#i also didnt proofread this

[aroaceleovaldez]

reminder that the only reason the "ADHD is actually demigod BATTLE STRATEGIES" and "dyslexia is DEMIGOD BRAINS HARDWIRED FOR ANCIENT GREEK" things exist in the PJO universe is because it's a very direct reference to early 2000s teaching/parenting techniques for neurodiverse and disabled children, which aimed to frame childrens' disabilities and hardships as a "superpower" or strength so that the children would feel more positively about their disabilities or situations. This technique has fallen out of favor since then for the most part since more often than not it just results in kids feeling as though their struggles are not being seen or taken seriously.

Yes, demigods are adhd/dyslexic (and sometimes autistic-coded) in the series. This is extremely important and trying to remove it or not acknowledge it makes the entire series fall apart because it is such a core concept. Yes, canon claims that their adhd/dyslexia is tied to some innate abilities, which is based on an outdated methodology. It's important to acknowledge that and understand where it comes from! But please stop trying to apply it to other pantheons in the series like "oh, the romans have dyscalculia because of roman numerals!" or "the norse demigods have dysgraphia for reasons!" - it's distasteful at best.

A better option is to acknowledge the meta inspiration for why that exists in the series, such as explaining potentially that Chiron was utilizing that same teaching methodology to try and help demigods feel more comfortable with their disabilities and they aren't literal powers. In fact, especially given Frank, there's implication that being adhd/dyslexic isn't a guaranteed demigod trait, which means it's more likely to be normally inherited from their godly parent/divine ancestor as a general trait, not a power, and further supports the whole "ADHD is battle strategy" thing being non-literal. It also implies the entire greco-roman pantheon in their universe is canonically adhd/dyslexic - and that actually fits very well with the themes of the first series. The entire central conflict of the first series fits perfectly as an allegory about neurodiverse/disabled children and their relationships with their undiagnosed neurodiverse/disabled parents and trying to find solutions together with their shared disability/disabilities that the kid inherited instead of becoming distant from each other (and this makes claiming equivalent to getting a diagnosis which is a fascinating allegory! not to mention the symbolism of demigods inheriting legacies and legends and powers from their parents and everything that comes with that being equivalent to inheriting traits, neurodiversity, and disabilities from your parents).

anyways neurodiversity and disability and the contexts in which the series utilizes representation of those experiences particularly during the 2000s symbolically within the narrative is incredibly important to the first series and the understanding of what themes it means to represent. also if i see one more "the romans have dyscalculia instead of dyslexia" post in 2023 i'm gonna walk into the ocean.

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say. 

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia? 

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready. 

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her. 

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures. 

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm. 

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over. 

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life. 

-

-

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally. 

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her. 

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already. 

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple. 

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in. 

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world. 

You cried in relief. 

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop. 

And you did just that. 

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly. 

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.” 

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight  but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together. 

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.” 

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that. 

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed. 

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness. 

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived. 

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm. 

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?” 

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat. 

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?” 

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life.  “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth. 

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes. 

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip. 

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you. 

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?” 

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.” 

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.” 

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth. 

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you. 

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you. 

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward. 

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion. 

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief. 

 It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely. 

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.” 

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you. 

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw.  It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to. 

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached. 

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold. 

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind. 

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment. 

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did. 

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair. 

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it. 

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely. 

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow. 

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light. 

-

-

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories. 

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be. 

It would be good for her. 

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all. 

You smiled back. 

Yes, that’s right. 

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

[ask--invaderzim]

dib give us an info dump / rant

[vintgedoll]

“you ever hate me?”

simon’s question put unintentional pressure on you. maybe, sometimes, occasionally … always, every day, all the time. you didn’t know what to say because you didn’t wanna hurt him all over again but the relationship you had built up was being brought down and your words would determine whatever happened next.

“sometimes.” was all you could get out, not looking over to face simon. you loved him but you didn’t appreciate being kept a secret anymore, promising to at least let his buddy, johnny, know. “they’re a close friend,” was all he could get out when johnny had finally met the two of you for drinks. it managed to spark an argument in the ten minute drive home as soon as you had both gotten into your proper seats; overlapping, angry voices desperate to get their side in had taken over in barely two minutes, drowning out the radio. “it was like your natural instinct! i’m not crazy, simon!”

you were hurt by how he was afraid to admit it because whatever his reasons were, you were the one who got to tell everyone about how sweet your boyfriend was but he could only say “a close friend.”

“stop the fucking car!” you scoffed out, turning to face your door, waiting for him to stop but instead he gripped the wheel tighter, trying to no longer go back and forth with you, and took the proper right that would lead directly to your street ad it came up. “simon, i’m fucking serious!” you began to pull on the door handle and attempt to force the door open. “let me get the fuck out or i’ll leave your ass!”

that was only a few minutes ago; now the car was full of silence. finally looking over, simon’s eyes were fixed on the street in front of the car, lit up by the vehicle’s front lights and street lamps. it was the first time you ever fought with him to a point you threatened to break up with simon. you never felt this guilty about something and could only offer an apology, letting him know you didn’t mean it. “do you get tired of me?” it didn’t come out as a whisper, but it wasn’t your normal voice level either. he pulled over in front of your building but you waited for his answer, your anxiety was pushing on your stomach, threatening to raise all the alcohol and bile resting in it to the surface of his interior.

“sometimes.”

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Part 2 of the little comic

Moon really does not like the situation but Y/N can't just not do their work.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

[cottoncandyhairedrgodess]

CHAOS THEORY TRAILER SPOILERS CUZ IT BLEW MY FREAKIN MIND OMGG

FIRST OF ALL BROOKLYN DEAD?? OMG it hardly sunk in and yet I’m still shook I HOPE SHE EITHER ESCAPED OR JUST CAPTURED PLEASE DONT BE DEAD DEAD

also side note I feel like they would be freaking out more if she died??? Besides worrying for themselves in danger like more sad ig for her (especially Kenji, like dude ur gf died???) They prob will in the first ep of the show tho

THEIR CHARACTER DESIGNS ARE SOMETHING like idk what to feel they’re not bad buts at the same time I feel a little weird about them MAYBE ITS BECAUSE WE SAW HOW THEY LOOKED AS YOUNG PPL SO ITS ODD TO SEE THEM GROWN UP

LIKE I SAID THEY KINDA LOOK LIKE SIMS

YAZ HAS BANGS?? ITS COOL THO LIKE SHE KINDA LOOKS BADASS

DOES KENJI HAVE A BOWLCUT 😭😭 SOMEONE GIVE MAN A GOOD HAIRCUT

BENS DESIGN IS GROWING ON ME (still a Bit goofy)

DARIUS LOOKS GOOD AS ALWAYS

SAMMY LOOKS CUTE SHE HAS SHORT HAIR AND I THINK I SAW PINK

BROOKLYN I COULDNT REALLY SEE BUT HER HAIR WAS DYED SOME COLOR AND IT WAS SHORT AND TO THE SIDE? HOPEFULLY WELL HAVE MORE THAN JUST THAT ONE CLIP OF HER

THEY ALL LOOK DIFFERENT FROM THEIR FINALE DESIGNS BUT IN A GOOD WAY

I ALSO WISH WE CAN SEE THEYRE FULL DESIGNS

IMMA GO THRU THE TRAILER LATER AND LIKE PAUSE AND SCREENSHOT EACH PART TO SEE HOW THEY LOOK PROPERLY IM JUST EXCITED RN

OKAY NOW THE PLOT

SO OBVIOUSLY “someone’s hunting us Darius” SO SOMEONES AFTER THEM

it’s prob someone new and I’m guessing someone from either the government or Jurassic world just someone powerful

everything’s def gonna be darker which I’m excited for!!

also they said they’re using raptors to hunt them and I’m not sure by that so maybe they mean like they’re controlling them again or idk

im kinda forgetting the trailer so imma rewatch again and prob make another post saying more BUT THIS IS A LOT ALREADY

AHHH SO EXCITED FOR CHAOS THEORY

[vtoriacore]

✧ truly, he can’t hate you

note: since it was his birthday vv recently, i decided malleus needs to suffer and be sad and feel the thousand winds of torment and misery (this isn’t me wanting to see his OB form early at all or anything don’t look AT ME LIKE THAT GRRRR) ! but man did i miss writing angst and it just works so well with him so like . . . 🤭

tw: yandere, angst [no comfort]

synopsis: in which malleus cannot bring himself to be happy, having bound you both to shackles of anguish that he isn't willing to remove - no matter the cost.

Silence. It had been like this for quite a while now; he counted all the days, turned to weeks, turned to months. And yet, despite the crushing pressure of the unspoken words he knew you'd utter if you were more responsive, he finds that he doesn't mind it all too much anymore.

Or so he tells himself each time the dull ache comes back as his brilliant green eyes take in your form once more. He knows you can feel him gazing at you, and he knows that your policy of ignoring his existence will not be disturbed. He really should hate you for it but he doesn't.

He can't bring himself to, as after all he was the one to take you back with him all the way to Briar Valley. You always used to say that you hated the atmosphere of the place, and how often everything seemed too dim and sombre. He would always recount the way your once shining eyes settled on every grand structure, and how you'd grimace at the way the gargoyles on many of the stone walls would tower over everyone - never knowing if they were scrutinising or safeguarding.

Malleus hated to admit that it hurt. Absolutely loathed to admit that it stung and stabbed at his pallid skin until he'd have to forcibly stop himself relaying your cold disregard of his home, his culture, his identity. It left him feeling cold to the core and each time he'd only be more numb to your cruelty than the last. But it was never easy to bear nonetheless.

He supposed this was the only good thing about the ever present silence, but the knowledge of you despising anything and everything about his very substance still had him faltering and grasping at even the tiniest sliver of perceived reciprocation. He hated how you made him feel so desperate and fragile, but he could never hate you.

Admittedly though, he had begun to hate the circumstances you both found yourself in. First and foremost he didn't want to own up to the fact he had brought you here against your will (and he so wishes you'd understand it's for your own safety!) and that you were very clearly discontent with his actions. However, Malleus had hoped you'd show even the slightest bit of gratitude - he had to fight tooth and nail to get you to where you are now.

He shed blood, but not his own, to have you sitting beside him on this emerald bejewelled throne as a rightful ruler of the Briar Valley, and yet when you used to defiantly reject every concession he had ever made all you uttered with disgust was a curt "I hate this" followed by a prolonged "I hate you."

When you had learned of his slaying of an advisor for even suggesting to remarry someone else, you had stopped talking completely though. There were no more simple, short words to be spoken, but he understood the silence very well. He was after all, used to being alone. Used to the discreet glances of rejection from majority of those he had crossed paths with. But he just couldn't understand why you didn't see things the way he did.

Why couldn't you comprehend all the sacrifices he had made? Why couldn't you see the way he defied Lilia, his most trusted bodyguard, when he had gone against bringing you here? Why couldn't you realise the painstaking guilt he felt for imprisoning Silver for trying to help you escape? Why couldn't you discern the way he banished Sebek for an attempt on your life and how it made him want to claw at his throat to atone for his actions?

Were you this content to let every relationship of his dissipate into dust, as if they had never carried an ounce of meaning? Did you take pleasure in the way his feelings, very raw and ready to boil over, were being torn to shreds every passing second? Are you satisfied with how his memories spill out into a mirage of a sullied dream as he clutches at his chest until he loses awareness of his surroundings?

He honestly couldn't tell, and maybe -he rationalised with himself- that was for the better. Because for as long as you don't voice these thoughts and split his heart open, he'd be able to keep hanging onto the hope that one day you might just change your mind and be his last meaningful relationship. Ignorance may not be complete bliss, but it's far better than the awareness of his growing misery.

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

"this is why if you want to kiss you should kiss."

word count: 2354 warnings: brief mentions of alcohol + smoking notes: my first time posting my writing to tumblr so i hope you enjoy this!! i dont write very frequently, but i hope it's a nice read regardless <3

You sit on the old and broken couch, holding a red cup that’s half-filled with something you don’t plan on drinking. It’s dark. Someone brought a strobe light that barely functions; it’s something out of a bad high school party. You watch the party in slow flashes of blue, green, orange. A guy in the other room is pouring beer on himself. A girl you vaguely recognise from your hometown is plastered. She’ll probably be passed out on the shag carpet in a matter of minutes. Someone is playing too-loud house music through busted speakers. At the other end of the couch, someone else is straddling their boyfriend’s lap. None of their kisses meet the guy’s lips, but they don’t care. 

In the midst of the bleak scene, there’s you.

After about thirty minutes of the party, you had become unsure of why you were even there. Something about a new friend dragging you along, something about needing to meet new people. You know it’s certainly true, but a voice in the back of your head nags at you, saying that this feels more pathetic than if you had just stayed home tonight. 

You look around the room for nothing in particular, even though your eyes are analysing every detail they fall on. Maybe you’re praying for just one familiar face. The friend who had dragged you along is long gone, and the longer you think about it, the more you begin to panic. You take a sip of your drink out of desperation; it’s sickly warm and unpleasant going down, but something’s got to calm the nerves. 

You finally get to your feet, deciding to abandon the couple next to you before they go all the way. You walk around the house aimlessly, trying not to bump into the warm bodies all around you. People are dancing like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. They don’t seem to notice how bad the music is, or the sickening combined smell of weed and vomit that seems to hang in every room. You envy this carelessness, the ability to let go of cynicism for a night. 

Miraculously, you manage to push yourself to the front door, letting out a sigh of relief as it swings open and you step out onto the concrete steps. The February air bites you, but you relish the sting of the cold against your ears and nose, letting it seep into the rest of your body. Few people are out here; one person is lying facedown on the grass, passed out. You spot a group of friends walking home, stumbling a little but laughing loudly. What really catches your eye, though, are the faint wisps of cigarette smoke drifting through the air. It’s coming from around the side of the house. You walk towards it, listening to the somewhat foolish hope in your mind that maybe this person is just as miserable as you.

He’s standing there and he’s beautiful. You can’t make out the details of his features in the darkness, but you feel your breathing hitch. Suddenly you’re an idiot for approaching him, because he’s staring at you expectantly and you have nothing to say. His eyebrows are raised as he withdraws the cigarette from his lips. When you take too long to search for words, he spares you further embarrassment and takes the lead. “Party ended up a bit rubbish, didn’t it?”

This seems to pull you out of your stupor. You silently curse yourself before responding, unable to figure why your brain had short-circuited at the sight of the stranger. “Yeah… you know it’s bad when it looks like a 17 year old’s idea of a rager.”

He laughs at this, gracing you with a kind smile. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and offers you a cigarette.

A smoke suddenly sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world.

You’re about to ask for a lighter when he says, “Here, I’ll do it.” You hold the cigarette to your lips while he pulls the lighter out of the same pocket. He holds your wrist to steady your hand, which is shaking slightly from the cold. Your eyes dart away, not wanting to make eye contact while his skin is on yours. It feels so childish to be acting like this around a mystery guy you’ve spoken to for about thirty seconds, but you can’t help it.

The two of you stand there together for the next minute, inhaling and exhaling in unison. It’s dead quiet, and it’s freezing, but it’s cathartic. 

You don’t notice him stealing glances at you, trying to catch every detail in the minimal light. He comes to the conclusion that you seem well worth a night of adventure, which is when he asks, “D’you want to get out of here?”

You look up at him, a little taken aback. “I don’t even know your name…?”

“Matty.”

You pause to think, but then quickly decide against thinking. “I’d love to ditch with you, Matty.”

You’re shocked by your own answer, yet pleasantly surprised. You don’t know what’s made you drop your senses, forget about going home, but you’re a little proud. This is what you had been aching over just earlier tonight. So, as Matty snuffs out his cigarette and you follow suit, you force back the creeping doubt that’s coming through. This is fine. You have your wits about you. You figure anywhere is better than here, anyway.

Matty leads the both of you back around to the front of the house, cautiously stepping around the passed out body on the lawn. He pauses by the front steps. “Anyone you need to let know you’re leaving?”

It’s reassuring that he asks this, but you shrug in a noncommittal manner. “I suppose not, no.” You think back to the girl that had convinced you to come here. She’s sweet to have attempted to take you under her wing, but her attempt was fruitless. You doubt your absence will be noticed, but you take no issue with this. “What about you? Who’re you leaving behind?” you question, suddenly wondering why Matty had been so eager to escape with you – aside from the fact that the party was very clearly only going to get bleaker. He’s charismatic, he’s sweet, he’s much more attractive than you like to admit. It’s a wonder that he isn’t back inside, thriving in the center of everything, everyone.

Matty simply mimics your shrug, but a sly smile is spread across his face. “Ah, they can live without me for a night. Doubt my friends are sticking around much longer, they probably hate it here too.”

You accept his answer. Part of you wants to smile to yourself at this feeling of being at least somewhat desired, being chosen. Especially by Matty, a person who is now consistently piquing your interest. The feeling is new, but it warms you. But maybe the warmth you feel is because Matty has now taken your hand in his, leading you off the lawn and into the street.

“God, you’re freezing,” he mumbles, furrowing his brow as you continue walking together.

You laugh a little at this. “Matty, it’s gotta be subzero right now, of course I’m freezing.”

Matty just hums at this. Without a word, he pulls you much closer to his side. You’re met with the smell of cologne, cigarettes, and what you pick out to be the faintest trace of weed. On most people, this would be repulsive, but there’s something strangely comforting about the scent of Matty, and suddenly you realise you don’t want to be pulled away from his side like this.

Apprehension must be showing on your face, though, because Matty breaks the silence by saying, “I don’t bite, you know. If you’re feeling anxious we can go back, love.”

You look up at him, still somewhat pressed to his side. “No, no,” you say hurriedly, “I actually quite like this.”

This brings a true smile to Matty’s face, and you almost think that’s enough to warm your entire body. It’s a wide smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle up just a bit, and the grip of his arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. “I think I quite like you.”

“Oh, come on now,” you say behind your own smile. “You haven’t asked my name yet, you know.”

Matty stops in his tracks at this, causing you to come to a halt as well. “God, I haven’t!” he exclaims. “I’m so sorry, er… what’s your name, darling?”

You give an exaggerated roll of your eyes and sigh, “I suppose I can tell you it’s [Y/N] now that you’ve finally been a gentleman to me.”

“That’s enough,” he groans. “I swear, I only forgot because I’ve been so enamored with you.”

You can’t quite tell if he’s being serious here, but something in his voice suggests genuineness. At least, that’s what you hope it is. “Enamored, huh?” you ask, trying to prod more out of him.

Matty pretends not to hear you, though, and you decide that’s your cue to move on from the moment. As you walk toward whatever Matty’s destination is, you fill the time with questions about each other. You start with small-talk questions (“What music are you into?” “What brings you to this town?” “Do you have a girlfriend?”), but Matty is more interested in big-talk. He’s very much so determined to open you up, to get inside your head and never leave. It doesn’t even take long before he becomes more and more successful in this venture. You find yourself speaking easily, passionately, with Matty. His conversations aren’t self-serving – they don’t exist for him to be pretentious or for him to talk himself up. His conversations exist because he wants to listen.  He hangs on to every word you say like a lifeline, and you can feel this. You feel his deep, gentle eyes trained on you as you pick the right words to answer his question with.

You’re not even particularly aware anymore of the fact that his arm is still wrapped around you, or that your walk with Matty has diverged from the road and instead led you to a park with winding tree-lined paths. When there’s a lull in the conversation, Matty quickly tells you, “I promise I’m not taking us anywhere dodgy.”

For the first time during this whole adventure, you pull away from him, eyebrows raised. “You know that sounds extremely dodgy, don’t you?”

Matty cocks his head to the side, as if pondering your question. “You’ll just have to trust me then, huh?”

You shove Matty lightly. “I’ve given you the gift of my absolute blind trust this whole night, don’t make me regret it just when I’m starting to have fun.”

Another wide grin spreads across his face. “We’re almost where I wanted to take you, anyway.”

He leads you, hand in hand, through one of the wooded paths. It slowly rises upward on an incline, and you start silently praying that the ground levels out before you break into a sweat, even in the frigid air.

Then, before you even realise, the ground actually has leveled out and you’re at the top of a hill. The pathway Matty led you through has faded into the grass here, and all that lays before you is a grassy field and an inky sky, each stretching into nothingness. Stars speckle the sky and a half moon accompanies them, and it’s all too beautiful.

Matty is watching you, waiting for a reaction. “I think it’s quite spectacular here,” he starts. “It’s all quite plain and mundane – just grass and all that. But that’s sort of spectacular, d’you know what I mean?”

You nod in agreement, turning to look at Matty. He looks like he belongs in this scene, a very small and quiet smile adorning his face. A thin beam of moonlight has fallen across him, and this is the moment you take in every visible detail of him. He could’ve been sculpted by the gods, the way each feature compliments one another so perfectly. You wonder how his curls would feel between your fingers or against your cheek. You wonder if his lips fit with yours.

He’s staring back at you now but neither of you seem to care. Time has frozen still and you both know something will happen, but for this moment neither of you wish to speak it into existence. Every detail of this needs to be memorised.

“Would it be too forward to ask to kiss you?” Matty asks softly.

An hour or two ago you would have left right there and gone home. You think about how pathetic you felt in that living room on the beer-soaked couch. You think about Matty listening so carefully to every word you speak, about how gorgeous he is, about how badly you simply want to kiss him. And you decide that’s enough. Against any reasoning that would’ve told you off for kissing a stranger, you shake your head and let Matty’s lips meet yours. The taste of his cigarette still lingers there, and you savor it. Your lips melt into his, seeking the warmth he provides against the cold night. It's magic; you feel as though you're falling into him. His fingers brush against your cheek, which gives you the courage to raise your own hand to meet his hair, twirling a loose curl around your finger. 

Matty is the first to break the kiss, and when he does, you don’t know where to look. He notices this very quickly and uses his index finger to tilt your head back to face him again. “I’m glad we did that.”

You’re glad too. Something has been planted inside you. It tells you to kiss Matty all over again because maybe all that matters right now is the fact that he is looking at you like an angel has just graced his lips. He is looking at you like you’re the very stars hanging above. And you have never felt something more right than letting yourself kiss him.

“Could we do it again?”

[blizzardstarx]

Pontalo AU Masterlist

LightWings full information!

i did not know how to describe how their names are chosen lmfao, also this took a million years to make

LightWings are one of the seven tribes inhabiting Pontalo. However, they have been nearly wiped out from constant pressure from the BloodWings, having most of their territory taken. Most LightWings have either fled, gone into hiding, or been killed. They are pacifists and believe in peace instead of fighting. Their current queen is Peacekeeper.

Description:

LightWings are bird-like dragons, with feathers running down from their foreheads to around their tail, behind their legs, and below their snout. They have sharp, bird-like talons, and feathered wings that reach a large wingspan. They also have hollow bones and are lightweight. LightWings are slightly shorter than the other tribes, other than the HydroWings, have slim bodies, and come in light, pastel colors. However, their wings are pure white and their other feathers can come in various bright colors. These have been described to attract other LightWings. They have blue or yellow eyes. LightWings also have dapples of luminescent scales running along their necks and legs, and they have curved horns.

LightWing eggs are bright white, and slightly glow when they are hatching.

Diet:

They eat a variety of fruits, as well as hawks, eagles, goats, squirrels, wild pigs, deer, cougars, rabbits, and other birds of prey. They can also somewhat get energy from the sun, which was more potent in ancient times. This was passed down onto their relatives, the SunWings and ShapeWings. However, they have developed to not rely as much on the sun, instead developing an omnivorous diet.

Abilities:

LightWings have light elemental powers, specifically able to shoot light beams out of their mouths as well as manipulate light waves, creating lasers. These are also energy-based, and they take a long time to recharge. LightWings also have healing powers too, which are amplified by herbs they gather and trade from the forest. However, with the threat of the BloodWings, their healing powers have weakened significantly.

Animus magic:

There have been traces of animus LightWings in the past, like the great Lightbringer, but only a few have animus blood now. One, yet unknown, animus is Hopebringer.

Society:

LightWings are considered artistic and creative, able to create songs, dances, which attract partners, and writings. Typical jobs include being a(n) writer, musician, ambassador, guard, dragonet caretaker, healer, and many other jobs.

Ancient era:

LightWings is the most ancient Pontalonian tribe, having populated the whole continent in separate colonies, and are related to the SunWings, HydroWings, MoonWings, and ShapeWings. The colonies were different in many ways, slowly evolving into those four tribes by partnering with other dragon species that would visit Pontalo. They were carefree and good-natured, trading with other colonies and traveling among themselves.

Lightbringer era:

Lightbringer was a powerful animus LightWing that lived during ancient Pontalo. She was known as the protector of the LightWings, as the evolved tribes slowly began to separate, causing conflict and disagreement over territory. The original LightWing colonies were then brought together by Lightbringer, and slowly, she brought peace to Pontalo. Lightbringer is revered as a symbol of greatness by the LightWings, almost like Clearsight to the HiveWings. She first introduced the idea of pacifism and peace to the LightWings.

Modern era:

LightWings were welcoming and trusting to the BloodWings when they arrived, which is leading to their downfall as their attacks continue to pressure them using the element of surprise. Over 75% of the tribe has been killed, and some flee to the unknown land Paradox landed in, going into the protection of the Light Tribe, some hiding, and some trying to reason with the BloodWings. They have become paranoid as a result of the amount of BloodWing ambushes.

Names:

LightWing names are meant to give a sense of hope or good will. They can also be light-themed or inspired by their powers.

Trivia:

LightWings originally did not have that many feathers, they were only dragons with feathered wings.

Paradox believed the LightWings were extinct, until Hopebringer showed up at her school.

[hwanswerland]

ATEEZ @ MAMA 2020 (Inception + Answer) ↳ aka my second Atinyversary 

Summary in case you don't want to read all this: it's been two years since I got into Ateez, I ramble about it, then I tagged my lovely mutuals. I can't believe it's already been two years since Youtube recommended me this video out of the blue and because I was bored and San and Honjoong looked sp pretty on the thumbnail I watched it. Instantly fell in love with Answer and decided that well, if they have one song this good, there have got to be more right? And so began my descent into the kpop (read: Ateez) madness. I didn't expect on December 6th 2020 that two years later I would run a tumblr blog dedicated to the one guy that I actively did not want to bias at first, spend who knows how much money on albums and other merch, go to one of their concerts and scream along with all those other fans despite me thinking I would never have a boy group phase in this life (lol), least of all one starting when I was 21 years old. Not that I regret anything about it :D I realise that these gifs are not actually the most giffable moment for some members, but as this is a very self indulgent set I chose to gif what are moments I still remember reacting to when I saw the first time. Honorary mention to Hongjoong shouting "1, 2, 3 lets BURN" into his mic. If I could gif a sound that would be the first I'd gif because Answer is special to me and I absolutely came to life when he did the same thing at my concert. I started giffing on this blog way later in 2021, around the end of Deja Vu promotions, and for the most part I did not feel very welcome here on Atinyblr lol, for reasons that have nothing to do with anyone I interact with these days. This only very recently changed when I finally joined the atzsource team and actually talked to the people on here. So thank you for being so cool and talking about some things that mean I can finally chill and not feel like an imposter on here anymore. So in no particular order tagging my lovely mutuals that I love seeing on the dash/talking to/admire from afar ♡

@sanchelinz (thank you forever for the file!) @woosansang @jonghho @jeong-yunhoes @jjongho​ @sanhwaiting @woosanhui @jngif @guerrila @yunhogifs @applejongho @xuseokgyu @blueberrysan @jeongyunho99 @chwejongho @strhwaberries @cruellajoong @song-mingi @hwatermelon @seonghwaminho @yukuz

[aroaceleovaldez]

hey! hope this isn't weird but i wanted to know why you think artemis wasn't up to standards even in the original pjo series. you reblogged from me and so i had front row to your tags on the post about zeus jaja i've not seen people talk a lot about her and it got me interested as i'm a classics student!

- @zoebelladona 🌙

HELLO OH BOY okay so I have half a rant already about Artemis in terms of Rick and general aphobic tropes in the series. see: that open letter on twitter. i still need to transfer that to tumblr. fun fact: Rick replied to that post but deleted his reply at some point. probably because two replies after he replied to my post and word-of-god confirmed Reyna to be ace-coded he left social media for a bit.

Fun times! Anyways.

The thing I dislike about Artemis as she's depicted in the series, besides her constantly appearing as a teenager and the aphobic tropes with that [see: open letter linked above] - which on some level is slightly more excusable than other examples given she's a goddess of young women, but given how he writes Athena, Hestia, and the Hunt instead leaves a bad taste in my mouth - and other similar aphobic tropes with her, is her whole weird anti-men thing (which is also, in itself, also an aphobic trope in this particular circumstance). I understand TTC was written in 2007 so that flavor of radical feminism that Artemis and the Hunt is clearly supposed to be was only just coming into major public awareness and the flaws in the ideology (and the inherent bigotry, particularly transphobia and racism that often comes with it) weren't as well recognized at the time. But in hindsight it leaves a really bad taste in my mouth for obvious reasons and is one of the things from the first series that severely aged poorly in my opinion, and I greatly dislike that in every subsequent retcon of the Hunt for other reasons Rick more or less retains that aspect.

Secondly... it doesn't make sense from a mythological standpoint? Because there are multiple examples of men being Hunters in Artemis' retinue. Even ignoring Orion, no matter how you go about shaking that stick (which for the record I really dislike how Rick retconned him in the series/wrote him in HoO), Hippolytus is a very notable example. Literally his big whole original shtick was he joined the Hunt because he didn't like romance and Aphrodite got so pissed about him not needing her (romance) that she killed him. And even when Aphrodite was trying to ruin his life he held on to his virtues and vow to Artemis (refusing advances even when his life was on the line). He is otherwise totally chill and devoted to Artemis. Some versions of his myth has Artemis have him resurrected after he dies (by Asclepius, which is why Asclepius is punished for reviving the dead). This also obviously doesn't address the major glaring logical flaw in Artemis hating all men which is... Apollo. Especially within the series he seems to be an exception for no reason, despite Artemis also very overtly having a "brothers are not an exception to the no-men rule." And from a modern queer standpoint, it obviously begs the question of stuff like gender identity within the Hunt and if you bring back the radfem stuff it gets real bad vibes real fast. Which also sucks when you particularly look at historical/mythological descriptions of Apollo and Artemis and how they very poignantly encompass defying gender roles and expectations particularly within their cultural contexts.

And every time Rick tries to retcon the Hunt, he somehow manages to make it kind of worse, particularly with the oath. I have a whole personal thing for how I think to best rectify all that nonsense in a way that isn't horrible and is related to some of Artemis' aspects in a more sensible way (buried somewhere in this monster of a post. Honestly i'd just recommend ctrl + f search "Hunters" on that post and it should be somewhere near the first ping there). In there I also go into some of my other thoughts for the general meh way the Hunt is written in the series, mostly being aphobic tropes and random death fodder.

So yeah. Basically, tl;dr: I am personally not a huge fan of how Artemis in the series is halfway to being a terf and chock-full of aphobic tropes. And I need Rick to stop retconning things into the ground.

[hyoqa]

pairing: akatsuki hyoga x gn!reader (no prns)

request: is this how you request something? ive been using tumblr for just a couple of days and im not used to anything ...i hope this is okay!

could i request a hyoga x gn reader? where reader is kind of blunt and direct with the things they say and end up confessing to hyoga while training with him out of an accident; like they say "this is why i like you!" and then they get really embarrassed about it, however, they dont deny anything and wait for hyoga's response.

if the term handsome could be used to describe reader i would really appreciate it. have a nice day!!! i absolutely fell in love with how you write this man

warnings: it’s very short, hyoga is sweet again, reader is referred to as handsome

While you were never one to beat around the bush— you didn’t really see a point in it— even you would admit that this was not how you planned to share your feelings with him.

It was truly like any other day, you were forcing him to train with you and through all his complaints of how he wished to train alone and how he wished you would leave him alone, he would always help you. His excuse was always that he had to make sure you weren’t going to hold him back when we have to fight, but you knew he was worried about you and the rest of the village deep down and wished for more people who were capable of fighting. However harsh his words may be, his actions always spoke louder than his words. He was strict and hard when you were sparring, but when he was demonstrating better form for certain moves, he was surprisingly gentle.

It was very obvious that he respected you very much, even if he would never say so ever.

So while others wondered why such a handsome individual as yourself, with so many people eager to get a chance to talk to you, would be so invested in talking to Hyoga of all people, it was because you knew he was not as cold and ruthless as everyone thought he was. Deep inside you were aware he cared for many, even if not everyone.

Today he went on again about how your form was very unproper and how you had blind spots everywhere, putting yourself in complete danger depending on the situation. This was not out of the ordinary, but today you were a little curious how he’d respond if you teased him a little.

“You’re quite sweet aren’t you, Hyoga,” you said.

Immediately, he paused and frowned a little.

“How could you possibly have come to that conclusion?” he asked, scoldingly.

“You may not think so, but it’s rather obvious that you do care,” you said.

“I think you’re rather delusional if anything. I’m just worried you’re not going to last minutes against any modern weapon. As of now I do not wish to imagine what’d happen if you’re against a gun of any sort,” he said, rambling on about potential dangers that you would be utterly unprepared for and it only put a smile to your face. You truly didn’t mean to say it out loud, but this was exactly why you loved him— he cares a lot.

“This is why I like you,” you said, before you could stop the words from spilling out. You were going to make something up and deny the fact, until you saw how caught off guard Hyoga looked. You had never seen him look like that ever.

So instead you stopped and looked at him, absolutely nervous, but serious. After what seemed like forever, he finally said something.

“I don’t understand, why do you like me?” he asked, confused what prompted that statement.

“Oh, because you care,” you said. “You’re sweet.”

His eyes widened and a slight smile, hardly visible, but definitely there, appeared on his face. Never in his life would he have thought you could tell his harsh words came from a place of genuine care. However, he could tell that you had slightly the wrong idea, so he had to make it clear.

“I only care about you,” he said.

[haileymorelikestupid]

Curiosity Killed the Bat

Pairing: Max Phillips x reader

Summary: Max thought he was prepared to finally tell you the truth about what he is. He was dreading it, but he knew it had to be done. He expected the worst. He didn’t expect this.

Warnings/Tags: language, no use of Y/N, soft and not-at-all-cocky Max Phillips

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Nothing says October to me like writing about a vampire while watching college football to procrastinate doing my actual homework. Enjoy the product of my musings about how tf vampires even work. P.S. This should be gender-neutral and non-descriptive but let me know if there’s anything non-inclusive in here and I’ll make the necessary edits :)

“You’re a what?”

This is precisely why Max didn’t want to tell you. He is a selfish son of a bitch and you are too good for him and he was just trying to hang onto you for as long as he could.

He knew it would come to an end; he couldn’t hide it from you forever, and you’re too good to stay once you know what he is. But he was enjoying the delusion. He was enjoying the illusion that you would actually want anything to do with him. You were the best thing that had ever happened in his miserable life slash not-life. Was it so bad to want to hang onto that?

“Baby, please, I know you might be shocked—”

“Oh shocked is not a big enough word for what I’m feeling, Max Phillips.” And you sound so angry, a tinge of hurt coloring your tone, and Max doesn’t think he can handle this. He’d rather you stake him right now.

“Okay, yes, you’re angry, and you have every right to be—”

“Well I am so glad I have your permission.”

Now he’s panicking. He’s been stressed out since he decided to start this conversation but now he’s really panicking because now he’s being condescending and he wasn’t trying to, seriously, and this is all going even worse than he thought.

Slick, suave Max Phillips is at a total loss.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. Please believe me. I know I should have told you sooner, but I knew this would happen and I’m a shitty, selfish, monster of a being and I wanted to have you for as long as I could.”

Here it comes, he thinks. Here’s the breakup you expected but never wanted and it’s going to hurt more than you could have possibly imagined. Have fun living with this for a literal eternity.

“Yeah, Max, you should have told me sooner, and I’m not happy that you didn’t.” And now your tone is more disappointed than before and fuck, he’s changed his mind, he’ll take the anger back. Anything but the disappointment.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, okay?!” It’s a desperate exclamation and the Max Phillips of a few months ago would be embarrassed at the lack of control in his words. “I knew this would happen when I told you, I knew you would leave me, and I wanted to put it off for as long as possible!”

There. It’s out. Vulnerability that Max has always struggled with showing itself when it’s too late. Maybe he should have told you how much you mean to him sooner. Maybe it would help him now. He’ll never know, though. Within the next five minutes, you’ll probably be out the door and he’ll be left thinking about what he should have, could have, would have done.

“Leave you? Who the hell said anything about leaving you?”

If snapping necks worked on vampires, he would have just unintentionally ended his own existence with how quickly he turned to look at you. He is utterly baffled, and after multiple attempts the only thing he can get out is a meek, “Isn’t that what’s about to happen?”

“Um, no? Why would I leave you when I have so many questions?” you ask, brow furrowed with genuine confusion etched across your face.

Okay… so you’re not leaving yet? Is that what’s happening? You’ll ask him a series of cliché questions, decide you don’t like his answers or his existence in general, and then you’ll leave?

It gets him a few more minutes with you, right? Better than nothing, he supposes.

“Questions?”

“Yes, Max, questions.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“Oh, I’m livid.”

His answering wince must be more obvious than he meant for it to be. Your brows lift just a tad, your shoulders drop, and your voice has lost part of its edge when you speak again. “I’m not mad at you for being a vampire, babe.”

Okay, he seriously has no idea what the hell is going on. Your words are equally as confusing as the use of the pet name.

“Then why are you mad?” He knows it’s a stupid question, yes, but he can’t help but ask it.

You sigh, a small sound, and it’s not even that frustrated. Maybe just… exasperated? Almost fondly so? Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me sooner. There’s so much we could have already talked about!”

And he doesn’t even want to ask, honestly. He knows that you’ll want to know all the gruesome details: how he was turned, does he kill people, all the things that he’ll answer even though he knows it only heightens the chances of you leaving, even if you said you weren’t. “Like what?” he asks, and it’s already so defeated.

“Um, where do I even start?”

And he sighs as you think a little bit, but before he can open his mouth to start telling his story or whatever, you speak again.

“I mean, first of all, just off the top of my head, do you digest blood?”

What.

The.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry?” is the only thing that he can get out.

“Well, it obviously has some nutritional value to you, but how does that work with organ function and all? You’re like, technically dead, right? Except you still have some organ functioning, so… which ones?”

“Which… ones?”

“Yeah, which organs work? I mean the consensus of vampire lore is that your heart doesn’t beat but your brain obviously works. If you need blood as sustenance, is your digestive system functioning, too? Do you have to breathe? What determines which organs you need to stay – well, maybe not alive, but existing? I guess?”

“I am so confused right now.”

“Uh, yeah, me too, Max! Why do you think I’m asking you?!”

His brain is so stuck that he can’t figure out any other response except, “So, you’re not leaving me?”

You do some sort of half-sigh, half-scoff and throw your hands up before letting out an emphatic, “No, Max, I already told you I’m not leaving you.”

“But you’re mad at me?”

“Yes, I’m mad! I could have already been picking your brain about all this stuff and you’ve prevented me from experiencing that joy until now!”

The two of you have just been a few feet apart in his living room this whole time, but now he needs to sit down. He crosses to his couch and collapses on it before burying his face in his palms. He doesn’t need the deep breath that he takes, but the motion makes him feel better. More stable.

The warmth of your body close to his just precedes your careful hand on his shoulder. Your voice is soft and concerned when you say his name.

He knows he should pick his head up and look at you, but he doesn’t feel ready to just yet. He needs just another moment to reorient himself in this conversation before he can face it.

You speak again before he can muster up the courage to say something. “I’m not really mad. I wish you had told me sooner, but I’m not mad at you. I’m just nosy and want to know everything all the time. And I have a lot of questions that the internet isn’t really able to answer.”

He chuckles softly, just a couple of quick exhales through his nose, and he finally feels able to look up and meet your eyes. When he does, he notices the soft smile gracing the corners of your lips and the way your brows aren’t furrowed anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I know.”

“You’re just so good. Too good for me. And I figured that once you knew what I really was, you’d never want to be with me. I didn’t want to let you go yet.”

“Oh, my love. I’m sorry if I did something to make you think that. You’re everything to me. It might take a minute for me to fully comprehend that you’re a vampire, but I know you, and I have no intention of leaving you.”

God, you’re perfect. It’s the only explanation. You are the most perfect person ever created and he is wretched, but somehow the universe has decided to give him the best thing it has to offer.

He lets his hand float up to your face, lets the backs of his fingers brush over your chin and up until he’s smoothing his fingers over your cheek. His thumb rubs gently over the space just below your eye, and he revels in the warmth he feels below the skin.

What’s two bombshells in one day, he decides.

“I love you.”

Your smile loosens in favor of your lips opening on an exhale, and your eyebrows raise. Your eyes are round and open and gleaming, and if he weren’t already immortal, the way his reflection in them is outlined in fondness would be enough to make him so.

He doesn’t have time to think about whether he should add some sort of qualifier, some sort of statement that you don’t have to feel the same, because he feels the breath of your response against his wrist when you say, “I love you, too.”

A few gentle kisses later, you pull away and your face changes, a slight smirk and a hint of mirth in your eyes as you say, “Okay, so can you answer my questions now? Digesting blood, yes or no?”

His answering laugh echoes through the room, and his non-beating heart swears to always answer whatever you ask.

[woosansang]

hi friends

sorry I disappeared without saying much of anything. nothing really happened for those who were worried, I just got busy with work and personal life. things are mostly good rn but I just can't see myself having time for giffing or tumblr for a little bit as work continues to get even crazier (im a year 12 teacher and it's the end of semester aka exam and major assessment season). as has been with the last 2 cbs, idk if I'll be around during promos to gif and rb all of your creations, but I do hope to get back into giffing and seeing what all my beloveds have made once I get a break from work next month. I can't promise I'll rb everything that's been building up in my tag, but I'll do my best to engage with those who have made tumblr such a wonderful place for me these past few years.

idk what the point of this is. ig I'm just trying to explain where I've been and where i will be for the next little while and assure anyone who was worried that things are okay. I will remain on semi hiatus for the time being and tbh I think it'll stay that way for the foreseeable future.

thank you to those who sent me asks and messages for my birthday a few weeks ago and I am so sorry I disappeared at the worst time once again. your wishes did not go unseen or unloved.

see yall around 💜

[blackhairedjjun]

sorry i keep sliding into ur inbox 😭 its just that every jjunie thought i have i think of you

childhood bsf yeonjun’s mom owned a quaint little restaurant, a place that became their second home. yeonjun loved inviting you over, his heart pounding with excitement every time you agreed to come.

yeonjun’s mom adored you, her heart warming every time she saw you two together. she secretly wished for them to become more than friends, seeing the spark in yeonjun’s eyes every time he looked at you.

jjunie loved cooking for you, his heart swelling with pride every time you complimented his cooking. he’d spend hours perfecting a dish, all to see the sparkle in your eyes when you tasted it.

he often insisted on feeding you, his heart fluttering every time you accepted a spoonful from him. he loved the way your eyes lit up with every bite, your happiness making him fall for you even more.

you often found yourself blushing around yeonjun, his caring gestures making your heart race. you loved his cooking, your heart fluttering every time he looked at you with those sparkling eyes.

yeonjuns mom often caught you two sharing these intimate moments, her heart swelling with joy. she loved seeing them together, her heart secretly hoping that you two would realize your feelings for each other.

jjune loved the way your face lit up when you tasted his mom's cooking. he’d often find himself lost in your laughter, your happiness becoming his favorite sound.

every time you visited, jjunes mom would make you and jjunes favorite dishes. she loved seeing you two enjoy the food, her heart filled with joy at your shared happiness.

AAAAAAA THIS IS SO SWEET 🥹 i wrote a lil scenario i hope you don’t mind!!

— 

"ta-da~" with a flourish, yeonjun laid down a plate of freshly baked melon pan in front of you. "my mom and i baked it together, for you!"

yeonjun watched you intently, his heart skipping a beat as your eyes sparkled at the pile of bread in front of you. you started to reach out for a bun only for him to pout and stop you with his own hand. all you could do was give him a teasing smile and a giggle, which didn't help his already soft heart.

he chose the biggest bun for you to eat; he laid it down on your plate and tore off a piece to feed to you. at the first bite your eyes scrunched up in delight, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling in between your chewing. the melon pan was still warm from the oven, soft and chewy, and the cookie-crusted topping melted in your mouth.

yeonjun loved watching you eat, and now he felt light at the sight of you enjoying the bread that he and his mother had baked together with so much care.

you gushed over his baking as you took a few more bites. "it's so good! the bread is so soft - like you!" you reached out to pinch his cheeks.

"hey!" he squealed but giggled anyway at your fingers giving his cheeks a firm squish.

you couldn't help laughing too. "you're so cute, jjunie," you cooed. "you're softer than my bread."

your words made him flush pink, and even you noticed his cheeks growing warm from the touch of your fingers. you let go and it dawned on you just how close his face was to yours.

"um... you have a little..." yeonjun reached out and placed a warm hand on your face, his thumb brushing away a stray crumb from the corner of your lips. he didn't take his hand off after doing it, instead cupping your face, and your own gaze drifted from his eyes to his own lips. your heart raced, and the feelings you'd had for him for so long began to bubble to the surface.

"yeonjun..."

his face inched closer to yours. he was testing the waters. could it be that he felt the same way? you leaned forward, your eyelids drifting shut...

"y/n! you're he-- oh, was i interrupting something?"

"mom!"

both of you snapped back to your seats as yeonjun's mother approached you. first she hugged her son, his cheeks still flushed as he leaned to hug her back, then you. she always gave you an extra squeeze when she hugged you - you were family to her, after all.

"so," she said, "how was the melon pan? it was my healing's idea to introduce it to the pastry menu!"

"it's lovely, so soft and sweet. i'm sure the customers would love it."

"oh, they better!" yeonjun's mother giggles - it sounds like a fuller version of her son's own laugh. "we make our bread fresh and with so much love, you know."

maybe it was just your mind reeling from your moment with yeonjun, but you couldn't help but notice the way she drawled out the word love. she squeezed your shoulders one last time before wishing you well and heading back to the restaurant kitchen. as she left, yeonjun glanced at her and she gave him a knowing smile that even he couldn't decipher.

she knew about the love between you, even more than either of you did, and it was only a matter of time before you both realized it too.

[shamemp3]

submitted my exam. that was the last ever thing to do for this undergrad 🚧 im free (inshallah, if all my grades come out good)