

Butcher roars, throwing back another shot and offering one to you, which you take without hesitation. You're veering dangerously close to the sun here. 

Finally, your last dam breaks, and you lose sight of your last fuck. The alcohol has effectively obliterated any pretense here. You lean in. 

“You're all over the place, you know that?” You ask Butcher. 

He squints down at you, confused but curious. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, one second I feel like we're good, friends even, and the next I think you hate me. You're unpredictable.” You lean back against the couch, blowing a lock of hair off your face. “Do you? Hate me, I mean.”

Your heart thuds as the silence stretches between you. The liquid courage is coursing through your veins now, you can tell, and you're thankful for the momentary reprieve from your constant state of deep anxious awareness. 

Butcher finally meets your stare, really looking, gazing up at you through thick lashes. He grins shyly, and you can't help but notice how beautiful he is. 

“I don’t hate you,” he says finally, voice low. “Not even close.”

You’re startled by the tenderness in his tone. Instinctively, your hand brushes his arm, grounding you.

“I'm sorry, really, about the other day,” he continues. “I was—I was out of line. You didn’t deserve that.” 

You feel a bud of warmth bloom within you, pleasantly surprised at the ease with which he offers this apology. Instinctively, you reach forward, grasping a hand around his arm. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry, too, about not keeping you in the loop that day. I didn't meant to scare you like that, I thought—”

He interrupts you with a hand on your knee, his thumb grazing your inner thigh. Your body reacts without your permission, thighs spreading ever so slightly, leaning your body forward. 

“‘S’alright.” Is all he says, his voice rough and soft all at once. His eyes are fixed on your lips, tongue darting out to lick his own. 

Suddenly the air in the room shifts, heavy and magnetic. The lamplight glow casts Butcher's face in a golden sheen. Everything inside of you is pulling toward him, and nothing about him is pulling away. 

“I don’t know what to make of you,” he almost whispers.  His eyes darken, inviting you in. 

You exhale shakily, pouting. “Butcher, I—”

“Call me Billy, hm?”

You shake your head, eyes fixed on his. If you had anything you were planning on saying, it’s long gone now. All you can see or think about or understand in this moment is his proximity to you and the way he’s looking at you.

He just grins, pulling toward you, invading your space. 

He rushes forward, connecting your lips. He's gentle at first, but only for a moment. Then he's deepening the kiss, twisting a hand in your hair, the other greedily grabbing your waist. He inhales deeply, pulling away to catch his breath for just a second before going back in for more. 

Your body is alight, reacting to his touch instantly. You run your hands over his chest, pulling up to brush through his beard. You moan, a mumble from deep in your chest, shifting your weight forward to press your body to his. 

For several breathless, glorious seconds, your mouths and bodies meld together.

Then he pulls away, stumbling to his feet and running a hand through his beard. His lips are flushed, his chest heaving.

You stare at each other, eyes wide in shock and desire.

You just kissed Butcher. And you cannot even pretend that you don't want to keep doing that, immediately and for a very, very long time. 

“I… I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he says, voice hoarse. 

No. No no no no no. Don't apologize. Why are you apologizing?

“No.” Your voice comes out sharper than you mean. “Don’t—don’t apologize.”

He shakes his head, pacing. “I didn't mean anything by it. It—it doesn’t mean anything, alright? It's… not like that.” 

The words slam into you like a cold wind. You force a laugh, choking down the lump in your throat.

Quickly, like it doesn't pain you deep in your soul to do it, you internally shove down your disappointment. You force your mouth into a casual smile, adjusting your shirt and hair.

“No, yeah, of course,” you lie, the words tumbling out too fast. You avert your eyes, shame and embarrassment flooding your body. Do not cry right now. “It's not like that. It's… it's cool.”

Stop saying cool, you sound like Lizzie McGuire. 

You exchange uncomfortable pleasantries for several long, painful seconds, Butcher promising that he'll reach out to you about the next mission, you assuring him you won't barge in like this again, as you flit about the room collecting your things. The room feels suffocating now.

At the door, you glance back, hoping for a change of heart, a sign. But he just stands there, hands on his hips, drowning in his own guilt. 

Then you're gone, head swimming, leaving that heavenly, fleeting moment suspended in the air behind you. 

You will wish for this moment back many, many more times. 

~~~

It's Saturday, and you're doing what any typical twenty-something does on a weekend: participating in a stakeout.

The car smells faintly of stale coffee and fast food wrappers. The leather seats creak as you shift in your seat, pulling your jacket tighter against the chill of the late afternoon. Outside, through the glass windows of the swanky restaurant, your father sits at a table surrounded by Monica, Ashley, and a few other Vought executives. Their movements are exaggerated and easy to follow, each laugh and gesture magnified through the pristine glass. You grip a pair of binoculars in your lap, though you haven't raised them in a while.

Annie sits beside you in the driver’s seat, the pale orange glow of the streetlights outside highlighting the faint freckles on her face. She chews absently on her lip as she watches the group inside, her blonde hair tucked messily into the hood of her sweatshirt. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it feels weighted, like it’s waiting for something to break it.

“They’re really going for the whole power lunch aesthetic,” Annie remarks dryly, nodding toward the group. “Your dad looks… smug.”

You huff a humorless laugh. “He always does when he’s in the room with people he thinks he can manipulate.”

“Family trait?” Annie teases, her smile small but genuine.

You shake your head. “Don’t lump me in with him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” Annie says quickly. “It's actually kind of hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that he's your dad.”

A small, appreciative silence falls before Annie glances at you. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“I don’t know.” You glance back at the table, your father’s easy smile making your stomach twist. “Bullshitting. Lying. Complaining about his failure of a daughter. It’s what he does best.”

Annie frowns and glances back at the group. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he think you’re a failure?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “You don’t know my father.”

Annie hums thoughtfully, though her gaze lingers on the group. Then, after a pause, she says, “I don’t think you’re a failure. Actually, I think you’re pretty cool.”

You smile at her, unsure how to respond. It’s been a long time since you received a compliment like this. It’s been a long time since you had a friend.

You hesitate, fingers tapping absently against the binoculars. “Thanks, I think you’re pretty cool too,” you finally say. “If you don’t mind me asking… how exactly did you end up here? With the Boys, I mean.”

Annie lets out a soft laugh. “Oh, you know. Typical small-town girl moves to the big city to become a hero. Only to find out all the heroes are…” She gestures vaguely toward the restaurant. “Corporate nightmares.”

“Sounds familiar,” you say, voice laced with irony.

Annie smiles but sobers quickly. “I thought joining the Seven would mean… I don’t know, hope. Real change. But it was just… lies, all of it. Meeting Hughie changed that. He showed me the truth. And then I met the Boys.”

“And here you are,” you finish for her.

“Here I am,” Annie echoes, studying her carefully. “Can I ask you something now?”

You nod.

“What do you think of Butcher?”

You freeze, the memory of the basement flooding back. Butcher’s hand brushing against yours, the electric charge in the air before the kiss. The way your body ached when he extricated himself from you. Your face heats up. “It’s… complicated,” you mutter, looking away.

Annie narrows her eyes, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “He likes you.”

“What?” Your head whips toward her. “No. What are you talking about?”

Annie raises her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, come on. He’s, like… different when you’re around. Less growling, more… I don’t know, soft?”

“He’s not different,” you say quickly, your voice defensive. “That’s just… that’s just how he is.”

Annie snorts. “Sure, if by ‘how he is’ you mean he barely snaps at you and actually listens when you talk.”

“That’s not—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “There’s nothing going on.”

Annie studies her for a moment, her grin widening as she leans back in her seat. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” you insist, though your voice lacks conviction.

Annie laughs, soft and genuine, shaking her head. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s good. Whatever’s going on—or not going on,” she adds with a smirk. “He needs someone to keep him grounded… and to put him in his place.”

You don’t respond right away, your gaze shifting back to the restaurant. You don't want to admit how much those words mean to you, especially not when they’ve barely scratched the surface of what happened in that basement. Instead, you mutter, “Let’s just focus on the stakeout.”

Annie smirks but lets it drop. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You lapse back into silence, the tension between you replaced by a quiet understanding. Outside, your father throws his head back in laughter, oblivious to the eyes watching him from the car.

taglist: @mystic-writings @bluemerakis @imherefordeanandbones

[reyaint]

criminal minds case concept/idea for drs

bc @cyb3rl0v asked. @iamsoldierpoetandking

the post

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

date: June 17 2025.

started: 12:28am. ended: 2:22

i'm not gonna make it very aesthetic bc yeah. anyway. i'm doing this on my phone so it's probably gonna be ugly

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WARNINGS. psychological torture, death game, mentions of death, suicide and kidnapping. 🤷 this is criminal minds idk what you're expecting.

this idea was created by me, as well as the characters i'll mention. so if you use it just @ me. but you're free to use it just like any of my other ideas as long as I get credit. I worked on this earlier today in the car so it may be a bit messy. also I'm very indecisive so of anything isn't all matching it's bc I changed stuff while working on it and was too lazy to fix it. so

inspirations: alice in borderline, alice in wonderland, rafscrap's chorus battles A-L1, A-L2, A-L3.

episode concept: "The Gauntlet"

the case overview

case name: The Wonderland Games

location: abandoned textile factory, outskirts of Mobile, Alabama

victims: 50 young adults (ages 19-25), organized into 25 pairs

survivors: 14 individuals (7 pairs)

duration: 72 hours

the game

50 kidnapped individuals (25 groups of 2) wake up inside an abandoned multi-story warehouse-turned-kill-labyrinth.

each group is fitted with collars — either explosive or injective (with paralytics or toxins), synced to one another. if your partner dies, you die, now or later.

objective: make it through a series of trials. Only 5–7 groups can survive. no one knows how many groups there are, or what the exact end is.

the teams

each team is based on a Wonderland character motif — it reflects their dynamic or design (either ironically or truthfully).

the factory was converted into a multi-level maze with themed rooms representing different Alice in Wonderland scenes. each pair was assigned a Wonderland character identity and given weapons that ironically contrasted their backgrounds or beliefs.

some teams if one is injured they mercy kill or have a mutual sucide because they're gonna die anyway (I got nothing.)

structure

the factory was divided into five main levels, each representing a scene from Alice in Wonderland. the UnSubs monitored everything through hidden cameras, live-streaming to paying customers on the dark web while collecting psychological data on extreme stress responses.

each pair was given a Wonderland identity and color-coded bracelets that couldn't be removed:

- Alice (White) - amadrya & vincent: the main victims being followed throughout the episode(s)

the BAU gets involved

a livestream link is sent anonymously to local police and federal authorities. It’s disturbing — live footage of two terrified young adults in a bloody warehouse.

so far, four similar videos have been leaked in the last 72 hours. At least three confirmed dead.

BAU is called in when the fourth stream features a local college student whose parents had reported her missing two days ago.

Initial theory: black market red-room content, or a psychopathic cult-like game.

the UnSub profiles (BAU)

victims share age range: 19–25. varied backgrounds, but many are college-aged, socially active online, and had some level of recent mental or emotional stress.

garcia finds they were all lured or manipulated to disappear willingly — a "party," “escape room challenge,” “audition,” etc.

the team starts suspecting an inner circle of recruiters — not all players are random targets; someone they trust got them into this.

some rooms involve psychological riddles, others involve moral choices (“You can save your partner if you agree to lose a finger” — that kind of thing).

the UnSubs

primary UnSub - "The Mad Hatter"

dr. markus roberts, 45, former child psychologist who lost his license after unethical experiments on minors. Brilliant but deeply disturbed, he orchestrated the psychological framework of the games. his obsession with Alice in Wonderland stemmed from his belief that only through extreme trauma could people achieve "true clarity" - his twisted interpretation of Alice's journey through Wonderland.

secondary UnSub - "The Queen of Hearts"

rebecca shields, 38, former military logistics coordinator with expertise in surveillance and tactical operations. she handled the technical aspects: cameras, building security, victim transport. her military background made her ruthlessly efficient at the operational side.

tertiary UnSub - "The White Rabbit"

yes I looked up a different way to say third and that came up.

david chen, 32, a tech entrepreneur whose social media company went bankrupt. he managed the live streams, sold access to wealthy buyers on the dark web, and recruited the "betrayers" through financial manipulation and blackmail.

live stream & audience

- average of 2,000-5,000 concurrent viewers paying $500+ per hour of access

- betting pools on individual survivors and pairs

- private chat rooms where viewers request specific challenges

- total revenue exceeded $2 million over 72 hours

- viewers could "sponsor" weapons or challenges for additional fees

audience psychology

the BAU's analysis revealed viewers fell into three categories:

1. thrill seekers: wealthy individuals seeking extreme entertainment

2. sadists: people who enjoyed watching others suffer

3. gamblers: high-stakes betting on outcomes

technical infrastructure

- professional-grade streaming equipment with multiple camera angles

- encrypted servers in multiple countries

- cryptocurrency payment systems to avoid detection

- backup systems to prevent interruption

the games

FLOOR 1: "DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE"

(25 pairs → 22 pairs survive)

duration: 6 hours

each pair wakes up in identical 8x8 concrete rooms with their assigned weapons and character names. the rooms are soundproof but equipped with cameras and speakers. a riddle appears on the TV screen that can only be answered through inflicting harm.

sample riddles:

- "to find the key that sets you free, one must bleed for all to see. The deeper the cut, the clearer the way, but hesitate too long and here you'll stay."

- "trust is earned through sacrifice shared. Show your bond through flesh that's bared. only when both have paid the price, will you roll the loaded dice."

weapons by character assignment:

- Alice & Knight (Amadrya & Vincent): sharpened cross & dull knife

- Mad Hatter & March Hare: broken teacup shards & wooden mallet

- Cheshire Cat & White Rabbit: razor wire & pocket watch with sharp edges

- Queen of Hearts & King of Hearts: playing cards with sharpened edges & decorative scepter

- Tweedledee & Tweedledum: identical curved daggers

- Caterpillar & Dormouse: hookah pipe (metal) & letter opener

- Red Queen & White Queen: chess pieces (sharpened) & mirror shards

FLOOR 2: "THE POOL OF TEARS"

(22 pairs → 18 pairs survive)

duration: 8 hours

the surviving pairs are released onto a flooded floor where the water level varies from ankle-deep to chest-deep. they're handcuffed together and must navigate through a maze of rooms, some containing other pairs. each room has only one exit key, but multiple pairs may enter.

Room Types:

- drowning chambers: water level rises every 10 minutes. pairs must find the key before the room fills completely.

- current rooms: strong artificial currents try to separate the handcuffed pairs. if the chain breaks, both die.

- choice chambers: two pairs enter, but only one key. they must decide who lives.

- trust falls: one partner must go underwater to retrieve a key while the other holds them up. if trust fails, both drown.

psychological elements:

- speakers play distorted children's lullabies underwater

- floating objects include photos of the victims' families

- some rooms have false floors that give way unexpectedly

- mock rescue scenarios where voices call for help from sealed rooms

FLOOR 3: "THE MAD TEA PARTY"

(18 pairs → 12 pairs survive)

duration: 4 hours

all remaining pairs are brought into a large dining hall with an elaborate tea party setup. the room has 18 chairs around a massive table, but only enough food and water for 12 people. a giant clock on the wall counts down from 4 hours.

the rules:

- food and water are distributed around the table

- pairs must remain seated until the timer runs out

- if anyone stands or leaves their chair, poisonous gas fills the room

- the catch: there are only 12 portions, and everyone can see exactly what's available

psychological torture:

- the food is elaborate: roast beef, fresh bread, clean water, fruit - the first real sustenance in 24+ hours

- place cards with victims' real names and photos of their families

- speakers play recordings of loved ones asking them to "come home safe"

- some food is visibly poisoned (marked with skull symbols), creating doubt about all food

The Breakdown:

- hours 1-2: Tense standoff, pairs whispering, planning

- hour 3: First violence erupts when the "Mad Hatter" pair tries to take food from the "Caterpillar" pair

- hour 4: all-out brawl as starvation and desperation take over

I redid 4 because I didn't like it so if the format is different it's bc I didn't look at the other ones and just yapped. I'm tired now so I'm done.

FLOOR 4: "THE QUEEN'S CROQUET GROUND"

(12 pairs → 8 pairs survive)

duration: 16 hours

the surviving pairs enter a twisted maze designed like a croquet court, with high hedgerows creating narrow corridors and dead ends. unlike previous challenges, this is a psychological game of cat and mouse where pairs must navigate through "wickets" while avoiding or confronting each other. everyone keeps their original weapons - no upgrades, no additional tools.

Arena Layout:

- massive hedge maze with 15-foot walls

- nine "wickets" positioned throughout that must be passed through in sequence

- each wicket can only be used by one pair - once passed through, it seals behind them

- central "Queen's Court" area where multiple paths converge

- dead ends contain essential supplies (food, water, medical supplies) but create traps

The Croquet Rules:

- pairs must pass through all nine wickets in the correct sequence (marked with playing card suits)

- only one pair can use each wicket - it permanently seals after passage

- if a pair encounters another pair at a wicket, they must "duel" for the right to pass

- pairs can choose to go around blocked wickets, but this adds hours to their journey

- the first pair to complete all nine wickets and reach the exit wins food, water, and 8 hours of guaranteed rest

The Psychological Trap:

the maze is designed to force confrontations. multiple paths lead to the same wickets, and the hedge walls amplify sound - you can hear other pairs approaching but can't see them until you're face-to-face. the scarcity of resources and the one-way wicket system creates desperation.

Maze Elements:

- speakers hidden in hedges play whispered excerpts from victims' betrayers: "She was always too trusting... I had to do it... they said they'd kill my sister..."

- mirrors embedded in hedge walls at turns, forcing victims to see their deteriorating state

- some paths lead to alcoves with photos of victims' families and recordings of loved ones pleading for them to come home

- false wickets that lead nowhere, wasting precious time and energy

- the hedge maze shifts - some passages close or open randomly, separating pairs

Vincent and Amadrya's Navigation:

they use Amadrya's pattern recognition to map the maze and avoid other pairs initially. vincent's protective instincts keep them moving efficiently. they encounter Marcus and Jenna (the "Dormouse & Caterpillar" pair) at the seventh wicket after 12 hours of navigating.

The Confrontation:

Marcus and Jenna have been in the maze longer and are more desperate. they've been surviving on minimal water and no food. when they see Vincent and Amadrya approaching the seventh wicket:

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" Jenna snarls, exhausted and desperate. "Always one step ahead, always surviving. Well, this wicket is ours."

I love descriptive words (end me). I'm better at writing essays and things than dialogue.

the fight happens in the narrow corridor leading to the wicket. there's no room to maneuver, no escape route. It's brutal, desperate, and exactly what Vincent and Amadrya had been trying to avoid.

eliminations:

- two pairs die from dehydration after getting lost in false passages

- one pair eliminates another in a wicket confrontation but both partners are mortally wounded and die before reaching the exit

- Marcus and Jenna are killed by Vincent and Amadrya in the encounter described

- the remaining eight pairs (including Vincent and Amadrya) are too exhausted to continue fighting effectively

The Aftermath:

by the time the surviving pairs reach the final wickets, they're moving like zombies. the maze has broken them psychologically - they've heard each other's most intimate betrayals, seen themselves become killers, and lost all sense of time and direction. the hedge walls seem to close in, and several survivors show signs of severe claustrophobia and panic attacks.

FLOOR 5: "THE FINAL JUDGMENT"

(8 pairs → ? pairs intended to survive)

duration: Indefinite

the final room is a circular colosseum-style arena with tiered seating (empty, but cameras everywhere for the live stream audience). weapons line the walls - everything from the previous challenges plus new options like crossbows, swords, and maces.

The Final Rule:

"Only one pair may leave Wonderland. Prove you deserve to return to the real world."

What Actually Happens:

by this point, all survivors have been awake for 48+ hours with minimal food and water. they're running on pure adrenaline and survival instinct, but their bodies are shutting down. when they enter the final room, instead of fighting, they simply... stop.

the standoff:

- Amadrya can barely stand; Vincent holds her upright

- other pairs lean against walls or sit on the ground

- no one picks up weapons

- some survivors are crying, others stare blankly

- the silence stretches for over an hour

UnSub reaction:

the UnSubs expected a final battle royale for their paying audience. the passive resistance isn't part of the plan. they begin pumping in stimulants through the air system.

breaking point:

just as the UnSubs are about to flood the room with adrenaline-inducing drugs to force violence, the BAU breaches the facility.

the main victims being followed

amadrya tavens - ALICE

- age: 19

- height: 5'6

- nationality: american (greek-native american)

- occupation: dancer

- betrayal: stabbed by her friend after being led away during a party

- her weapon: a cross with a sharpened tip. amadrya is pagan, not Christian (ex- Christian due to religious trauma.)

I'm not hating on christians. I used to be one myself. People with religious trauma exist

seen as the "reluctant heroine" — calculating, quiet, and observant.

Initial reactions: silent fear masked by cold logic. tries to find puzzles or clues instead of violence.

her guilt trigger: she was betrayed by someone close. Religious trauma complicates her morality.

first kill triggers her spiraling — she dissociates, tries to make sense of it through rules, logic, pattern recognition.

in later rooms, she becomes the one who executes hard choices if Vincent hesitates.

lee vincent - THE KNIGHT

- age: 19

- height: 5'6

- nationality: american (korean-white. wasian)

- occupation: mechanic

- betrayal: held underwater by his friend but not killed. he was knocked unconscious.

- his weapon: a dull blade

Initially takes on protector role — logical, practical, emotionally detached.

but it’s Amadrya that keeps him grounded.

moment of humanity: after their second kill, he notices Amadrya’s hands shaking and physically grounds her (hand on shoulder, forehead to hers, soft-spoken).

his inner wound: He feels disposable — betrayed by a close friend. now he's clinging to survival not for himself, but because Amadrya needs someone who stays.

The "Alice" Theme:

they're navigating a twisted wonderland where logic is warped, but Amadrya's pattern recognition helps decode the madness while Vincent keeps her grounded in brutal reality.

[mizuena-dreams]

Puella Magi at 25:00

Or, a Puella Magi au for N25 that’s been bouncing around my head for a while.

Kanade - a Puella Magi who wished for her father to live. Notably fragile in combat, she tends to fight from a distance and relies heavily on her healing magic to keep going. She is the founder of the Nightcord Puella Magi group. Her weapon is a slingshot, though she struggles to aim with it accurately.

Witch Form: Für Elise, the composer witch with a dedicated nature. Hoping to save someone she lost, she sings writes and conducts endless songs in her labyrinth. Caught up in her music, she often forgets to defend herself; as such, one could easily defeat her by letting her song continue too long and striking at the right time.

Mafuyu - the seemingly perfect Puella Magi who has been fighting for longer than anyone is aware of. Made a wish long ago for a purpose in life; now, she spends her nights protecting people from the witches in her city. Her magic focuses on buffing her combat skills, but there are rumours that she can also access snow and ice magic. Her weapon is a long bow.

Witch Form: Punch Judy, the marionette witch with an empty nature. This witch does nothing for herself; her familiars jerk her around on strings, forcing her to play along with their whims. Left to her own devices, she would not even move. If one cuts the strings that hold her up, she will clatter away into nothingness.

Ena - a notorious prickly Puella Magi whose one wish was for her art to be admired. Unfortunately, the granting of such wish left much to be desired as the one person who she wanted to look never did. As a result, she is stuck fighting witches and trying her best to maintain her artistry. While her usual weapon is a mace, she also the ability to conjure up anything she can think of in the moment.

Witch form: Jonquil, the self-portrait artist witch with a needy nature. “Look at me, look at me!” the witch cries; desperate for attention, she sends images of herself outside into the human world, but no one ever looks. To defeat her, simply bring a picture of a cat that has more likes than her latest offering.

Mizuki - a vibrant Puella Magi who, despite her friendliness, fought alone until she befriended Ena. Her wish is a secret to never be discovered, but she still worries about the others finding out. Leans heavily into the magical girl aesthetic, to the point where one wonders if she takes it seriously at all. Her magic involves illusions that she can turn into solid walls to defend herself, and she fights with a naginata.

Witch form: Lili, the croquis witch with an avoidant nature. Hopelessly enthralled with all things cute, this witch adorns herself with accessories as to hide and express herself - it is rumoured that no one has seen her true appearance and lived. Though she cares deeply about her appearance, she abhors mirrors. To defeat her, simply claim to know her secret, and she will flee.

[4belg]

Bill Cipher, the king monarch of Euclidians

an AU where the GF characters are based on the plot of the movie Labyrinth (1986).

In this universe, Labyrinth!Bill would be represented as Jareth, the king of the goblins. Their world, Euclydia, instead of being destroyed by them, they would have completely taken over that world, with the ability to not only control individuals, but also to transform them from two-dimensional to three-dimensional forms and vice versa.

Labyrinth!Bill when he was summoned by Stanford in an attempt to get rid of all the anguish he felt after discovering that his brother Stanley sabotaged his science fair project, Bill ends up getting rid of Stanley. In a way, this is what Stanford was hoping for, but he didn't want to end up losing the only person in the world who understood him best.

Some characters from the film Labyrinth would be replaced by other characters from Gravity Falls, such as:

Sarah → Stanford Pines;

Hoggle → Fiddleford Mcgucket;

Sarah's brother → Stanley Pines.

(I'm accepting suggestions)

Others I still think about how to fit in so that the narrative is interesting and doesn't get lost. I'm not using the films entirely as guides, just inspiration.

Also, keeping in my thoughts about adding characters from Flatland (1965) to compose the narrative, such as the Square opposing what Labyrinth!Bill worships.

I'm not using other versions of Flatland because I believe this one in particular can add a lot of the vibe I want in my story building, the aesthetics and how it is told itself is very good in my opinion :3c.

I've had suggestions to make Sarah like Stanley, but I wanted to write the story in a different way outside of what already exists in the Gravity Falls universe, so it would be a reverse event (i guess). I still need to see more about it and probably rewatch the movie just to get a better structure of what I absorbed.

SERIOUSLY, it's very hard to make a Bill Cipher design and AU that's unique and interesting. For me, ALL the designs are good, but I'm being harsh with myself when I started to make mine 😭

References I'm using for this AU

Flatland (1965)

Labyrinth (1986)

Kiki and Bouba! (just a small easter eggs)

that's it for now. buy gold, bye!

[nostalgicacademia]

"Lost in the labyrinth of dusty books and fleeting candlelight, I find pieces of myself among words too ancient to forget."

—Dark Academia.

My articles on Dark Academia:

Dark Academia aesthetic

The imaginary of Dead Poets Society

The Secret History a key fandom

Virtual aesthetics as knowledge environments

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Love At First Sight (2023)

Okay, we’re going to talk about the new Netflix romance directed by Vanessa Caswill, Love At First Sight, because I’m seeing almost no chatter about it and that cannot stand. Full disclosure, I’ve never read the book on which this movie is based, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight, so I’m reacting only to the film (which I’ve now seen 4.5 times in 2 days).

The Surface Reading

It’s a perfect, tight, adorable little RomCom that’s heavy on the Rom and light on the Com, with a wrenching dash of angst and the most hair-twirling chemistry between two leads that has graced our screens in years. Truly, if all you want is 90 minutes of two actors being saccharine precious cinnamon rolls, look no further!

There are simple takeaways here, like that chance can only take you so far, but in the end you have to choose to love. Or that change and loss are part of life and you can’t run from them. Or that London is a massive labyrinth of eccentric people that probably looks 400% cooler onscreen than it is in reality (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never visited, so this and the 90s Parent Trap are the extent of my knowledge about the city, sorry).

Anyway, I adored how straightforward the story was - that the narrator (played brilliantly by Jameela Jamil) tells you directly in the first two minutes that it’s a story about love, fate, and statistics. She then repeatedly describes every development as it is happening, the characters’ histories and internal monologues, and all the context you need to follow the thin but fast-paced plot. The writing, performances, and production design are all solid, allowing the audience to get lost in the romance as it unfolds.

BUT if you’re slightly unhinged like I am and you’re always looking for more layers in your media, HAVE NO FEAR! There is in fact more going on in this little movie than you might expect.

Color Theory

For starters, the use of red and green in the film is fascinating. Yes, I realize the action of the story takes place a few days before Christmas, so you might assume it was just a seasonal aesthetic choice, but if you look closer, you can see very carefully selected shades of red and green repeating throughout the film. The red is a cool, deep rose color, sometimes pink, while the green is cool and dark, like oxidized bronze rather than emerald. Further, while they appear over and over, these hues are rarely used in a purely decorative or festive way. Instead, they play a role in the separation and coming together of the couple. On a color wheel, red and green are complements, perfect opposites that are never adjacent but always joined in the middle.

The title card during Hadley’s introduction is literally a green stripe over a red stripe, then the hallways of the airport are green, and of course Hadley’s ever-important backpack is a rosy red. As the couple grow closer on their flight, the light turns pink. Once in London, a green van takes Oliver one way while a red taxi takes Hadley the other. At her father’s wedding, Hadley is dressed in red (“the color of a bruise” she calls it), contrasting beautifully against her green jacket. Upon realizing Oliver’s true purpose, she chases after him on an iconic red double-decker bus. Meanwhile at the living memorial, Oliver’s father is dressed in red while his mother wears a faded green, as if to say she is already beginning to fade away. The event is decorated with green drapery and streamers, and there are even stacks of red and green chairs in the stairwell where Oliver begs his mother to receive treatment.

Hadley gifts her red and green bouquet to Tessa, and when she is driven away, a green-clad narrator returns the red backpack to Oliver. Wandering London alone, Hadley exchanges her painful red heels for a pair of green trainers (“sneakers!” she insists), and tries to call her dad first in a red phone booth and then on a phone from a stranger sitting in a cluster of red chairs. Finally, Oliver chooses to pursue Hadley to the wedding reception which is lit in pink, and where they finally share the long-awaited kiss.

There are many more examples, but in general we see that green indicates separation and loss, while red symbolizes joining, intimacy, and (what else?) love! It lends the film a gorgeous, subtle aesthetic without being garishly festive, and shows the lovers’ emotional journey from lonely childhood to vulnerable, loving adulthood.

Death and Rebirth

Speaking of which, there’s plenty of rebirth imagery too! When Hadley and Oliver meet, they are both still children, struggling with the impending loss of parental security through divorce and death. Thus, when they board the plane, it is as if they enter an underworld or womb, separated from their families and remade as new adults. They emerge on the other side into a hallway (read: birth canal), as each must still confront their own dying childhood before they can join as full and equal partners. Hadley journeys to a bright, red-strewn celebration of life, while Oliver must enter a dark green commemoration of death, his fear driving him deeper to hide in another hallway. Here his mother comes to find him, begging him to emerge into life, but Ollie still can’t confront her death alone.

Thankfully, Hadley travels to this underworld to find him, bursting into the memorial like a bright red flower. Even the bruise metaphor works, acknowledging the pain they are both experiencing at the changes in their lives. But Oliver still refuses to face his fears, trying to take a shortcut around death to life with Hadley. Still, she knows he’s not ready (likely because she’s not yet, either), and gently pushes back. And so, Oliver returns to the underworld, and Hadley walks off alone until she descends barefoot through a soggy riverside tunnel (birth canal again!). Finally, she calls her father and admits she is “lost.” When he arrives, Hadley at last gathers the courage to ask why he ended their old life, and to tell him how much it hurt her. But as Oliver predicted, she forgives her dad and even begins to accept his new bride.

Back at the memorial, Oliver is reminded by Hadley’s red backpack - his unaddressed emotional baggage - to be honest about his pain. In at last openly mourning his mother and his own childhood, Ollie takes a step into adulthood, just enough for his family to nudge him that extra bit to go after Hadley. And so, the family delivers him to his bride, who has meanwhile learned to dance again, even through her heartbreak. With one last confession, the two consummate their love with a kiss, bathed in pink light before an open door.

Happily Ever After

There’s so much more, with the hand-holding, numbers, Shakespeare, Dickens, the music, and beyond, but the point is that this cute, charming little romance is actually very deliberately constructed. It follows timeless patterns and motifs which we instinctively understand through visual and auditory language. And the narration plays a huge role in this as well, not unlike the prologues and epilogues of the Bard’s plays in that they state the story’s lessons plainly: that we cannot always be prepared for unwelcome surprises, but that we can make the choice to love every day.

Anyway, Vanessa Caswill deserves all the flowers and if you haven’t seen her gorgeous adaptation of Little Women (with all due respect to the marvelous Greta Gerwig and Gillian Armstrong), please do yourself a favor and watch that after you finish this!

[angelic-daiquiri]

people in my black clover dr I absolutely love with my whole heart and body and I could go on and on but I won't rn (part 1....the men I am attracted to romantically)

okay this isn't aesthetic, just warning you beforehand. Also a little nsfw so again tw.

001. Yami sukehiro: omfg, husband. He's the daddiest daddy to have ever daddied. I scripted that his lungs never get damaged cuz of the amount of cigs he smokes in a day cause I don't want my baby to be in pain. The first time we meet would be at the entrance exam, everyone wanted me in their squads but for some reason me being the freak I am joined his squad (the squad everyone hates) because he was so goddamn sexy. But he loves me (secretly) and I'm a good fit for the black bulls so yeah!!

Again the age of consent in black clover is 15.....apparently....so don't come at me if you find me sleeping w him 💔💔 also cause I'm part nymph, I have love magic alongside star magic so my love magic grows with passion (yay another reason to persuade him!! I love him!!) I am going mad

002. William vangeance: he's so gentle OMG, like he's a disney princess for some reason and weirdly enough I'm attracted to that...I meet him after I just break in the base of golden dawn just to meet yuno and he notices me and we have a long conversation and I slowly fall for him. He's the sweetest person I know and I love that, like I love him so much. He always wears a mask to hide his scar/birthmark so we bonded over it (cause I have one too)

003. Yuno grinberryall: we grew up together, as a child he was a sensitive person so asta always protected him. I loved them both equally like brothers until one day after my "awakening" (I was like 15) I realised due to a prophecy I will have to marry him. Something changed that day in the way I saw him, I started noticing how soothing his voice sounded, how warm his hands felt when I held them, how sweet his smile was, how he'd wrap his arms around me when asta was asleep and I used to get nightmares and slowly I fell in love with him.

004. Finral roulacase: he's such a flirt but he never flirts with me. I always thought he never liked me but it was different. The first time I met him my eyes couldn't believe how attractive he was, this was just infatuation. That's it but slowly we became friends and he opened up. His life was bad and I knew how it felt to be compared to others so we clicked instantly and became best friends. (We did kiss one time but no one's gonna talk about that night)

005. Julius novachrono: I love powerful men. And the magic emperor loves magic. So he noticed me, an anomaly with star magic and love magic, A six leaf clover and A guy who comes out of my back who has is down grimoire. He loved talking to me about magic, like he looked at me like I was some cute puppy doing tricks and weirdly enough I liked it, I told him all about my nymph side and how I'm the goddess reincarnated then uh yeah same thing that happened w yami happened here but he's pookie, such a sweet pookie.

006. Zora ideale: first time I saw him I just fell down so hard, his dark blue eyes are like a labyrinth to get lost into. He's such a cool guy, he's so fucking intelligent. He's such a good strategist we're like rivals in a way but he knows he can never win against me

[thephonemenarentreal]

This Conglomerate baby has appeared a few times in doodles...but now doing their proper art c:

Collateral is known as the Butcher of the Bilges and is a rather feared individual in the Conglomerate. Although they rarely leave the belly of the ship, their reputation proceeds them and also the fact they are best friends/possibly a creation of Simulcast.

More lore under the cut <3

Collateral was NOT originally a TV. They are currently wearing the head of Simulcast's former Vice-engineer when she got upset with them. Collateral liked the shape of their head and decided to wear it.

In fact, most of Collateral's body is not their original body as they pick and choose parts they like from units and replace themselves constantly. What they were or who, is long lost.

It is believed that Simulcast created them as a test for her Titan AI program. She has neither confirmed nor denied this. However she and Collateral are very close friends with the later being very quick to come to her defense.

Since they aren't actually a TV, they don't teleport or produce the mist.

Collateral always has the same expression on the screen which tends to freak people out more, especially as they always talk in the same flat , rather cheerful and foggy voice.

They are extremely quiet and have a habit of sneaking up on people. They also can stand very still and even stop their processing to appear dead, or a corpse to spring up.

Collateral often compliments people by their parts. These should be taken with a bit of fear as it is well known when Collateral likes something, they would really like to have it to either switch out something of theirs or add to their collection of "aesthetically pleasing" things.

They don't talk much, usually just humming or chuckling. When they do speak, it is always in very short sentences and simple words, mostly as they don't like to talk for long times.

Collateral likes to watch movies, especially animated ones, and like to collect stuffed animals to add to their lair.

Their favorite way of taking out units is to remove the heads through the use of a pizza cutter-esque weapon with extremely brutal force as it leaves the body unmarred for harvesting.

Units that have pissed off the higher ups are thrown down in the "Bilges" which is a labyrinth of hallways and rooms filled with spare parts and dead units. Here, Collateral roams about hunting down those units, taking them, out, and disassembling them in their lair.

Collateral's lair is full of things they like to collect and they are a bit of a hoarder. A trait they share with Simulcast, so often the items in their lair are actually hers and they are just guarding it.

In fact, the Bilge is full of strange collections of items. Collateral though is more than happy to go through the horde to find items for Mr. Vector if he believes it is there, like a rare collectible or the like.

Those units that escape are given a second chance to do better. Not many make it out and usually those that do were not "interesting" to Collateral to chase, that is, they weren't "pretty" or Collateral was told to spare certain ones and just give them a good scare.

Collateral likes to use the parts they like best to make their own units, although they are inactive and empty. Collateral sets them up in scenes and talks to them like a child playing tea party. The Bilge is full of these cobbled together units.

Collateral doesn't like leaving the Bilge, but will do so for parties with Simulcast or on special missions where a rat needs to be tracked down.

They are an honorary Recycler, although even Mr. Vector is careful about handling Collateral as they are dangerous. The only person that seems able to completely control Collateral is Simulcast, which gives more credence to the rumors she created the macabre unit.

Collateral likes the chase and has even said "Playing with food is very nice."

When asked what kind of unit they are, Collateral can't answer the question, simply saying "I am what I am. The prettiest parts,"

Collateral collects the fluids from units carefully saying the need to "feed the little titan" which a reference to the half-formed Titan in the bowels of the Pleasure Cruise that is carefully being created and seems to need the blood of units...or maybe Collateral just thinks that.

When Simulcast is asked, she won't say anything to most people, however to those in the know, she will admit that Collateral is a "prototype" for a different kind of Titan AI based on her initial plans. A failed one though, but a good means of research for her V2.

------- Simulcast's notes: Collateral is very loyal and good at what they do, but social functions are not there and a need to constantly replace parts as the AI is unable to handle self repair correctly. Going to need some tweaking and more prototyping of models before making V1 "Titan: Chthonic Protocol"

At least I got someone in my corner to keep my back safe as I work on my Magnus Opus!

[musicofthenightphantomoftheopera]

So I'm back on my percy Jackson bs again and I saw this one post on Tiktok claiming that Solangelo is "Klance Coded" and I simply had to laugh because that couldn't be any further from the truth...

Klance is Red and Blue, Fire and Water type polar opposites in both personality and aesthetics

However, not every polar opposite style ship is "Red and Blue Coded" there's also Sun and Moon, ( Or in Solangelo's case, Sun and Star) Light and Darkness.

so basically, and this might be controversial, but I know those who will get it will get it, what I'm trying to say is.....

Solangelo is NOT Klance Coded.

Solangelo is SORIKU Coded

I can go into heavy detail, and I will!

Will is definitely a lot like Sora in that even when surrounded by so much bad happening or even when he's going through his own stuff, he still puts on a smile and pretends nothing is wrong. of course to his own detriment and also has self sacrificing tendancies. Overworking himself to heal others to the point of exhaustion and even down to the self esteem issues. Sora sees himself alone as worthless without his friends ("My Friends Are My Power") and Will feeling like Healing is the only thing he's good for since he didn't inherit any of the other natural talents most of his other siblings have as demigod children of Apollo. And the incident with Octavian probably didn't help either. They also have somewhat of a hero complex and struggle with dealing with the fact that they can't save everyone. Sora broke a major taboo in order to bring kairi back in kh3 because he didn't want her to die, and Will being a medic that had been through not 1 but 2 LITERAL WARS, one in which he lost several of his siblings and of course being a medic in general, no matter how hard you try or how good at your job, it's just a fact that you cannot save everyone that's put in your care. Also, Both Sora and Will are heavily associated with Light both literally and figuratively

And then we got Nico, who just like Riku was lost for so long in lieral and metaphorical darkness, both trapped in metaphorical labyrinths of their inner turmoil of thier feelings, their pasts, their trauma (wether it be losing someone they care about, or being abused and manipulated at the hands of a shifty adult figure for their own gain) , and feeling that they have no place of belonging. only to be brought back by the people that care about them the most and through their own self determination and strength. And also both characters associated with darkness literally and as a concept.

Riku and Nico also have a teensy bit of Angel character symbolism with Nico's last name being Angel in italian and Riku's original keyblade Way To Dawn having both a monster/demon wing and Angel wing at the hand guard and for the "teeth" of the keyblade

you could also argue Riku could technically be seen as a "Fallen Angel" type character since he was originally chosen to be a keyblade wielder by Terra but lost that right when he fell to darkness hence why the keyblade went to Sora instead, then Riku spent the next several games on a very angsty redemption arc.

And of course, Nico and Riku aren't strictly associated with darkness. Nico is a son of hades, a prince of the underworld, The Ghost King. However, he isn't all doom and gloom. He's still just a teenage boy that's secretly a giant nerd and is actually a a good kid.

Riku as well, has the power to wield both the powers of light and darkness and it was Riku's light inside his heart that sora reached out to that dark and stormy night on the beaches of destiny island that let him wield the keyblade in the first place

And don't even get me started on how Riku is 100% gay coded (don't beleive me? look up the "Riku Is Gay" video on youtube, grab a snack and enjoy. you're gonna be there a hot minute)

Both characters in both medias are opposites to each other but both also compliment and balance each other out. But not like Fire and Water. Like Light and Darkness. Not only hat, but the dynamic between Sora and Riku and between Nico and Will are kinda similar. not identical by any means, but enough to where I definitely noticed it.

If anyone else has anything to add to this, let me know! I had this lightbulb a few nights ago and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since!