#I am both a sword nerd

[thelazyaesthetic]

"Why don't people in zombie movies just kill all the zombies with machine guns?" Because most people don't have machine guns on hand. Quality armor is very difficult and time-consuming to make, and you're unlikely to find a set just lying around. While it doesn't restrict mobility that much, it is quite heavy and the undergarments quite warm, so it's not a lot of fun to walk around in all day and even less fun to carry without wearing. It requires constant maintenance as well.

It's also pretty noisy, which becomes a problem when you consider that it's not actually impenetrable. The #1 technique for defeating heavily armored fighters is to gang up on them and wrestle them to the ground, which is something zombies love to do. Once you're on the ground, they'll eventually either tear through the strap and get the armor off, or just crush you through sheer weight of numbers. If you have a decent weapon you can probable stop that from happening, but remember that you can only kill zombies so fast, and you can only keep going for so long before you get tired.

All in all, it would be a very useful tool if you were dead set on fighting rather than avoiding the zombies, could ensure you never have to deal with more than a handful of them at once, and could get hold of the armor in the first place. And there's definitely a place for that, but it's not very practical for the 99% of survivors who would rather not carry 40lbs of noisy steel while digging through the rubble for baked beans.

why don't people in zombie apocalypse stories ever just wear suits of armor? you think any zombie is gonna get their shitty rotting jaws through this?

I'm gonna rip and tear my way through the zombie apocalypse completely unharmed because none of the undead hoards will be able to get through my plate mail

[caluette]

bastard münchen game night ⚔️

[illegiblehandwriting1]

went to the best store on the planet aka barnes & noble yesterday with my heart set on shakespeare and had a crisis over whether i should get Fantasy Space Lesbian Necromancers or Man in Coma Loses Memory and Saves Human Race but with Real Physics (both of which i have yet to read but desperately want to) so of course i walked out with hamlet and the four swords manga *sighs in nerd*

[funsizedcrow]

almost done with oot..majoras mask is next..excited!

[the-tarot-witch22]

Physical Appearance of your future spouse! - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

My Paid Readings | My insta

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Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1 :

(Knight of pentacles, the moon, 3 of wands and 5 of pentacles)

Okay so the very first thing i felt from this card you future spouse seems very masculine like their features and overall vibe of their look seems so manly, or it can be you who prefers very masculine man, this pile's energy seems so mysterious and private, your future seems like someone who is quite private or mysterious when it comes to their personal relationships or affairs they are not very open with every people they meet, their gaze seems so sharp like if he looks at you for more than few seconds you will just look away, the dressing sense could be like comfortable wear or formal wear, like oversized hoodie or sweater or under a shirt, trousers below, i see lots of brown and colors that are quiet darker in shade, with contrasting white or off white, their eye colors could be (blue/green/brown), eyes could be foxy or smaller in shape, there could also be a dimple and it could be you guys too, he might like to wear rings, their hands seems veiny and bigger in size , long fingers, height is above than 5'10, they might also keep a beard, skin color could dark tan to fair/ pale, they seems foreign than you or could unusual type, as might their eyes are intense it also seems that there is some vulnerability inside them. Their build seems toned or athletic but not many abs, they could also have muscles, his biceps would be big, lol they seems to tell me just to say that, for some of you i see lean physique for your future spouse, they might also like to go to gym. Or keep their health in check. They might also exclude that rich vibe, their perfume could also be very unique! Their hairs could be black/brownish shade but wavy! Their lips seems fuller.

Okay that was all for pile 1! Your fs seems to be very attractive honestly, good for you guys!

Pile 2 :

(The hierophant, page of pentacles, ace of swords and the magician)

Okay so the very first thing i feel for you guys that your future spouse seems like a nerd hehe, like with glasses and who seems to have knowledge of everything and definitely do, they might wear glasses too, they could also be a gamer or like to play games in their free time, their face is structured not that defined jawline but definitely there, their hair seems thick and luscious, and big almond eyes, with long eye lashes, their could be thin or medium pouty, heart shaped lips ifykwim, their eye color could be hazel, brown, black, or bluish/green, they might like blue color a lot because i see lots of blue color, prominent chin and nose, long nose, but won't look weird, it matches with their face structure, the hair length could be long and they might wear it in bun or medium length, their build seems big i am channeling the song "big boy by sza", they seems to like a smarty pants, they might even be in touch with their feminine side, for some of you, your fs seems soft, their is something soft about them , like baby features could look younger then they are, their teeth are definitely very white, their voice seems to be deep or very unique, for some of you it seems like a high pitched voice too, or it could be you, they seem to be quiet spiritual or religious, i also feel they might like to go to church or believe in god or upper power? but anyways, height is average to tall 5'9"-5'12". They seem to have a unique charm about their appearance. Their face could be oval or square too. For some of you your fs could have a athletic or sleeper build. They or you might have had self image issues in past, or some of you still feel that, but i feel you and your fs is working on that part. I feel there might have been someone in your life that has made them feel like that or you. (this may or may not resonate with you) , this message wasn't for everybody but i wrote what i channeled. Their skin could be brown/white/dark. They are attractive in their own way.

Okay that's all for pile 2! They seems quite cute yet smart~ love that for you guys! and remember you guys are beauiful!

Pile 3:

(king of wands, the lovers, 8 of wands, 8 of cups, and the devil)

Okay so the very first thing i hear for you guys is your future spouse is very sexually appealing and attractive, and they know they are sexy, when they walk in a room you can feel their presence, the aura is very confident, they seem to be very confident in themselves, very good looking honestly, their eyes are intense and beautiful, like someone could lose themselves in their eyes, they even might seem intimidating to you because of their physical appearance, their dressing sense is also very good, they seem very fashionable or has unique taste, they also seems to turn heads while they walk in a certain room, or people talk about their good looks, their masculine and feminine energy is very balanced, they are tall possibly 5'11"-6'0" or could also be above, if not i feel 5'8 or 5'9 their height that is, they might also seem like a Greek god or that type of attractiveness, their jaw is structured or has and defined jawline, they keep their hairs short and styled in a slick style for some of them they might also use gel, their face is very proportionate, very sharp nose or straight nose, could wear glasses or watches, for some of you your future spouse could have curly hairs, skin could be pale/dark/tan possibly olive. They workout a lot, could have a dad bod with muscles too, but nevertheless very attractive, they also seem quite dominating, their eyes color seems to be blue/black and brown or unique color of sort, they might take care of their self quite good. They might like to wear sport shoes a lot. They really look like a model honestly.

That's all pile 3! Your fs is very attractive inside and out, love that for you guys~

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[bloodchapell]

raven — senku i.

brief summary: just goth!reader x senku

what to expect: goth reader, all lowercase, i have no idea what i am talking about chemistry wise but have actual sources, modern au

your sword's note: i keep seeing in tiktok someone ship kohaku and hyoga so this goes for them lmaoao, also i love kirisame so much that i will write for her in this same au, more on my mistresslist

beside you, senku was mixing chemicals that weren't even provided by the class, he just brought his own. you noticed that his free strands of hair kept falling on his face and he almost dissolved them twice already.

"here." you took a bat hairpin from your hair and secured the strands so they didn't fly free. he thanked you and keeps his eyes fixed on the glass on his hands.

since he was assigned to be your lab partner, he keeps looking at your makeup and appearance in general in awe, but he hasn't said anything. at least he didn't have to be partners with taiju, but he is not sure how much of an upgrade that is, at least he could chitchat with his friend before.

"did you balance the equation already?" you ask and he shakes his head. you slide your notebook to his side and he sees a clean bunch of notes in your script that looks out of a victorian newspaper and at the end the correct answer. he looks baffled.

"are you secretly a nerd or something?" he asks and you shake your head, your v shaped bangs only moving slightly.

"no, i am openly one." you say leaning close to him just to spooke him. he laughs.

"then see yourself to this." he writes down something in your notebook and you look at it for a moment.

"this is a polar covalent bond." you tell him and he nods. he explains that it is the formula for the bunch of chemicals he is mixing. "so sulfur dioxide."

soon he is talking about chemistry and you agree to what you know and pay attention to what you don't. he asks you if you like chemistry and you nod, telling him that you might major in chemistry later on.

"are you trying to outdo the teacher somehow?" you whisper but he didn't answer, at least not verbally. the erlenmeyer flask on his hand erupting in some unknown substance that immediately expelled a smell, the smell of a match that was just struck. by that point in his career, the teacher has given up when senku outdo's him in his own class.

"you should join the science club." he mentions casually and you deny.

"i would, but i have other activities." you say taking the lab coat off once the class is over, organizing your hair and your necklace with a ruby that you always seem to wear, he keeps it on.

"what activities can be more exciting than science?"

"banging some drums." you say. senku notices that when you talk you move your hands a lot. he likes it. "i am in a band."

for some reason unknown to both of you, he keeps trying to bribe you into joining the science club, and finally suggests to attend one of your presentations in exchange for you checking out if you like the club. you laughed, being well aware of his eccentric personality even when you knew him from a short time.

"whatever, but hey, you won't like it." you shrug warning him in advance but he is determined.

during lunch, senku learns from taiju that you are friends with him and yuzuriha. taiju narrates how he and yuzuriha had seen you being "bullied" by some girls and they were going to step in to help you until they noticed you slipping a few mints from your bag on the soda you had just bought and bathing the girls with the explosion. taiju says that you remind him of senku somehow.

after school, you pass by the lab, keeping your promise.

“i actually hate our school uniform so much, the coat helps.” you mention when senku passes a lab coat to you.

“tie your hair, you don’t want it dissolving.” senku points to the bat hairpin that is still securing his strands and you smile at him. you tie your hair loosely. he is doing some unknown experiment like always and you pay attention to him with a lot of interest. “so what kind of music does your band play?”

“deathrock, occasionally hardcore.” you say giving him a beaker full of a mysterious liquid when he points at it. you didn't expect him to know what it is, and he doesn't. "what deadly experiment are you making now?"

"crystal candy." he takes out a little skewer from one of the glass dishes.

"woah, senku white." you clap and he shakes his head laughing.

"crystal candy, not crystal meth." he gives you one of the candies and you eat it. "ravens like shiny things, so i figured i might do this."

"raven is a compliment, you know?"

"10 billion percent i do."

you can't help but laugh. after hanging out a little more in the lab, you tell him you have to leave for practice and he says he might as well walk with you. during the walk, inevitably you ask him about his hair and he doesn't have any answers for you.

"i like putting my hair up." you say playing with your hair while walking outside of school. senku laughs and helps you putting it up but it doesn't stay up for long so you resort to organizing it back down. once you are at the door of the studio, you take out a sticky note, write on it and place it in his chest. "text me, don't be boring."

he does, and you reply once you are out of practice. you text each other all night, and the next day at school you spend lunch together. the conversation oscillates around chemistry, but he eventually asks about you.

"bela lugosi's dead by bauhaus is said to be the first gothic song ever." you mention after a quick rundown of goth history.

"who is bela lugosi?"

"no way... oh my god no wayyyyy." a clear reference to south park's michael that he doesn't get either. so after school you drag him with you. your house is odd looking, that is the first thing he notices, you tell him that is a brutalist construction of your mother's design as an architect and construction by your dad as an engineer. upon entering, you guide him to the basement where your room is. beside the clear decorations that account for a beyond-the-grave vibe, his eyes focus on the drum set on a corner. "we are watching 1931's dracula."

you turn off the lights and sit on the floor, playing the movie on the projector. senku sits beside you and watches the movie, paying attention to your annotations on the film. after watching the movie, you continue explaining the relevance of bela lugosi.

"so how did you become goth?" he asks and you can't help but laugh, you look through some papers on a drawer and take out a picture, a man and a woman pose with a familiar spooky face.

"my parents." you tap on the paper. "authentic trad goths."

"hereditary, i see." his remark makes you laugh. as he gives you the photograph back, he scans the books in the shelf, a lot of poe, shelly, lovecraft, those accompanied by books on chemistry and science fiction, and besides the books there are little jars with wet specimens and some bones. "what about those odd things there?"

"oh i made those." walking over to the shelf you pick a random one and hand it to him. "put the specimen on the jar, put some formaldehyde for about a week and then change it for isopropyl alcohol and it has been laying there since."

"is this like a casual hobby?" he asked taking a look at the jar.

"casual but safe." you pointed to the respirator mask on the floor. he nodded in approval.

he stayed around the rest of the day and you talked about anything and everything, going over what field of chemistry you prefer and his questions about the goth subculture. when it gets dark and the little window of the basement doesn't let in more light, you light up red candles and keep talking until someone barges in your room.

"i made some carrot cake, will you have some?" your father asks and you both turn around to look at him. senku immediately compared him in his mind to the picture you showed him earlier, but now the man looked like a regular adult. "well well, look what the bat brought."

"dad you are ruining my life!" you groan in annoyance and he leaves, only to come back with two slices of carrot cake.

"so what is your name? what are your intentions?" your dad sat in the floor besides the two of you and smiled through his questions. you hide your face in your arms but senku replies with his name, before he can say you are simply friends, your dad chimes in again. "ishigami like byakuya ishigami?"

"yes, that's my old man."

"what a surprise! mom and i went to school with him, you hear that my little egregore? we actually despised him because he was so cheerful but i secretly wanted to be his friend."

despite your embarrassment, you can't help but smile when you hear senku laughing, agreeing that it sounds like his dad. they talk some more agreeing that whenever byakuya is back from space, they can meet to catch up.

senku left your house once the clock hit 9, but once he is home you two keep texting. he doesn't want to admit it but he feels fascinated about you, not only out of fellowship for the shared love for chemistry but also out of his curiosity for your personality and appearance.

the next day goes like usual, you meet during chemistry class and like always senku outdoes the teacher. you pass by the lab during lunch and scare him after checking that he isn't holding some dangerous substance on a beaker.

"guess what?" you ask and he shrugs without any idea, so you pass him a paper with your approved application for the science club.

"this is excellent news, a competent addition to this madhouse." he smiles pleased and quickly you both get to tinkering with the equipment. "i am working on this gasoline I made out of plastic."

"did you desulfurize it?" you ask and he shakes his head, his heart skipping a beat at the chemical question. "for the sweetening we need wash the naphtha with amine, it needs to be low-boiling, then make it react with caustic. the first thing removes the hydrogen sulphide and the second helps with converting mercaptans to disulfide."

"exactly that." senku nods reaching for the beaker full of gasoline and the other one full of amine. "the hydrotreating part will be more challenging but we can take care of that later on."

you two get to work, he passed you a lab coat and after putting it on you tie your hair. he put the naphtha to boil at a low temperature and then had you wash it with the amine. the rest of the club members watch. it is a slow and delicate process, but you are done before the bell rings and you celebrate happily before returning to class.

after a few weeks of you going to the lab during lunch and after school, you leave when the classes are over. senku immediately notices, and despite the mockery of the fellow members of the club at his fussiness over your absence and his denial of even caring or even knowing who you are at that —exaggerated king—, he still sneaks out to the hallway and texts you.

raven: i am rehearsing silly, we have a show on saturday. 4:09pm

he sighed and walked back in the lab. he had forgotten about it even when you kept talking about the show your band was about to have. he made a reminder in his phone, and went back to work. during that week you didn't stay after school in the lab and he started to notice the lack of your presence, missing even the scares you would make sure to give him when walking in.

"are you nervous?" senku asked, saturday morning, sitting in the floor of your room while you did your makeup in the vanity.

"not that much, i am all the way in the back, privileges of being the drummer." you shrugged while drawing your eyeliner. out of all the outfits he had seen you wear, and your own goth rendition of the school uniform, that one was the ultimate, and made you look like a villain from a video game; he couldn't take his eyes away. senku kept evaluating your appearance, from your makeup that you were still doing, to your hair now puffed and teased, to your tall black boots.

"ruri and kirisame are here." your mom announced before letting the girls in. while one looked just as villainous as you, the other one was a blonde angel dressed all in white.

"these are my bandmates, ruri is the keyboardist and vocalist and kirisame is the guitarist. our bassist will be there on his own." you introduced them.

senku greeted both girls, while ruri waved happily, kirisame simply nodded and ignored the rest. once you are done with your makeup, your mom brings some food you all eat. you go over the songs and things about the band and senku simply listens, not knowing the terms you are using but inferring what they are about. and finally after some time, your parents call you to go to the car. senku noticed that both of your parents had switched to look more like the photo of them young so he asked to take a picture to show to his dad.

the venue was half empty when you arrived, only the other members of the bands and some people. you set the drum set, ruri tested the mic and kirisame adjusted her amp. senku watched how your parents took out a professional camera and snapped a few photos.

"so why are you here?" a voice distracted him, he turned around to see a guy his age sitting besides him. "you don't look like you belong here either."

"just a deal. you?" senku asked.

"my girlfriend is the vocalist. my name is chrome." proudly he said.

while everything was being set up, chrome told senku all the details. you knew ruri from music lessons and you two formed the band, she introduced the bassist, hyoga, who is her sister kohaku's boyfriend, and kirisame came from craigslist. eventually they ended up talking about minerals, but the show started. when chrome told senku to go to the front so they could see better, was when he realized how full the place was. the other band played first, so you stood besides senku, chrome and your bandmates, who aside from hyoga —who already got there—, were dancing to the music; you joined them in due time, swaying your arms in the air at the rhythm of the music.

"we are better than them." you whispered to senku between songs and he laughed immediately.

once their set was over, your band started. curiously, senku recognized the first song to be a cover of in darkness you will feel alright by horror vacui —despite his regular nonchalance, he noted down both genres you told him and checked some bands out, just so he wasn't completely clueless—, so recognizing the song made him feel good. the next songs were originals, and despite that the public enjoyed them just as much, dancing in the same odd way. senku's gaze, though, remained fixed on you, on the way you played the drums and how your head moved to the beat you were playing, the focused expression and the precise movements at hitting the drums.

"so?" you asked holding the rundown drumsticks in your hands once your set was over.

"that was really good, i am impressed." senku praised in an understatement. you smiled and he smiled back.

the next band played and at some point you grabbed senku's hands and made him dance, he frowned but didn't push you away, secretly enjoying it and realizing that ruri was doing the same with chrome who tried his best to dance but couldn't quite do it.

...

byakuya came back from space, and then came back from the u.s. senku refused to pick him up from the airport and you called him heartless. it was during the weekend so you were over at senku's house helping him in his latest project. he initially had also invited taiju and yuzuriha but since the confession by the tree they would have a date every sunday so they couldn't come.

"is anyone homeee!?" a voice broke in between the noises of senku's rant on his rocket, after a few seconds, the door opened and both of you looked up to see the man. you stood up to greet him, senku avoided his hug but he seemed really happy. "hello, and... you are?"

senku introduced you, not failing to pull up the photo he took of your parents and mentioning who they were.

"is like being back at school!" the man exclaimed. "what a time."

senku and byakuya caught up for a good while. after a some hours and eating lunch, at byakuya's odd enthusiasm and your confirmation that your parents were home, you all went to your house.

"if it is not the class clown!" your dad exclaimed once the door opened, byakuya seeming equally excited. they started talking immediately, your mom joining. senku and you stood listening to the stories of your parents and their school time for a little but got bored and left downstairs.

lately you had tried to teach senku how to play the drums but he was too bad at it so you both gave up, so instead you sat on the floor and started listening to music while talking about your childhoods, senku starting with his fascination for science and you with yours for the obscure and odd.

"i am skipping school on wednesday to go to a concert, let's go together." you suggested and senku agreed. on monday and tuesday you both worked in the lab, finishing hydrotreating the gasoline so it could be fuel to the rocket, and on wednesday, instead of going to school, senku walked to your house in the morning. he rang the bell but no one opened, so he rang again and after some time you opened the door, still in your pajamas, your hair messy but not in the usual way.

"i thought we were going to the concert."

"yes but later." you laughed and let him in. clearly you were still sleeping so you organized your room a little and cooked some breakfast, after eating you walked back to your room and he followed, sitting on the bed since the weather was getting colder as fall started, he sat besides you and you put a movie. at some point you were going to pause the movie to explain something to him, but when looking for the controller your hand brushed his. immediately your eyes met and then turned to look away. "well the chemistry is around..."

your joke broke the awkwardness and he laughed immediately. you explained your point and played the movie, not speaking about it, knowing there was no white foundation covering your blush.

the morning was slow, but eventually you started getting ready.

"can i put makeup on you?" suddenly you asked, halfway through your own makeup.

"no, i am perfect like this." his response made you laugh, but you asked again and he gave in, so you stood up from the vanity with a black eyeliner, walking over to your bed where he was sitting looking at his phone, you grabbed his face and tilted it upwards, ready to put some eyeliner under his eyes but you kept looking at his intense crimson gaze, and instead leaned in for a kiss, it was quick and you backed up fast.

"sorry..." you apologized turning around but he grabbed your wrist.

"i thought the lipstick was the last step." senku mentioned, having seen you do your makeup in an order that left the lips for the end. he turned you around. "what? my eyes reminded you of some shiny stone like this one?" he grabbed your necklace, but you stayed silent and wide-eyed, so he stood up and methodically pulled you in for another quick kiss.

"well i somehow expected it." you smile sheepishly still holding the eyeliner.

"ravens are very smart birds." senku shrugged and sat back as if nothing happened, and you sigh shaking your head happy and clean his black-stained lips with a wipe and apply some eyeliner under his eyes, like nothing happened too.

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[mediumgayitalian]

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,��� Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

[balrogballs]

Hi hi hi! I just finished reading The Sword Tree and I'm still unwell about it so I hope it's okay if I rant in your ask box for a sec. I'm South Asian and the bit about celebrian saying there's more to their national diagnosis of sea-longing hit so close to home because the rhetoric around returning to valinor is so similar to partition where the rhetoric was (and remains to this day at least in pakistan) that all the Muslims of the subcontinent WANTED to go to Pakistan because they wanted a Muslim homeland. Which is just - patently untrue as evidenced by the fact that MILLIONS of Muslims chose to remain in India and doesn't take into account any of the hundred of reasons people actually chose to migrate, the threat of violence being not least amongst them. The way returning to valinor is framed as this glorious homecoming when really so many of the elves would have been fleeing from violence, would have been going because they had no other choice, because it was that or fade is soooo ASHDHSGS it drives me insane. But at least now I can think of celebrian taking them to her forest so yay <3 thank you for that

You’ll have to excuse me nerding out being a complete freak and writing a whole ass impromptu 1500 word meta essay at midnight in the hour since you sent this though, because this ask scratches a good 100% of my brain in a wonderful way + I have a lot of THOUGHTS + it touches on some non-fiction stuff I was preparing for Mereth Aderthad… so thank you very much ily as you can see here I am just as unwell 🥹🙏🏽🫶🏽

I’ll put the actual content under the cut since it’s long, but it may be interesting to anyone else keen on my silly meta/theory ramblings re: postcolonial South Asia, Tolkien elves, Valinor, Indo-Pak (obv a thematic comparison rather than a direct equation since the circumstances, cost and setting is entirely different), slow violence and the diction of genteel exile… plus, Frodo comes into it at one point!

Forgive me if I repeat myself here because I’m not sure how long you’ve followed me so idk how much Balls Lore™️ I’ve dropped btw… so I’m not religious but my paternal side (who we’re culturally closer to as a family since my mum’s side don’t really practice their religion/culture) are actually Indian Muslims from Kerala, which was one of the v few Indian states that had both a high Muslim population yet saw almost no northward movement towards Pakistan, partly bc it was so far south and the people don’t speak any of the Indopak “border languages” but also because there wasn’t much communal violence or structural discrimination (relative to the rest of the country, I mean…) so life was at the time not particularly hostile or difficult for Muslims in Kerala, at least on the basis of their religion (caste is a diff story though 🥲).

And so people just stayed, because, as you say, they COULD. Because why the fuck would you choose to leave the place you were born in, trek across the entire subcontinent and face unspeakable violence, if you had literally any other choice!!!

And your point about “glorious homecoming” is also super interesting to me especially in the context of the RSS/Indian RW’s “Musalmanon ko donon sthan, Pakistan aur kabarsthan’ (Muslims have two places: Pakistan or the graveyard)” chant, by now a vicious majoritan sentiment which simultaneously contradicts their other unhinged viewpoint, aka “Pakistan technically belongs to India”. And that kind of diction is in turn echoed and mirrored from the Pakistani side, where anytime anti-Muslim violence breaks out in India, the PK broadcast media/politicos begin their “we told you so tee hee we told you you should have come here, who asked you to stay in India? 🤪” world tour like they’re talking about children who dropped their ice creams 🥲

Which is unsurprising of course, considering India and Pakistan have spent nearly 80 years constructing their national identity as the moral and civilisational antithesis of the other one… ie Pakistan as a “sanctuary from Hindu majoritarianism”, India as a “secular (lmao) republic against Islamic theocracy”… and like w Valinor and Middle-earth, these imaginaries are less geographic than mythic (thinking about Eärendil’s journey here, or Tuor just… as a concept sksksk): each land continuously reifies itself by casting the other as failed or impure, and the rules of performance and belonging keep shifting…

The very structure of Valinor's inaccessibility aka requiring divine permission, reserved for the select, where rules can be broken only if the divine powers will it to me resonates w how citizenship & belonging are gatekept in the subcontinent and how those with hybrid or marginal identities (like Ëarendiil) are often asked to prove their fidelity to the nation (“choose elves or men”) in ways the majority never is, as if access to the country of your birth was a conditional gift rather than a birthright.

And I’m thinking again about the Peredhel choice, and Elwing and Eärendil being forced to choose to belong to either men or elves at great cost, quite literally punished for hybridity, and for stepping foot in Valinor as the “wrong kind”, the kind who aren’t allowed to enter… and this punishment lasts for several generations of their line, right down to Arwen… so again that “homeland” projected not as a shared horizon of peace but as a fantasised ideal purified of the other’s existence…. an unsoiled homeland that can only keep moving forwards by erasing those whose identities speak to entanglement...

And with “Indo-Pak”, that metaphysical distance between Valinor and Middle-earth is reenacted as militarised borders and cultural opposition... each made from the blank spaces in the other’s mirror. And so in India, much like for other minorities in Pakistan, or former East Pakistan prior to the liberation of Bangladesh… those who don’t fit the moral geography of Partition ie religiously intermarried families, religious minorities, borderland communities, secular dissidents, queer folk, etc, are not only excluded from nationalist narratives but seen as aberrations, or intruders… India must inversely reflect Pakistan, and Pakistan must inversely reflect India, because if they don’t, then neither country can be said to exist.

And yes absolutely, for ME elves (ie Elrond for instance) the “return” is not some triumphant homecoming, the journey West is sorrowful and final… less a political return and more an admission that Middle-earth, the “contested space” so to speak, can no longer sustain the presence of its most wounded or burdened beings. Eg Frodo’s departure, like Celebrían’s sailing, being a spiritual evacuation rather than a physical one, not in itself necessary for healing, but because healing is no longer possible where the wound was made… like, the tragedy of people needing to convalesce from their own country is just 🥲

and I think the ending of the Return of the King showcases this splendidly: by ending with a *departure* from ME rather than an *arrival* in Valinor. And that’s what makes it tragic to me, bc in Tolkien’s world, the sailing to Valinor marks the end of the narrative for the reader, but in South Asia, this desire for purified homelands continues to regenerate new forms of violence…

What I’m trying to say here is, I assume you haven’t read my India AU (Prayers to Broken Stone) since I remember you mentioning the sea serpent one was the first Maedhros and Elrond story of mine you read, which is why I am EXTREMELY shook (in a good way aka I am insanely impressed, whatever our souls are made of yours and mine are the same etc etc) at how you’ve hit the nail right on the head when it comes to a major undercurrent of Prayers, which I don’t think I’ve even mentioned explicitly on Tumblr either—the overarching thematic parallel between the fading of elves and the postcolonial trajectory of the Indian Muslims who chose to stay because they wanted to, where the opportunity for a “glorious return” to an unknown land is no opportunity at all, and is in fact nothing but a great and violent sundering. Like that is the main thematic framework there, far beyond any positionality-politics about the Noldor and the Sindar or whatever. Just including a bit from one of the chapters which I think illustrates exactly what I mean (context, this is set during the Emergency following the Fëanorians as a Malayali Muslim family, where Maedhros is a former freedom fighter).

———

———

I wanted to convey in the fic how in post-independence India, Muslims were not formally expelled, but their political + cultural + historical centrality was increasingly made to fade, ie transformed from participants in the national story to spectral reminders of an undesirable past… thinking about that alternate LOTR ending where Sam talks to his daughter Elanor about Celeborn staying alone in Lothlorien, and her calling it “terribly sad”… artefacts/relics/remembrance etc etc…

+ in Tolkien, fading is often accompanied by a refusal to speak of the past. Sam, after Frodo’s departure, speaks little of the Ring or of what was lost, or with Celebrían, the narrative has nothing to add about the year between Cel’s capture and torture, vs her sailing, ie what it was like to make the decision to sail after the act of violence. Similarly, in India, public discourse around Patrition + postcolonial antiMuslim violence is marked by silences, half-truths, and amnesia (similar to how the Bangladesh War of Liberation is taught in Pakistan, from what I hear from a cross-border friend…). And this silence is absolutely not accidental but functional: they allow the nation to perform coherence by concealing rupture.

Eg just as the memory of Frodo’s pain is only buried under the peace of the Shire and never truly gone, the memory of communal violence in India is buried (quite literally sometimes, thinking about Babri masjid…) beneath the rhetoric of secularism, progress and unity. IE like Maedhros realises in that snip above where he “loses” his name, India tells itself that it must forget the past in order to survive the future… and in doing so, renders certain kinds of survival indistinguishable from death 🥲

So yes, I absolutely think it’s exactly that “violence of belonging”, where to belong fully often requires the erasure of the other, where even the sacred return is structured by exclusion. Ie the “offer” of “returning” to an imaginary, idealised and ultimately inert “homeland” is more a euphemism for removal, or a horizon made visible only through loss.

The political grammar of “sundered” states require a sort of continuous re-inscription: new Others, new exiles, new purity tests. and in both Tolkien + postcolonial India, gesturing the “fading people” towards a redemptive “homeland” doesn’t signify the endpoint of suffering and victimisation, but rather serves as its ongoing justification. Eg is it homecoming or is it exile? 🥲

Hope my very incoherent midnight thoughts make sense! You really put my brain on speedrun mode jsjsjsjxjd this is the fastest I’ve run to answer a meta ask hahaha. And I also wanted to say thank you so much for leaving all those fantastic comments on my fics, I normally respond in bulk because I’m only logged in to AO3 on my desktop, but I just wanted to say they have TRULY been making my week…

[holy-obsession-batman]

Snippet of UDRH but with Dick trying to 1) hide he's Renegade, 2) hold on Rose Wilson's leash

Freshly Red Hood!Jason: *stirring the Bat-angst stew* Renegade!Dick: Slade, My family needs help can I go pls pls pls Slade: Fine, by you're taking Rose with you Dick: *unhappy groans* Slade: Well tough luck, we both want a vacation But I am the boss, so take it or leave it. *in Gotham* Nightwing:*drops next to Batman* sup Boss what's up Batman: Nightwing you've been AWOL for a year where have you been what happened to you what have you been up to hrn?! Nightwing: Nightwing: Oh look a mugging Batman:*grappling down* You're not off the hook- hn! Oracle: Seriously what you been doing Nightwing: Oh shame bzzt bzzt I got no more connection Oracle: You can't avoid this conversation forever- Nightwing:*in denial* I can and I will Nightwing:*whisper yelling* Ravager no! Rose:*brandishing sword* Ravager yes! Robin: Someone with you Wing? Nightwing:*hiding Rose behind his back* ah ah no Robin: Robin: Nightwing I can see the sword sticking out you can't deny- Nightwing:*moving to stay between Rose and Robin's line of sight* I can and I will. Robin:*snitching like a bitch* B, N got someone with him Batman:*summoned* rn? Nightwing*steps aside in panik* My sidekick! Ah ah, this is my sidekick, yeah. Rose:*affronted gasp* *Nightwing covers her mouth* *she bites him* *manly scream* Batman:*vindicated* hn Nightwing:(*discreetly holding three fingers behind his back to pay Rose to play along*) How dare you say this is what I deserve? (Rose: *raise his two remaining fingers*) Batman:*mild* nhn... Nightwing:*offended* I was the most well-behaved child ever! Nightwing: No gutting the goons R! Rose: Why is it always 'Why did you gut the goons Ravager', 'Ravager don't gut the goons' and never 'how was gutting the goons Ravager', 'did you have fun gutting the goons'?

And then dramatic feral homicidal secretly lame teenager (Rose) meets dramatic feral homicidal secretly nerd teenager (Jason), and they feed off each other’s chaos gremlin energy, and they flirt, and everyone is doomed.

Full prompt

(Masterpost)

[jeonghanspookie]

The Plan

"Okay so what are we gonna do about Y/N and Vernon?"

The group of 12 decided they have had enough of the weird tension between their two friends. They all gathered at Mingyu's apartment to come up with a plan that could get the two to reconcile.

Of course they also made this meetup an excuse to get Mingyu to cook them a meal and for Seungcheol to buy them some drinks.

In fact the meetup was starting to look like one of their bbq nights.

Chan, who was currently making himself a wrap, spoke up, "Yeah we gotta figure out how to get the two to make up. I can't work under these conditions anymore!"

Jeonghan nodded his head. "Yeah and I don't think I can play another round of Dress to Impress with Y/N. One can only troll so much on Roblox."

"No yeah we definitely need to get them to reconcile."

"I've had enough of seeing Vernon eat Toast every lunch"

"Yeah I don't know if I can do another Taco Bell run with Y/N. Everything tastes the same to me know"

"And if I have to listen to Vernon explaining which Shrek movie is the best out of the whole franchise again I'm gonna crash out for real"

With a mouth full of rice, Soonyoung made a sound of agreement. "Whaf ebenf haftend-" he let out muffled.

"I don't know but I'm guessing it happened after work on Tuesday. They were fine with each other during their closing shifts that day, but when they came in the next morning they were acting so cold to each other." Dokyeom said while continuing to flip the meat on the grill.

From across the table Junhui was eyeing the biggest piece pork belly on the grill.

Joshua made a displeased face. "Maybe they were just mad they had to open after closing"

"Nah" Seungkwan started, "They were both being normal to everyone else. Plus the two of them play games til like 2 AM everyday so it doesn't make a difference if they closed the night before.

The piece of pork was one flip away from being grilled to perfection.

"WAIT THATS IT!" Wonwoo exclaimed.

"Huh"

Seokmin flipped the piece of pork.

Wonwoo stood up to explain, "Tuesday nights are when we work on our Minecraft neighborhood."

"Nerds" Seungcheol interrupted.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. "Anyway. They were fine before I left the discord call and the Minecraft server and that was a little after midnight. So something most likely happened after that."

He then looked over to Soonyoung and Seokmin. "You guys were still in the server with them after I left right? Did anything happen?"

Soonyoung shrugged. "We weren't there for long after you left.."

"Yeah we got kicked out of the call and the server since we kept arguing because Soonyoung killed my horse!" Seokmin glared at the so called horse killer.

"THAT WASNT MY FAULT AND YOU KNOW IT"

"THE SCREEN LITERALLY SAID 'KING KONG WAS SLAIN BY HORANGHAE96' OF COURSE IT WAS YOUR FAULT"

Junhui finally picked up the precious piece of pork and put it on his plate.

"I was just trying to ride your horse." Soonyoung pouted. "I didn't know I was hitting him with my sword"

"There's literally a button to get on the horse" Jihoon interjected.

"HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW!"

Right as Soonyoung yelled out his defense, he stood up with his arms out, bumping into Junhui's shoulder in the process making Jun drop the piece of pork belly he had almost brought to his mouth.

"Wait you named your horse King Kong?" Joshua quesy Seokmin.

Junhui now stares at his piece of pork that is now on the floor.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter" Mingyu said as he brought in some more bowls of rice. "Let's just figure out what happened and how to fix it."

Seungkwan agreed. "Yeah! We're losing the plot!"

"Why don't yall go back on the server and see if anything happened." Minghao suggested.

Jun settles for the next best piece of pork.

"Oh what the fuck"

"It says Vernon made the world private"

"What does that mean?"

"It means only he can he join the server."

"Tell Vernon to come over right now. We need answers!"

15 minutes later

"So yeah. Basically I accidentally led a creeper into the underground tunnels we have connecting our houses together and Y/N got too close to it and it ended up blowing up part of her house. Specifically Dumbledore's room." Vernon explained.

"Dumbledore? Like the wizard? I thought you guys were playing Minecraft?"

Wonwoo sighed. "Y/N named her cat in Minecraft Dumbledore"

"Ohhh"

"So that explains why she's mad at you" Minghao concludes. "Now why are you mad at her?"

Vernon runs his hands up and down his face.

"So after the creeper exploded Y/N got mad at me because when she went to go look at the damage she noticed that Dumbledore was gone. And because she got mad at me she went to my house and destroyed my bed and then she started chasing me around with her netherite sword. Before I knew it she killed my character and I had to respond at the default spawn point because she destroyed my bed. At least I had the coordinates but Y/N turned them off so I couldn't go back to the neighborhood. So then I got mad and we started arguing and then it ended with me kicking her out of the server." Vernon ended with a frown on his face.

"I'm not even mad at Y/N, it was just in the moment. Now I feel so bad because her house is destroyed and Dumbledore is gone"

"Yall are really fighting over some stup-" Jihoon starts.

"What Jihoon means to say is that we can fix this." Seungkwan says as he covers Jihoon's mouth before he could finish his sentence that could have potentially made Vernon even sadder.

"Yeah just spawn a cat that looks like Dumbledore and say that he was outside and not in his room." Joshua says.

Seems reasonable.

Vernon looks at the group with an unconvinced face. "I don't know guys. That just feels wrong."

Jeonghan pats the younger boy's back. "If it makes you feel any better, that's probably the 9th Dumbledore we'll replace"

Vernon looks up at him.

"WHAT"

Jeonghan nods. "Yeah the original Dumbledore was gone a long time ago. It got in the way when I was trying to shoot arrows at a skeleton and I ended up hitting him instead."

Vernon's jaw dropped.

"I accidentally left his door open once and a zombie got to him." Soonyoung admitted.

"Pretty sure Mingyu killed him once too because he thought it was a mob"

Vernon looked to the group with his eyes wide. "So you guys have been replacing Dumbledore with a clone every time you get him killed?"

"Yeah pretty much"

"Do you think Y/N will believe us?"

"How do you even have the cat spawn egg? We turned off the option to switch to creative mode."

"I have my ways"

"OH MY GOD! Dumbledore was outside in the garden Vern! He's perfectly fine!" Y/N cheered over the discord call.

"Thank goodness he's safe." Vernon says slowly.

"Aw I'm sorry I made you go back to the OV spawn point." Y/N says apologetically. "Here let me turn on cords so you can get back and we can keep expanding the tunnels!"

"Down! We should rebuild Dumbledore's room first!"

"Right!" Y/N laughed. "Let's go!"

As the two were playing and chatting over discord, the rest of the 12 boys looked over at Vernon smiling at the computer screen with a fond smiles on their faces.

Balance was restored.

prev <- masterlist -> next

A/N: Yeah some of this doesn't follow Minecraft laws but whatever.

[wandererxiv]

Final Fantasy XIV Historia Weapon Comparisons

This is a list of the 7.2 Tomestone weapons next to their original Final Fantasy IX counterparts! Images for the weapons from IX, fun facts, and in-game descriptions are taken from the Final Fantasy Wiki on fandom.

Very long post under the cut. Enjoy!

Historia Sword = Steiner's iconic weapon. (I thought it would be the broadsword, but the hilt is different, and you only see this type of hilt and handguard on Steiner's official design.)

Historia Claymore = Broadsword (Steiner's initial weapon)

Ordinary sword used in combat. - In Game Description

Historia Gunblade = Defender (Steiner's ultimate short sword. Fun fact: This weapon teaches Thunder Slash Sword Art, which is supposed to do thunder damage to an enemy. Unfortunately, it's bugged and only misses.) I was incorrect! The GNB is Zidane's offhand dagger!

Historia Spear = Javelin (Freya's initial weapon. Fun fact: this teaches her the skill Dragon Killer which lets her do more damage toward Dragons!)

Spear used by dragon knights. - In Game Description

Historia Scythe = Lani's weapon. I do not know for certain, but nothing else seems to have the same curve of blade... and if it is Lani's weapon... hell yeah.

Historia Baghnakhs = Cat's Claws (Amarant's initial weapon. The colors and whatnot are different, but the word "Baghnakhs" means "tiger's claws" in Hindi! Amarant also uses a weapon called Tiger's Fangs.)

Ordinary claws used for combat. - In Game Description

Historia Blade = Masamune (Zidane's strongest crafted weapon. Fun fact: This weapon teaches Sacrifice, where Zidane can sacrifice himself to replenish the rest of the party.)

Sword from a foreign land. - In Game Description

Historia Knives = Dagger (Zidane's initial weapon. Fun fact: this is the weapon in which Princess Garnet takes her alias from!)

Weapon used by thieves. In Game Description

Historia Shotels = Mage Masher (Zidane's second and most iconic weapon. The blades placed together even mimic the weapon synthesized from two mage masher's, The Ogre!)

Weapon originally used for combating mages. - In Game Description

Historia Chakrams = Winged Edge (Amarant's strongest throwing weapon. This weapon is also named after Locke's weapon from Final Fantasy VI!)

Throwing weapon, more powerful than the Rising Sun. It is used with the command 'Throw' and cannot be equipped. - In Game Description

Historia Staff = Oak Staff (Vivi weapon.)

Staff made from a legendary tree. - In Game Description

Historia Degen = Save the Queen (Beatrix's weapon, which cannot be removed from her. You can synthesize this weapon later in the game, but no one can use it. It can be thrown by Amarant, but it's... meh.)

Long sword used by holy knights. - In Game Description

Historia Cane = Healing Rod (Dagger's iconic weapon. Fun fact: physically attacking with this weapon heals the target, whether it's an enemy or ally!)

Weapon that can restore target's HP. - In Game Description

Historia Planisphere = Ultima Weapon (This is a stretch, but it's the closest I could find. They have some similarities!)

Considered the most powerful weapon in the world. - In Game Description

Historia Pendulums = Tiger Racket (This is the strongest racket in game for both Dagger and Eiko.)

The most powerful long-range racket. - In Game Description

Unknowns

The books for SCH and SMN are unknown to me. I though perhaps they could be the save book moogles use in IX, but it doesn't appear so.

The WAR, MCH, BRD, and PCT weapons I cannot find matches to. I believe they are just modeled to reflect the art style of IX, which is great! If I am wrong, please let me know and I'll correct this post or make an addendum below.

I would've loved to have seen some of Eiko's flutes used or Quina's forks, though we have the joke weapon that is a fork now. What about you? Are there any weapons you would've liked to have seen put into XIV?

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I love doing this because it allows me to nerd out about one of my favorite things. Thanks for reading!

[widodiangelo]

Technically, they weren’t supposed to be in each other's cabins.

But after fighting in two wars in the last two years, Chiron had decided to let some things slide. And so the Poseidon cabin became the go-to meeting place for the older campers: mostly the seven and company.

As a result, the cabin had slowly begun accumulating various comfort items and was morphing into a strange college dorm room-thrift shop hybrid. There was an old, peeling leather couch Jason and Leo had dragged out of the big house a few weeks ago, surrounded by random folding chairs and an assortment of beanbags Nico had totally not shadow traveled in from an ikea in the city. There were two and a half mini fridges (two working, one broken), a strange assortment of video game consoles the stoll brothers had provided and quite a few puzzles.

Since he and Nico had started dating, Will found himself hanging out in Percy’s makeshift common room more and more. That evening, he had just finished a sing-along session with his siblings at the campfire and was making his way across camp to the cabins. The warm summer air was filled with the smells of campfire smoke and sea salt drifting from the shore. A calm smile on his face, Will strolled up to cabin three with an extra s’more in his hand.

The interior was lit up with fairy lights and a blue lamp in the corner: cozy and inviting. Leo and Piper sat in some beanbags, playing some sort of card game. Jason and Percy lounged on the couch, throwing blue jelly beans into each other’s mouths (or at least tried to) while they yelled at the video game on the large tv screen that sat on the floor, leaning against the far wall because someone had forgotten to steal a stand. Nico perched on the edge of a crusty armchair, a controller in his hands and gaze focused on the screen before him. 

Will stepped through the door with a soft wave, which Annabeth returned with one hand from where she was braiding back Nico’s hair as he played. Jason popped a jelly bean in his mouth as Will sat down at Nico’s side. “Holy shit. Nico, you’re sub 6 minutes and you’re already at Lernie? What even is this build?”

Nico smirked, not taking his eyes off the game, but leaning into his boyfriend as a hand carded around his waist. “I told you Grace, Beo is bugged on mirage shot. It’s totally OP.”

Percy tried to catch the blue projectile Jason tossed at him, almost falling off the couch in the process. “Yeah but even with the bug I’ve never been able to make use of hunter’s mark like this before. How are you even doing that?”

Nico shrugged, the silver chains that dangled from his ears glinted in the moonlight. “Practice.” He replied, taking down a hydra head in one blow.

Will took a bite of his s’more and squinted at the screen. “What even is this?”

“Hades.” All three boys replied, and Annabeth snorted. “It’s a Greek mythology game.” She supplied with a roll of her eyes. “Nico’s the main character.”

“I am not the main character.” Nico retorted, eyes never leaving the screen. He mumbled under his breath as the screen shifted, “fuck stupid room 34 witches. Dammit.”

Percy tilted his head in thought. “Actually Nico, you kinda are. I mean Zag is the son of Hades, his main weapon is a sword, you both look like you belong in a hot topic ad–”

“Fuck you, Jackson.” 

“I said what I said– oh shit smoldering air? No way!”

Jason almost choked on his food. “Dude you’re gonna go sub ten at this rate.”

Will glanced at Annabeth. “Do they always sound like they’re speaking ancient greek when they play this game?”

Annabeth pulled the hair tie around her wrist off with her teeth. “Yup. Hate to break it to you, your boyfriend’s a nerd.”

Nico scowled. “Am not.”

Will pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Oh you totally are.”

“Listen Solace– HA! 9:58!” Nico jumped up and tossed the controller on the floor in victory, flicking off the animated Hades he had just defeated. “Get fucked, dad.”

Will watched him fondly. “Of course you would be good at the greek mythology video game where you get to kill your father.”

Nico dropped back down on the chair and slipped into Will’s side, taking the s’more his boyfriend offered him with a grin. “I’m nothing if not on brand.”

[azuresage]

It gets talked about a lot but I still can't stop nerding out about Link's characterization in TotK. It's done through his many creative dialogue choices and his expressions of course, but it's also done so subtly through what he *doesn't* say. Notably, he doesn't talk about himself. And this is why nobody recognizes him unless they've already met him. Because he doesn't tell them when they've got the wrong impression of him.

The meme about Link having Tony Hawk syndrome is so real. People will look at him and straight up say, "Wow, you look exactly like Link!" without a hint of irony. Lookout Landing has a detailed picture of his face in their watchtower and the search party still doesn't recognize him. Penn works with Link for a long time and thinks he's unlucky that the Yiga keep "mistaking" him for the Hero (granted, Traysi asked him to deliberately keep quiet, but Penn still didn't put two and two together himself). I think the reason for this, aside from it being really, really funny, is that Link just doesn't talk about himself. He doesn't feel the need to.

Characterization isn't just about what we see a character doing, it's also about how other characters respond to them. Link is so unassuming and humble that he doesn't match people's expectations of what "Link" should be like. The three Gerudo ladies hanging out around Outskirt Stable are one of many perfect examples. Link stands in front of them carrying the Master Sword, but they expect the Hero to be taller than they are, with a giant glowing sword, so they don’t believe it's him. Obviously that's not the reality, but they don't know that. Link doesn't correct them, either. Again, he doesn't feel the need to.

This is also why many NPCs from BotW don't recognize or remember Link. To them, he was just a passerby that did them a good turn once 6+ years ago. Nobody's going to remember a person like that for so long after. They had no way of knowing he was the Hero, unless it came up for story quest reasons. When they hear stories about the Princess's Appointed Knight who woke up from his 100 year nap, defeated the Calamity, and rescued Zelda, they imagine someone larger than life. Then when they see what Link actually is like, they can't put two and two together.

This is true even during the Hyrule Restoration efforts. Link always follows behind Zelda as her shadow, which she notes in her diary, but the people in the stable investigation quests and in Hateno don't recognize him either, even though he went everywhere she did. Link is just that unassuming. He resigns himself to being a shadow, allowing Zelda to take the lead and do as she pleases but always staying nearby to support and protect her. He doesn't need to be recognizable to do his job. And we know from both BotW and now TotK that he's wholly devoted to her. He's content with this. Many people more eloquent than I have spent many paragraphs elaborating on this. I just wanted to focus on what it says about his character.

Link is humble and unassuming, so much so that nobody believes that he's the Hero unless they already know him. He's devoted to Zelda, so much so that he's willing to do anything to chase even a glimpse of her. He doesn't talk about himself or correct people who have the wrong impression of him. He doesn't need to do that to chase his Zelda. He is a person of great humility in spite of his station. I think that's so interesting and neat how the comedy of him being unrecognizable also tells us all this about him. It's also cool how this is only one aspect of him; all the dialogue choices and expressions he makes during cutscenes and actions out in the world show a whole other, lighter side to him that meshes with this. It's all so good. I am in love with it. It always kills me inside when people dismiss his characterization as being nonexistant or flat just because it's not spoonfed to them or when they say Link being unrecognizable is lazy writing instead of a deliberate choice. I am biting and gnawing and gnashing over him and his relationship to Zelda. I love them so much.

[madrone33]

Can I rant for a bit about how cool it is that one of Lief's defining traits is that he's smart? Like, not even necessarily cunning or clever or street smart (though he's totally that too) but just. Book smart. He knows maths and history and english and he uses that knowledge for stuff! And! He's also cunning and clever and street smart and a fighter at the same time!

And I know it's not that big a deal, but normally in adventure stories, especially for a younger audience, the hero's strengths are more in sword fighting or magic casting or being really good at parkour. And here the hero is smart and he's proud of it, and his friends are proud of it, and the world is proud of it! Literally! Deltora Quest as a world and a plot revolves around puzzles and riddles and putting clues together more than it does on physical fights. In almost every battle they get into, the day is won not by being better at fighting than their opponents, but because they realised the loophole or figured out some vital info in the nick of time. (And I say almost every battle, because Jasmine is both willing and able to stab a bitch.)

The Topaz that clears and strengthens the mind is probably the most used Gem in the whole series, because Lief knows its value so well. And even when he can't rely on its strength, when the moon is new or the Belt is covered, he's still using his brains to find his way out of impossible situations! It's just! So cool!

Brain over brawn and all that, except not really, 'cause he's also a badass with the sword! Wtf! Lief why are you so cool??

Deltora is probs my fav series. I am OBSESSED with the characters and worldbuilding, but the codes and riddles and puzzles? That is my jam you guys. I studied those things. Every time a new one came up, I memorised it! I tried recreating it! It was awesome! And the Lief + Jasmine combo of "Basically-A-Nerd Who Is Awesome" and "Badass Fleshed-Out Women My Beloved" who are besties before love-interests was a pinnacle of my childhood.

[zedecksiew]

TO PUT AWAY A SWORD

David Blandy + Daniel Locke's post-apocalyptic hopepunk TTRPG ECO MOFOS is back from the printers. Meaning it will soon be in our hands.

Am fairly hyped for it, because I wrote an adventure!

To Put Away A Sword is about the woes of building a home on poisoned earth. The terrible powers that hurtled us to the end of the world continue to bear bitter fruit in your garden.

You are villagers living under the shadow of a fallen giant mecha. Its reactors and warheads leak into your groundwater, poison your goats. What will you do about it? What can you do?

+

Mechanically it is a pointcrawl around your local valley. Not super complex, design-wise; but I was pleased with my gimmick solution for mapping both the adventure's dungeons:

Grab a mecha figure, pose it, place it on the game table; each part of the figure corresponds to a location in the dungeon key. Solves for stuff like relative orientation.

Easy!

+

To Put Away A Sword is me making a mecha adventure.

Disclaimer: I am not a mecha nerd. I am unfamiliar with most of the genre. Anything I know about Gundam I've absorbed by osmosis.

I was mainly into giant robots in childhood. Receiving a Macross figure for my birthday. Pouring over the manual for The Crescent Hawks' Revenge, which my brother left behind:

While I was not much a fan of mecha, I was very much a fan of Evangelion. I spent my middle teens obsessed with it. The biomechanical, pseudo-mystical stuff; the teen angst. I wanted to be Shinji. I thought trauma was so cool.

So cringe. Anyway:

One of the inspirations for To Put Away A Sword is the survivors-rebuilding-a-town-and-planting-rice sequence in Thrice Upon A Time; probably my favourite part of the whole franchise, now.

The joy and difficulties of trying to build your paradise in the weird ruins of the old world:

Yeah, the adventure has a lot of Evangelion in it. There's a Nerv HQ analogue to explore. There's a content warning for child soldiers.

+

The other inspiration for To Put Away A Sword is this piece of box art, an accessory set for Macross's iconic Stonewell Bellcom VF-1 Variable Fighter:

I don't know what this kind of arrange-your-missiles-in-front-of-your-fighter-jet photo is technically called. Hardware porn parade?

You see it often enough. Here's a real-life photo of the Lockheed Martin F35 Joint Strike Fighter:

Fairly or not, in my head I associate mecha with seeing copies of Jane's Defence in airport magazine racks. The genre feels like such a natural way to riff on the hyper-charged corpo-military-industrial complex.

After the brush war ends, and the natural resources extracted, and the ethnic cleansing concluded, and the profits announced, who gets to clean up after a Raytheon missile?

In To Put Away A Sword---you do.

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Ultimately, as always, I am writing and designing from my lived experiences.

See that? The gas flare from the Hengyuan Refining Company? It is about 200 metres from my living room.

That gas flare surfaces constantly in the stuff I make. As I write this post I am breathing its acrid chemical smell. My nose itches. I was asthmatic as a child; I seriously worry about cancer, nowadays.

At night it lights up the sky like Barad-dur.

The plant obviously and continuously flaunts regulations. We've tried lodging complaints: with its corporate management; with the Department of Environment. Nothing has worked so far.

"A home on poisoned earth" is a visceral fact of my life.

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To Put Away A Sword is wish-fulfilment, I guess? In the world of the adventure, at least, the forces that are poisoning your home are post-peak oil.

It is nice to imagine a reality where a kind of survival and flourishing is still possible. My partner Sharon and I talk a lot about imagining hope.

Last month she bought this small mecha-looking thing. A wireless camera! She built a little hut for it on our garden wall. It is trained, 24-7, at the gas flare.

Environmental activists we've met say video evidence of emissions is important. We'll see. We imagine it helping.

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Anyway. David just sent me this photo of my adventure, in print:

Looking good. I hope folks play it and enjoy it.

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