#looser code

[kedarasish]

KEDARASISH DEY ART

[hyunpic]

daily gifs until hyune day: what can’t he do? — talented singer-songwriter, rapper, dancer, choreographer, producer, model. some other talents including: swimming, football, painting/drawing, pottery & photography: “the moment i realize, oh, i can love this too! my world expands. if i keep discovering new things that i enjoy, there’s no end to it. who knows? maybe three years from now, i’ll be completely obsessed with fishing. just imagine how happy i’d be watching the fish swimming in the water! thinking about what i might come to love in the future makes me look forward to tomorrow a little more”

[goldinrod]

j-j-juuump!

[the-dragon-girl-27]

Thinking bout Kid Icarus... man I miss this game

bonus:

heres the sketch for this, normally i don't post sketches but i like the vibes of this one so ill show it off, especially cuz i accidentally changed the color scheme for the final version oops

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

rip bison you would have made an excellent yandere anime girl

[queen-scribbles]

Sooo guess what me and bro snuck in mid-week? :D

that's right, a little extra Tala & Bottlen! (does it count as extra if we weren't able to do Sunday like we wanted?)

I finally got to do Speak With Dead to get some awesome badass screenies of my girl, we laughed about the height difference (Bottlen maybe comes to Tala's waist. She can throw him like a heavily armored football)

(twinsies!)

Halsin looked at Tala like this

and Bottlen won(?) the coin flip for who got to have Volo-induced heterochromia :D

he looks so. excited. guys. not at all experiencing trepidation about this.

I'm sure it'll be fine.

absolutely peachy. He does look good with the new eye tho.

And we beat the githyanki patrol! Even though I'd forgotten to swap in fireball for Gale! And I got a really pretty shot of my girl

We're doing Mountain Pass, then the Underdark so Tala can have the Blood of Lathander first, so we got to have a very fun conversation with Lady Esther since B is a gnome

followed by Gale rolling a NAT 20 STRENGTH CHECK to fix the ferry pulley when I forgot to swap back to Tala before trying it

this is why she drags you everywhere, dude. That and being culinary besties. (she's gonna want to punch Mystra in the face after Elminster's message)

[chaoticgenderfae]

Link, specifically, in Breath of the Wild; you will never convince me any incarnation of Link is entirely cis, especially not that one.

Gorou definitely has something going on with the whole Ms. Hina thing. Kazuha can and should have an interesting approach to gender. I've written Kaveh as transfem nonbinary in one of my fics.

I've seen some very interesting transfem Percy Jackson fics and headcanons, and it fits surprisingly well. There's a surprising amount of points throughout the series where it just makes so much sense

Sunday having a certain revelation after joining the Astral Express (who are all some flavor of queer, naturally) would be fun and interesting.

And, having once read a complete rewrite of the Inheritance Cycle featuring transfem Eragon (and far more queer characters in general), it's very fitting and very excellent.

If you see this post you’re legally required to tell me at least one trans woman headcanons you have for a canonically male character, I never get to see transfem headcanons like that, give me them, and for equality of my own please know estrogen could have saved Insector Haga and Dinosaur Ryuzaki I will not elaborate, also Yuya.

[pikkuisesti-paskaa]

A demon twins au that I have been thinking about for a while

Danyal and Damian find out that Ra's intends to have them fight to death for the title of heir so they decide to have a duel during a mission and fake the loosers death. This way the stronger one gets to have the title, just like how Ra's wanted, but they wouldn't have to kill eachother. They don't want to disobey their grandfather, but surely this would have the same result without unneeded tragedy.

Damian wins so he claims that he killed Danny for being weak. They promised to never try to contact eachother so the league would not find out. They wouldn't know eachothers situations from the outside after all. They couldn't risk it. After years Danny knows that Damian is Robin in Gotham but doesn't know if hes out of the league or not. Damian has no idea where Danny is and never told the batfam.

Then some magican tries to kill Robin by summoning his dead brother to exact revenge. Damian is sure that the summoning will not work because Danny should be alive and well, only to be devastated to see the ghost of his brother appear from the summoning circle.

Additional thoughts. They have their own code made up of sign, gestures, and body language they can use to communicate hidden meanings behind their words or just completely different things. They have mastered the art of having a private conversation while to outsiders it looks like they're verbally ripping eachother to shreds. I can see them using this to figure out how to deal with the situation while keeping up the ruse. Maybe the bats come in and deal with the mage while Damian and Danny are "arguing" and "antagonizing" each other. While in reality Damian is convincing Danny that the bats can be trusted and Danny is debating if the risk of revealing everything is worth it, and if its already too late not to. And when they agree on dropping the act the bats get whiplash from the arguing turning into a tight hug in a second.

[totallyxtaurus]

Depollute me, gentle angel pt.2

Summary: Sylus is away on a business trip while you sink deeper into your depressive episode. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader Genre: Angst, some fluff (maybe, hopefully!) Trigger Warnings: depression, mental health struggles, anxiety, self-neglect, and hints of suicide. A/N: I hope this doesn't feel too rushed! I'm still trying to figure out a good pacing of how I should break these up without them being too long or too short. Posted too quickly or not quick enough, so any advice would be very welcomed and appreciated! I hope I did Sylus justice with his responses, I just took what I would want to hear essentially. But, Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! album is so Sylus coded. I got so many ideas for other fics, so stay tuned! And again, please please please take sweet care of yourselves! 💗

Prev

The chime echoes through the apartment, and for a moment there’s nothing. No footsteps, no shuffle of movement inside. Sylus exhales, fingers softly tapping on the doorframe while he waits. He already knows. He had known the moment communication stopped, when his calls went to voicemail, when even the short, tired texts faded into silence. At first, he assumed you were just busy, needing space. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—if it were up to you, you wouldn’t come back at all. He began doing his own investigation, looking up the traits you portrayed usually compared to these moments of time and he found his answer. So, he started paying attention. Comparing your usual habits to these stretches of absence. Watching for the patterns. Having Mephisto follow you to your therapist’s office had only confirmed what he already suspected.

As advised, he gave you time—three days, exactly. Then the calls began, gentle and steady, each one a quiet pull back to him. Each time, he waited for you to let him in, to say something. But instead, he got excuses. Busy with work. Out with friends. His personal favorite: just sleeping. It’s almost amusing, how you seem to forget he has your location. He always knows where you are. 

Sylus toys with the key in his hand, should he, or shouldn’t he? Would this cross a line? You had given this to him for an emergency, wouldn’t this be considered one? It has been a full week without hearing from you. He never lets it go this long but work held him up so he couldn’t do his usual routine. He continued to ponder the ethics of his decision until he heard it, movement. A sign of life behind the door that still won’t open up for him. That’s it, he decides and inserts the key. 

As the door swings open, a gust of stale air hits him, thick with stillness. His eyes immediately scan the space, searching for the life he just heard. But as he steps inside, it’s clear- the main rooms haven’t been touched in days, especially the kitchen. He moves toward the bedroom when the bathroom door suddenly swings open. 

Both of you freeze, staring at one another in shock. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking in the hollowed eyes, the tangled hair, the way your clothes sit wrong on you—looser in some places, clinging in others— like they were meant to fit differently but now just hang, like an afterthought. His chest tightens—not in disgust, never that— but in a quiet, constrained ache. He swallows it down, he knows letting you see that pain won’t help. Instead, he inhales, careful, and controlled. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, he hears it. 

Get out 

The words reach him, but his mind trips over them, grasping for meaning. 

For a second, all Sylus processes is the sound of your voice—hoarse, unsteady, faint, as if it took all your energy to speak at all. His mind is still trying to catch up, to piece everything together. But that’s when he really sees you. The way you stand there stiffly, eyes shining with unshed tears, flickering to anything that isn't him. As if meeting his gaze would break your resolve. The tension in your jaw, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shoulders hunched forward, as if you’re shielding yourself from him. And then he sees it—fear. Shame. They were there all along, laced with the exhaustion and neglect. Deeply settled, lingering long before he walked in the door. He had been so focused on finding you, making sure you were safe, that he hadn’t realized—you didn’t want to be found. Not like this. 

The tightness in his chest twisting further, a quiet reminder of his mistake. Instead, he exhales in that same rehearsed way.

"Sweetie," he tries again. His voice was low, full of gentleness. Less of a greeting, more of a reassurance. He’s not going anywhere. 

You just shake your head, a silent refusal, as if willing for him to disappear. Your stance is firm, guarded. But Sylus isn't someone who retreats at the first sign of a challenge. Especially not when it's you. 

"I know kitten, I know you don't want me to see you like this. And I know you think that pushing me away will make everything easier for you, for me. But it won't, it hasn't. You don't have to do this alone." 

He sees the tears start to fall, a quiet surrender that he takes as a response. Without hesitation, he continues, his voice softer but unwavering.

Taking a small step forward, slow yet deliberate as he speaks, "Just focus on me for a second, okay? Forget about everything else, it's just us. Can you breathe with me, my love?" As he demonstrates with measured, even breaths. Never forcing, just offering, hoping it will bring your attention back to the present instead of whatever thoughts you're trapped in.

He notices the way your hunched shoulders drop, relaxing slightly, and how your clenched arms finally loosen their grip on your body. He continues to encourage you, taking slow, careful steps closer. 

"You don’t have to do anything big. I’m not here with any expectations. Why don’t we just sit down? We don’t have to talk, I’ll just sit with you, if that’s okay." His voice is soft, low, coaxing. 

Sylus notices the immediate shift in your demeanor as you register his close proximity-the shield coming back as your body goes rigid once again. You close back in on yourself and take a step back. 

You should go. I stink and I'm sure I look horrific; you mutter as your hand comes up to your face to shield it. His heart pangs, but he doesn't let his expression falter. He can't afford to let you see how much it hurts him that you're hiding from him like this. He takes another small step closer, never pushing, just allowing the space between the both of you to remain as it is. He doesn't want to make you feel trapped, but he wants to show you, prove to you, that he's not leaving.

"Kitten," his voice steady and carrying a weight of reassurance deeper than words can convey. "I'm not leaving. If I wanted to, I would. You know I don't do things I don't want to. But I'm here, for however long you want me around. I'm yours." 

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Why?" you ask, voice cracking. "Look at me, smell me, Sylus. Jesus Christ I'm disgusting. Why would you want to stay? Are you nuts?" 

"It's been suggested," he cuts in, his tone remaining gentle yet firm. Finally, you look up at him, and the anger in your gaze takes him by surprise but he holds his ground. 

"You just don't get it," you emphasize, your words sharp and full of frustration. "What's there to get?" he wonders but doesn't dare to speak it. "Sweetie," he says tenderly, "if this is you at your worst, then I've suffered far worse than this. You think I haven't smelled, or hit rock bottom before? When I did-or if I do sometime in the future, would you leave me? Would you push me away" 

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, your voice tinged with exasperation. His lips quirk into a soft smirk, his eyes never leaving yours.  

"Can I hold your hand?" he whispers, watching you closely, waiting for your response. You hesitate, then barely nod, just enough for him to catch it. He takes your hand in his, lifting it gently to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it.  

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way your face scrunches up, a grimace of discomfort, but the smile on his lips remains warm and unwavering. 

"How about this," he continues, "I'll make you something small to eat. You don't have to finish it. Just one bite. No pressure."  

You pause, your mind working through his offer. Until, after a moment, your shoulders sag in defeat, and with a sigh, you agree. Your hand still secured in his, he leads you to the kitchen, placing another kiss on the top of your head before turning to the fridge to pull out what little food there is. 

"After we eat, can you shower with me?" The words barely escape your lips, so faint that for a moment he's unsure he heard them. He looks at you, hoping his love for you radiates in his gaze.

"Of course," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "Whatever you want, my dove." He watches as the faintest of smiles flicker across your face, the kind of smile he's willing to wait for, no matter how long it takes. 

Tag list: @withering-dream @madam8 @t4naiis @sunhooniez

[4pfsukuna]

California king bed

Debrief: its 1:12am and neither you or satoru can sleep, Suguru has a solution.

Warning: satoru is a sore looser who sucks at rock, paper, scissors. Satosugu x Black coded reader.

Suguru stirs slightly in his sleep when he hears your soft giggles. He was never a rough sleeper but  he loved laying in the California king sized bed lovers not far, to him this was peace. A lazy Wednesday afternoon when it's raining the soft pitter patter of rain hitting the window Gojos long ass leg thrown over you and him—

—your r&b playing as he alternates between running a thumb over his calf and leaving soft little kisses on your temple curls that slipped out from under your purple satin scarf tickling his chin. He knows your scarf is going to slide off soon and you’d complain all morning so he adjust it eyes half lidded.

But it wasn’t Wednesday afternoon, it was Sunday morning approximately 1:12 am, the pitch black being illuminated by the glow of Satorus  bright blue eyes and the slight bickering of you two.

It's when he hears Gojo suck his teeth and “no, best 2 out of 3” the soft clicks of your acrylic nails and then “wait princess 3 out of 5” that he hears your giggle again.

“You're hogging him and I want my time” he hears Satoru whine before he feels your body press further into him. There's the strong scent of your vanilla lotion and caramel scented leave in conditioner followed by a cool breeze in the room but he knows thats absolutely not the reason you moved closer.

“So what! you lost at rock paper scissors 7 times im not sharing so you can cuddle him, fuck you” he hears you whisper yell to the snow haired man and his eyes snap open. You two were up disrupting his sleep with a fucking rock paper scissors game to see who got to cuddle him?! 

He felt his eye twitch…twice before a smile falls on his face and before he knows it he’s laughing ending the bickering between you two. You two were the biggest idiots and had a strange way of making him feel so loved. You both wanted him? 

You both wanted him.

Oftentimes in your relationship he felt he was fighting Satoru for your attention and oh did that man have a slick way of getting exactly what he wanted. He’d pout and huff and puff and he was equally in love with satoru so he knew once the man got pouty it was hard to not give him his way, hard not to bend to his wants.

But hearing you fight Satoru to be close to Suguru? He only wishes he let it go on a bit longer. He craved your affection.

Rolling on his back he looks over at the two of you seeing the pure love and adoration in both your eyes he can’t help the way his heart skips a beat. 

“If i sleep in the middle will you two shut up?” He asks teasingly, pulling you from the middle to his left side letting you curl up and throw your leg over his thick thighs. He pays you no mind as you stick your tongue out at Satoru before yanking him closer, his head immediately resting on Sugurus' chest directly across from yours, flicking your tongue.

“I could hollow purple your tongue right now and—“ he begins his empty threat until you roll your eyes and cut him off making sure your leg brushes his.

“You wouldn’t! You like the thing i do with my tongue” you smirk closing your eyes feeling  Suguru plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.  

“What?! She threatened me and mmpph—“ you peek an eye open to see Suguru pressing his lips against Satoru watching how he melts into it all fight dying on his tongue any leftover battle being licked out by Sugurus tongue. 

The dark haired man pulls him down to his chest and you watch as Satoru complys looks overly contempt with himself closing his eyes. He hums when your hand finds a way to his hair nails on his scalp, his fluffy white hair covering your hand.

Suguru watches the whole interaction fighting to keep his eyes open and admires the both of you falling asleep in a pile of tangled limbs and love for another, there's no place he'd rather be. 

So yes he might like wednesday but he also loves Sundays at 1am during the spring  when both of his lovers are curled into his sides blocking him from leaving the California king sized bed.

 He loves Sundays at 1am during the spring when you’re dressed in nothing but his oversized tshirt and Satoru is in a deep sleep occasionally squeezing him or curling more into his side.

He loves Sunday at 1am during the spring when it’s still dark outside, still quiet… still. Because he has several more hours in bed with both of you, more time to get rest, more time to admire you both, more time to love and feel loved as he pulls the both of you closer. 

Sinking further into the pillows he lets sleep takeover the glow of the city 20 floors down from the penthouse lost behind the black out curtains, the city sounds of cars and horns lost from so high up the only sound is breathing and the steady thumping you hear of Sugurus heartbeat.

[latanyalove]

Missed You

Pairing: Revolutionary Sabo x Y/N

Dialogue: Seeing Sabo after he went on a mission for a year made you acknowledge your feelings for Sabo.

A/n: I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing this! <3

The dust swirled around your boots as you stood on the docks of Baltigo, squinting against the harsh sunlight. A year. It had been a whole year since you last saw him. A year of coded messages, hurried updates through carrier pigeons, and restless nights spent staring at the ceiling, tracing the constellations and missing your best friend.

The Wind Granma, one of the Revolutionary Army's sleekest ships, was finally pulling in, its sails billowing and snapping in the salty breeze.

You told yourself you were here for duty, to help unload supplies and debrief returning scouts. You certainly weren't here, heart hammering against your ribs, to catch a glimpse of straw-blonde hair and a familiar, lopsided grin.

You busied yourself with checking the inventory manifest on your datapad, pretending not to notice as the ramp lowered and figures began disembarking. You recognized Koala, her bright orange hair a beacon amidst the crowd. Hack was there too, his stoic face unreadable as always. But then, you saw him.

Sabo.

He looked…different. Taller, maybe. More weathered. His familiar blue coat seemed to hang a little looser on his frame, suggesting he'd lost weight.

His eyes, usually bright with mischief, held a depth that spoke of battles fought and victories won, but also of hardships endured. A new scar bisected his left eyebrow, a stark white line etched against his tan skin. It made him look even more…dangerous.

Your breath hitched. You told yourself to stay calm, to remain professional. He was just another soldier returning from a mission.

You were a valuable member of the Revolutionary Army, respected for your strategic mind and unwavering dedication. You couldn't afford to let emotions cloud your judgment, especially not now.

He scanned the crowd, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on Koala, then Hack, before finally landing on you. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

A slow smile spread across his face, the one that always made your stomach flip and your carefully constructed defenses crumble.

"Well, if it isn't Y/N," he called out, his voice rougher than you remembered. "Working as hard as ever, I see."

You forced a neutral expression, lifting your gaze from the datapad. "Sabo," you acknowledged, your voice betraying none of the chaotic emotions swirling within you. "Welcome back. Debriefing is scheduled for 1400 hours. Be punctual."

He chuckled, a warm, familiar sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Always the stickler for rules, aren't you?" He started walking towards you, his gait confident and easy. You tried to maintain your distance, subtly shifting behind a stack of crates.

"Just ensuring efficiency," you replied, keeping your eyes fixed on the datapad. "The Revolutionary Army can't afford to waste time."

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that you could smell the sea salt and gunpowder clinging to his clothes, a potent reminder of the life he led, the life you were both committed to.

"And how have you been, Y/N?" he asked, his voice softening. "Keeping busy, I presume?"

"Extremely," you said, your fingers tightening around the datapad. "We've been planning the next phase of the operation. It requires all my attention."

You risked a quick glance at him. He was still smiling, but there was something else in his eyes now, a knowing glint that made you uneasy. He wasn't buying your act for a second.

"Of course," he said smoothly. "The revolution always comes first." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "Anything else keeping you occupied? New strategies to implement? Perhaps... a new love interest to distract you?"

The question was laced with a playful teasing, but you could detect a hint of underlying seriousness. You bristled, your cheeks flushing slightly despite your best efforts.

"Don't be ridiculous," you snapped, finally meeting his gaze. "My priorities are firmly in place. And I hardly have time for… distractions."

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Is that so? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're working awfully hard to avoid making eye contact with me."

Damn him. He always knew how to get under your skin. You opened your mouth to retort, but he cut you off.

"Relax, Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing. "I'm just teasing. But I have missed you."

The admission, so simple and direct, stole the air from your lungs. You wanted to deny it, to tell him you hadn't missed him at all, that you were perfectly fine without him. But the words caught in your throat.

You looked away, focusing on a distant seagull circling overhead. "I'm sure you were very busy on your mission," you mumbled, hoping he wouldn't notice the tremor in your voice.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You instinctively flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sounds of the docks. "Look at me."

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. But you knew you couldn't resist him forever. Slowly, reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his.

His gaze was intense, unwavering. He saw right through your carefully constructed facade, to the longing and vulnerability you tried so hard to conceal. The smile faded from his face, replaced by a look of tenderness and understanding.

"I see right through you, love," he whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "You've missed me too."

The dam broke. All the carefully constructed walls you had built around your heart crumbled, washed away by a tidal wave of emotion. You wanted to deny it, to maintain your composure, but you couldn't.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You tried to blink them away, but they streamed down your face, hot and unbidden.

"Don't," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't do this."

He cupped your face in his hands, his touch gentle and reassuring. "Don't do what? Acknowledge that we care about each other? That we've been apart for too long?"

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming emotions. It was no use fighting it. He knew you too well. He always had.

"It's just… it's difficult," you said, your voice trembling. "This life… it's not easy. We're constantly risking everything. And when you're gone… it's like a part of me is missing."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "I know, Y/N. I feel the same way. But that's what makes it so important, isn't it? To hold onto those connections, to cherish the moments we have together."

He tilted your head back, looking deeply into your eyes. "I promise you, I'll always come back to you. No matter what happens, no matter how long I'm gone, I'll always find my way back."

You swallowed hard, struggling to regain your composure. "You can't promise that," you said, your voice laced with fear. "This is war. Anything can happen."

He smiled, a confident, reassuring smile that chased away the shadows of doubt. "I know the risks, Y/N. But I also know what's worth fighting for. And you… you're worth fighting for."

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours in a light, tentative kiss. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that he was here, that he was real, that you weren't alone.

You closed your eyes, melting into the kiss. It was a simple kiss, but it spoke volumes. It spoke of longing, of devotion, of the unbreakable bond that connected you.

You pulled away slightly, your heart still pounding in your chest. "Sabo," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Yes, love?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Debriefing is still scheduled for 1400 hours," you said, a hint of your old formality returning. "Don't be late."

He chuckled, throwing his head back in laughter. "Of course, Commander," he said, his voice filled with amusement. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He winked, then turned and walked towards the main headquarters, leaving you standing on the docks, a warm smile gracing your lips.

The dust still swirled around your boots, but now, it felt like a celebration. The sun seemed brighter, the air sweeter. He was back. And for now, that was all that mattered.

You knew the challenges ahead wouldn't disappear. The war was still raging, and the future was uncertain.

But with Sabo by your side, you knew you could face anything. Because you had each other. And that was a revolution worth fighting for. . . .

The fluorescent lights of the Revolutionary Army headquarters hummed, a monotonous drone that mirrored the exhaustion thrumming in your own temples. Hours had bled into one another since Sabo had returned.

Hours spent poring over the maps he’d brought back, charting new territories, analyzing political landscapes, and searching for any sign of the World Government's ever-tightening grip. The war room, usually a hive of bustling activity, was now mostly deserted, save for you and the scattered remnants of hastily consumed coffee cups and half-eaten rations.

The debriefing had run long, you knew. You could hear snippets of it through the thick walls – heated discussions about strategic alliances, hushed whispers about potential threats, and Sabo’s steady, commanding voice cutting through the chaos.

You told yourself you weren't listening for his voice specifically. You told yourself you were focused solely on the task at hand, on deciphering the intricate details of the maps spread before you.

But the truth, as it often did, felt like a heavier weight.

Your eyes traced the contours of an unfamiliar island, your finger gliding over a network of rivers you'd never seen before. You were tired, bone-tired.

The relentless pace of the Revolution rarely allowed for rest, and Sabo's return, while a welcome relief and a vital push for progress, had only amplified the pressure.

You knew what was at stake. You knew the importance of every detail, every strategic advantage. But your mind felt sluggish, your focus wavering.

You rubbed your temples, trying to ward off the encroaching headache that threatened to derail your train of thought completely.

“Still working?”

The voice sent a jolt through you, a current of awareness that had nothing to do with the maps and everything to do with him. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

His presence filled the room, a familiar warmth that both comforted and unsettled you.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your expression carefully neutral. "Just finishing up." You gestured vaguely at the maps, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand. "These are… comprehensive. Thank you."

Sabo closed the distance between you, his eyes, the color of a stormy sea, searching your face. The years hadn’t been kind to him, etching lines of worry and determination around his eyes and mouth.

But they had also made him… more. More powerful, more confident, more devastatingly attractive.

“You look exhausted,” he said, his voice soft, laced with concern. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before you could react. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the intimacy you had both tried so hard to bury.

You flinched, pulling away slightly. "I'm fine. Just… a long day."

He didn’t retract his hand, letting it hover in the air for a moment before slowly dropping it to his side. The small gesture spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment of the invisible barrier you had erected between you.

“The debriefing ran late,” he explained, his tone apologetic. “Dragon wanted to go over every detail.”

“I figured.” You kept your voice even, your eyes focused on the intricate lines of the map. "It's important."

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the lights. You could feel his gaze on you, assessing, questioning. You knew what he saw: the fatigue etched on your face, the forced composure in your posture, the subtle tension that vibrated in the air around you.

He knew you too well. That was the problem.

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard,” he said finally, his voice low. “We all appreciate what you do.”

“Someone has to do it.” You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Besides, I’m good at it.”

“And what about what you want?” he asked, his gaze intensifying. “What about what makes you happy?”

The question hung in the air, a loaded grenade threatening to explode the carefully constructed facade you had spent years building. Happiness. It was a luxury the Revolution couldn’t afford, and neither could you. Not when it came to him.

“Happiness is a luxury we can’t afford,” you said, echoing a sentiment you had repeated to yourself countless times.

He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, a gesture that was both familiar and achingly endearing. “Is that what you really believe?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because the truth was that happiness, for you, was inextricably linked to him. And allowing yourself to feel that, to acknowledge the depth of your feelings, was a risk you couldn't afford to take.

"How was your journey?" you asked, changing the subject abruptly. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

He let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Did I ever. The World Government is digging its heels in deeper than ever. The situation is… precarious."

"Then we have to work harder." You straightened your shoulders, forcing a renewed sense of determination. "We need to be ready."

He watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded slowly. "You're right. We do."

He reached for one of the maps, his fingers brushing against yours. You pulled back instinctively, pretending not to notice the lingering warmth of his touch.

"Tell me about this island," he said, pointing to the same one you had been studying. "What do you think we can learn from it?"

And so, you plunged back into the work, immersing yourselves in the details of the maps, the intricacies of the terrain, the potential for strategic advantage.

You talked about supply lines, fortifications, and the ever-present threat of the World Government. You talked about everything but the one thing that truly mattered: the unspoken connection that still crackled between you, the unresolved feelings that haunted your every interaction.

As the hours ticked by, you found yourself relaxing slightly, drawn in by the familiar rhythm of collaboration. You and Sabo had always worked well together, your strengths complementing each other’s weaknesses.

He brought the raw power and tactical brilliance, while you provided the meticulous planning and strategic foresight.

For a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like if things were different. If you could let down your guard, if you could allow yourself to be vulnerable, if you could finally admit the truth that had been burning within you for years.

But the moment passed, shattered by the harsh reality of your situation. You were soldiers in a revolution, fighting for a cause that demanded sacrifice. There was no room for personal happiness, no time for romantic entanglements.

And besides, even if there were, you weren't sure you were brave enough to risk it. The potential for heartbreak, for devastation, was too great. Better to keep your distance, to protect yourself from the inevitable pain.

As the first rays of dawn began to creep through the windows, painting the room in a soft, golden light, you finally finished your analysis of the maps. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your stiff muscles.

"I think that's everything," you said, your voice hoarse with exhaustion. "We have a better understanding of the situation now. We can start planning our next move."

Sabo nodded, his eyes still fixed on the maps. "Thank you," he said softly. "You've done an amazing job."

"It was a team effort." You gathered the maps, stacking them neatly on the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some sleep."

You stood up, ready to escape the confines of the war room, to flee the suffocating tension that had been building between you. But before you could take a step, Sabo reached out and gently took your hand.

His touch sent a jolt through you, stronger than before. You looked down at your hand, engulfed in his, the warmth spreading through your veins.

"Wait," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. You saw a flicker of something in his eyes, something that mirrored the emotions you had been trying so hard to suppress.

"I know you're trying to protect yourself," he said, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "But you don't have to. Not with me."

Your breath caught in your throat. You wanted to believe him, you desperately wanted to let go of your fears and allow yourself to be vulnerable. But the fear was too strong, the risk too great.

You pulled your hand away, breaking the connection. "I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your voice trembling slightly.

He didn't try to stop you. He simply watched you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding.

"Maybe someday," he said softly. "Maybe someday you'll be ready."

You turned and walked away, your back to him, your heart aching with a pain that was both familiar and unbearable.

You knew you were making a mistake, that you were pushing him away, that you were sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of self-preservation.

But you couldn't stop yourself. You had built this wall for a reason, and you weren't ready to tear it down. Not yet.

As you walked out of the war room, leaving Sabo standing there alone, you couldn't help but wonder if you had made the right choice. If you had condemned yourself to a life of loneliness and regret.

But you told yourself that it was necessary, that it was the only way to protect yourself. You told yourself that the Revolution came first, that personal happiness was a luxury you couldn't afford.

You told yourself a lot of things.

But deep down, you knew the truth. You knew that you were running away from the one thing that could truly make you happy. And you knew that someday, you would have to face the consequences of your choice. . . .

The dust motes danced in the harsh morning light filtering through the barracks window, each speck a tiny reminder of the time that had passed. Months.

Three months, to be exact, since Sabo had returned from his year-long mission. Three months since those words, etched into your memory, had been spoken.

"I know you're trying to protect yourself," he had said, his voice a low murmur amidst the chaos of his homecoming. His touch, the gentle stroke of his thumb against your hand, had been a brand against your skin. "But you don't have to. Not with me."

The words were a lifeline, a promise of safety and vulnerability offered with a sincerity that made your heart ache. But you, ever the pragmatist, ever the cautious one, had kept your distance.

You'd smiled, offered a quick hug, and retreated into the familiar safety of your routine.

Protecting yourself was second nature. Loss was a constant companion in this life, a shadow lurking behind every victory, every shared laugh. You had learned early on that the less you allowed yourself to care, the less it hurt when someone was ripped away.

Sabo’s mission had been a brutal reminder of that lesson. So many faces you knew, so many voices you’d heard in the mess hall, gone. Erased.

The new recruits, a fresh wave of faces filling the void, were a constant reminder of the lives lost. You threw yourself into training them, burying your grief and fear in drills and strategy sessions.

It was easier to focus on the mechanics of combat than to contemplate the fragility of life.

One recruit, in particular, caught your attention. His name was Silas, and from the moment he arrived, something about him didn't sit right. He was charming, undeniably so, with a disarming smile and an easy laugh.

He was eager to learn, always asking questions, always volunteering for extra training. He quickly integrated himself into the unit, becoming a favorite among the other soldiers.

But beneath the surface, you saw something else. A calculating glint in his eyes, a subtle shift in his expression when he thought no one was watching. He was too smooth, too perfect. His stories, though seemingly innocuous, felt rehearsed, carefully crafted to elicit the desired response.

You tried to articulate your unease to Captain Eva, a hardened veteran with a keen sense for danger. But your words felt flimsy, based on instinct rather than concrete evidence.

“He’s a good soldier, Y/N,” Eva had said, her brow furrowed. “His scores are excellent, his record is clean. You can’t condemn a man based on a feeling. We need every able body we can get.”

You knew she was right, logically. The losses from Sabo's mission had crippled their forces. They were stretched thin, vulnerable. Questioning a promising recruit without cause would be detrimental to morale and could potentially weaken their defenses.

So, you kept your suspicions to yourself, watching Silas, analyzing his every move. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something, that his presence here was more than just a coincidence.

Meanwhile, Sabo's presence was a constant, bittersweet ache in your chest. He tried, subtly, to bridge the gap you had created. A casual invitation to join him for a drink, a shared smile across the training grounds, a lingering touch on your arm during a strategy session.

Each gesture was a reminder of the vulnerability he offered, the safety he promised. And each one made you pull further away. You were afraid. Afraid of letting him in, afraid of the pain that would inevitably follow if something happened to him.

One evening, you found yourself patrolling the perimeter of the base, the cold night air biting at your exposed skin. The quiet was unsettling, broken only by the distant howl of wind and the creak of the metal fences.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill that seemed to seep into your bones.

A voice broke the silence. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

You turned to see Silas leaning against the fence, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He smiled, that charming, disarming smile that always made you uneasy.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

"Just taking a walk," he replied, shrugging. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd enjoy the fresh air."

His explanation sounded plausible, but your gut screamed otherwise. You studied him, searching for any sign of deception.

"Everything alright, Y/N?" he asked, tilting his head. "You seem tense."

"Just doing my job," you replied, turning away. "You should get back inside. It's going to rain."

He chuckled. "Always so serious. You know, you should lighten up a little. Life's too short to be so worried all the time."

His words were a casual observation, but they struck a nerve. You stopped, turning back to face him.

"You don't know anything about my life," you said, your voice low.

"Maybe not," he replied, his smile fading. "But I see you. I see how you keep everyone at arm's length. How you're afraid to let anyone get close."

His words were too close to the truth, too perceptive. You felt a surge of anger, a desire to lash out.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you snapped, turning to leave.

"Don't you?" he called after you. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"

You ignored him, quickening your pace towards the barracks. His words echoed in your head, a painful reminder of the walls you had built around yourself.

Later that night, as you lay in your bunk, unable to sleep, you replayed the conversation in your mind. His words, his presence, his very existence, felt like a threat. You couldn't shake the feeling that he knew more than he let on, that he was playing a game with you.

The next day, you decided to trust your instincts. You started digging, discreetly, into Silas's background. You spoke to contacts in other units, combed through old records, piecing together fragments of information.

What you found was disturbing. Silas's file was clean, almost too clean. His past seemed meticulously crafted, with no inconsistencies, no red flags. But there were gaps, holes in his story that couldn't be easily explained.

You discovered that he had transferred to your unit from a remote outpost, citing personal reasons. But the commander of that outpost had no record of Silas ever being stationed there. The name Silas, it seemed, was an alias.

Your pulse raced as you sat in the dim light of your office, the glow of the computer screen casting eerie shadows on the walls. You knew you had to tread carefully.

You were too busy to confront him directly, and he wasn't an immediate threat.

Yet.

Sabo adjusted his cravat, the morning sun catching the gold buckle. He scanned the newspaper, a frown etching itself onto his forehead as he read about the latest World Government atrocities. A sharp rap at the door pulled him from his grim thoughts.

"Come in," he called, folding the paper and setting it aside.

The door creaked open to reveal Silas, one of the newer recruits, standing stiffly at attention. He looked young, barely out of his teens, with a nervous energy that radiated from him. In his hands, he held a steaming cup, its contents swirling gently with each subtle movement.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sabo," Silas stammered, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Miss Y/N requested for this to be sent to you." He carefully placed the cup on Sabo's cluttered desk, the ceramic clinking softly against the wood.

Sabo's eyebrows rose in surprise. Y/N? He hadn’t seen her much lately, both of them caught up in the endless tasks of the Revolutionary Army.

A warm feeling bloomed in his chest. "Really? Did she say why?"

Silas scratched the back of his head, his nervousness amplified under Sabo's curious gaze. "Well, she didn't actually say to tell you it came from her, but… she said something about your cold."

That sounded exactly like something Y/N would do. Always thoughtful, always looking out for others, but often preferring to offer her kindness in a roundabout way, avoiding direct credit.

He had been battling a persistent cough for the past few days, a minor annoyance he'd been trying to ignore. He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"Thank you," Sabo said, reaching for the cup. He carefully lifted it, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and warming his hands. He inhaled deeply, the aroma of ginger and lemon filling his nostrils.

It was definitely her concoction; he recognized the unique blend of herbs and spices she used to soothe a sore throat. He took a sip, the warm liquid coating his throat, a soothing balm against the scratchiness. It tasted wonderful.

"You're welcome, sir," Silas replied, relief evident in his voice. He hesitated for a moment, then saluted clumsily. "If there's nothing else, I'll be going now."

"That's all, Silas. Thank you again," Sabo said.

He turned back to the cup, taking another slow, deliberate sip. He wondered what Y/N was up to. He hadn’t seen her since the last strategy meeting.

He took another sip, feeling a pleasant warmth spreading through his body. He chuckled softly to himself. She was too good to him.

He was about to take a third sip when a strange dizziness washed over him. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the papers on his desk blurring into an indistinguishable mess.

He gripped the edge of the desk, trying to steady himself, a flicker of confusion warring with a growing sense of unease.

This wasn't just a head cold.

His vision swam, the vibrant colors of his surroundings fading into a dull gray. His muscles felt heavy, unresponsive. He tried to call out, to shout for help, but his voice caught in his throat, a strangled gasp that died before it could even escape his lips.

The cup slipped from his grasp, the ceramic shattering against the hard floor, the remaining liquid splattering across the wooden planks. The sound seemed muffled, distant, as if he were underwater.

Sabo's knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, the world spinning around him. His vision grew darker, the edges of his consciousness closing in like the jaws of a vise.

He tried to push himself up, to fight the sudden weakness that gripped him, but his body was no longer his own.

The last thing he saw before darkness consumed him was Silas' evil grin, the glint of triumph in the young recruit's eyes as he stepped back from the shattered remnants of the cup.

The room tilted further, and then there was only blackness, a void that swallowed him whole.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, painting the Revolution Army's headquarters in hues of orange and gold. But you weren't admiring the view.

No, you were pacing, your boots crunching on the gravel path, growing increasingly agitated. Sabo was late. Thirty minutes late.

You knew exactly what he was doing. He'd promised to personally inspect the new shipment of weaponry before they were distributed, a task he usually delegated. He’d even insisted on handling the initial inventory himself.

All a thinly veiled excuse to draw you in, to trap you in his office with endless debates about strategy and… well, just about anything. You knew his tactics, his charming smile, his infuriatingly insightful questions that always managed to unravel your carefully constructed composure.

And dammit, you were falling for it. Again.

You stopped pacing, a sigh escaping your lips. You told yourself it was the weapons, the crucial importance of their quality, that was driving you to his office. The Revolution Army's safety depended on it. But deep down, you knew it was more than that.

It was the pull, the undeniable gravitational force that Sabo exerted on you, a force you both resisted and craved in equal measure.

"Fine," you muttered to yourself, pivoting and striding purposefully towards Sabo's office. "He wants to talk? I'll give him a talking to. About punctuality, about delegation, about the importance of not making people wait."

You reached his door, your hand hovering over the knob. You didn’t bother knocking. Your patience had officially evaporated.

"Sabo–"

The word died in your throat. The scene that unfolded before you was nothing like the playful confrontation you'd envisioned. Sabo lay on the floor, a shattered teacup beside him, its contents staining the rug in a dark, ominous pool.

Towering over him was Silas, one of the new recruits, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity as he clutched the newly arrived weapons. Weapons that were far too dangerous to be wielded by someone with ill intentions.

A cold dread washed over you. Silas had always given you an uneasy feeling. Something about his eagerness, his overly zealous patriotism, felt…off.

You’d meant to report your suspicions, but the chaos of the recent operations had pushed it to the back of your mind. Now, seeing Sabo vulnerable and Silas armed, the weight of your negligence pressed down on you.

Acting on instinct, you channeled your Devil Fruit powers. Water materialized from thin air, coalescing into a powerful stream that slammed into Silas with the force of a tidal wave. He was knocked off his feet, the weapons clattering to the floor as he landed in a heap, unconscious.

Adrenaline coursed through you as you rushed to Sabo's side. Your fingers trembled as you checked his pulse. Faint, thready, barely there.

You frantically scanned the scene, your eyes landing on the shattered teacup. The sickeningly sweet aroma that lingered in the air confirmed your worst fears. Poison.

Without hesitation, you activated your Devil Fruit again. You meticulously controlled the water, guiding it into Sabo's body, a delicate operation fraught with risk. You had to be precise, careful not to damage his already weakened system.

You enveloped the poison with the water, isolating it, pulling it away from his vital organs. It was a slow, agonizing process, draining your energy with each passing second.

Finally, you managed to extract the tainted water, expelling it from Sabo's body in a rush. You collapsed back on your heels, gasping for breath, your vision blurring.

You were exhausted, depleted, but your relief was short-lived. Sabo remained motionless.

The reality of the situation crashed down on you with brutal force. It was your fault. All your fault. If you’d trusted your instincts, if you’d reported Silas sooner, Sabo wouldn’t be lying here, fighting for his life.

"Sabo, please wake up," you pleaded, your voice cracking. You gently shook his shoulder, willing him to respond. But he didn't move. His face was pale, unnervingly still.

Despair washed over you, a suffocating wave of regret and fear. You sank to your knees, burying your face in his chest, the rough fabric of his jacket scratching against your cheek.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was so faint, so fragile, it filled you with a chilling premonition.

It was then, in that moment of utter desperation, that the truth you had so diligently suppressed burst forth. You realized, with a clarity that bordered on pain, that your feelings for Sabo ran far deeper than professional admiration or friendly camaraderie.

"I've always loved you," you whispered, the words choked with emotion, "even when I pretended not to."

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. You pressed closer to him, clinging to the hope that somehow, somewhere, he could hear you.

"I said it okay," you continued, your voice rising in desperation, "please wake up now."

Silence. Only the sound of your ragged breathing and the frantic beating of your heart filled the room. You didn't know when the tears started to fall, hot and stinging, tracing paths down your cheeks and soaking into his jacket.

You cried, not just for Sabo, but for all the unspoken words, the missed opportunities, the wasted time spent denying what had always been there. You cried for the future you might never have, for the happiness that seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

Time seemed to stretch into an eternity, each second an agonizing reminder of your potential loss. You stayed there, huddled against him, a broken mess of fear and regret.

Then, a voice, raspy and weak, broke the silence.

"It took you me almost dying for you to confess?"

You gasped, your head snapping up. Sabo. His eyes, though still clouded with pain, were open. A faint smile played on his lips.

You scrambled back, your heart leaping with a mixture of relief and disbelief. "Sabo! You're awake!"

He slowly reached up, his hand trembling as he gently wiped away a tear from your cheek. "Yeah," he said, his voice gaining strength, "thanks to you."

The relief was overwhelming, so intense it almost brought you to your knees again. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. "You idiot! Don't ever do that to me again!"

He chuckled, a weak but genuine sound. "Promises, promises," he murmured, then winced in pain.

You immediately sobered, your concern returning. "Don't talk," you said, your voice firm. "You need to rest. I'll get someone."

You started to pull away, but his hand tightened on yours, stopping you. "Wait," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "What you said…before."

Your cheeks flushed crimson. You suddenly felt incredibly exposed, vulnerable. You’d confessed your deepest feelings while he was unconscious, believing it was a one-way conversation. Now, the weight of his attention, the intensity in his eyes, felt almost unbearable.

"It was… I was just… scared," you stammered, trying to downplay the moment. "I didn't mean…"

He cut you off, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "Did you mean it?"

The question hung in the air, demanding honesty. You looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of mockery or pity. All you found was sincerity, a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself. "Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible. "I meant it."

Sabo's smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made your heart skip a beat. He pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or regret.

"Y/N, I've known for a long time," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "But hearing you say it…" His thumb stroked your jawline, sending a shiver down your spine. "It means everything."

Your heart raced, your breath hitched in your throat. The warmth of his hand was a stark contrast to the coolness of the floor beneath you, a reminder that this was real, that he was alive.

"Sabo," you whispered, your voice trembling. You didn't know what to say next, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. You felt the heat of his breath against your skin, the thump of his pulse under your fingertips. You had never been this close to him, never allowed yourself to be.

His hand slid to the nape of your neck, his touch firm yet gentle, sending a cascade of sensations through your body. Your pulse quickened, your heart pounding against your ribs like a caged bird desperate to break free.

"Sabo," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. "I-"

He placed a finger to your lips, silencing you. "Shh, love," he said, his eyes searching yours. "You don't need to explain."

The moment stretched, filled with a tension so potent it could have powered the entire island. You could feel the throb of your own heartbeat in your ears, a wild drumroll to a crescendo you hadn’t anticipated.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice a soft, hopeful whisper that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room.

You stared at him, the question hanging in the air like a delicate thread, connecting you in a way that no words or battles ever could. It was a simple request, one that could have been brushed aside with a laugh or a joke, but instead it felt like the most significant question you had ever been asked.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response. Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in, closing the space between you. His lips met yours with a softness that belied the intensity of his gaze, a gentle pressure that spoke of the depth of his feelings.

But before the kiss could intensify, you placed your hand on his chest to stop it. "Sabo," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion, "you need to get checked. There could still be poison in your system."

Sabo's eyes searched yours, the passion in them momentarily fading into a look of understanding. He nodded, his hand moving from your neck to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his heart.

"I know," he whispered, the beat beneath your palm reassuringly steady. "But I had to know that you felt the same."

You felt his heart's rhythm, the warmth of his skin, and the firmness of his chest. His breathing was shallow, and you could see the effort it took for him to maintain the gentle pressure of his lips.

You didn't want to stop the kiss, but you knew he was right. Safety had to come first, especially now.

"Alright," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against your mouth. He kissed you once more, a light, lingering brush of his lips that spoke volumes of his love and restraint. He pulled away, his gaze never leaving yours. "I'll go get checked."

You nodded, the reality of the situation sinking in. The urgency of the situation hit you like a tidal wave. "Do you need help?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Sabo looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of affection and amusement. "No thank you, love," he said lightly, his voice still a little hoarse from the ordeal.

"You're sure?" You asked, concern etched on your face.

Sabo nodded, his eyes still clouded with pain but filled with determination. "Yes, I'm sure," he said, his voice a little stronger. "You have to take Silas to the prison."

You nodded, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on you. The man who had tried to kill the person you loved lay unconscious a few feet away, and you had to ensure he was dealt with accordingly. You stood, your legs feeling wobbly, but you knew you had to act swiftly.

"How did he get you to drink it?" you murmured, the question echoing in your mind as you took a deep breath and turned to face the chaos.

You saw the shards of the teacup, the dark liquid seeping into the floorboards. It was a stark reminder of the vulnerability that had been so artfully exploited.

Sabo looked up at you, his cheeks flushing slightly. "He said that you sent it," he admitted, his voice low and hoarse. "That you'd heard I'd picked up a cold on the last mission and had brewed me something special to help."

You stared at him, your eyes wide. "A cold?" you repeated, your voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "You almost died because of a cold?"

Sabo looked shy as if he remembered too, his eyes flickering with a hint of embarrassment. "He said that you wanted to give me tea for my cold," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should have called to get confirmation, I was just happy that you gave me something."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and a warm blush crept up your neck, staining your cheeks. The thought of Silas using your kindness as a weapon made your blood boil, but at the same time, a tender warmth spread through you.

You had never been one to show affection openly, not with the weight of the revolution resting on your shoulders. But here was Sabo, admitting to a vulnerability that you hadn't even known he had.

With trembling hands, you helped him to his feet, his lean frame surprisingly heavy against you. Each movement sent waves of pain through his body, and you could feel his muscles tighten as he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.

His eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you understood that you had been wrong to push him away, to deny what was so clearly written in the air between you.

You used your Devil Fruit powers once more, creating a gentle cushion of water beneath his feet to ease the pain of his steps. "I'll get Hack," you murmured, knowing that your friend and fellow comrade would know exactly what to do.

With a flick of your wrist, you sent a stream of water through the air, weaving around the corridors and towards Hack. The power was a part of you, a silent call that only those who knew you well would recognize.

And Hack knew you well. A moment later, you heard a small yelp. Hack stumbled into the room, his eyes wide with surprise as he took in the scene.

He had been following the trail of water, unsure of what he would find. But when he saw Sabo's ashen face and the shattered teacup, his expression turned to one of concern.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice sharp with alarm.

You didn't have the luxury of time to explain everything. "A new soldier went rogue," you said tersely. "Silas. He tried to kill Sabo with poisoned tea, pretending it was from me. I need to take him into custody and get him to the interrogation room."

The fishman, a burly, silent type named Triton, nodded solemnly. His gills flared slightly, a sign of his own shock. "Understood," he said, his voice a guttural growl. "I will take Sabo to the medical bay immediately."

You felt a pang of guilt as you watched them go, torn between your duty to the revolution and your desire to stay by Sabo's side. But you knew you had to deal with Silas.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. The traitor had to be contained before he could cause any more harm.

With a firm step, you approached Silas's prone form. His eyes fluttered open, the same feigned innocence you had seen so many times in his interrogations. But you knew better now. You knew the darkness that lurked beneath his surface.

You grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet, his body limp and uncooperative. His smug smile faltered at the sight of your watery eyes and clenched jaw. He must have realized that his charade was over.

"You're going to tell us everything," you said through gritted teeth. "Everything about the enemy's plan, every detail you know. And if you don't, I'll make sure you regret ever setting foot in this headquarters."

Silas's eyes widened in genuine fear for the first time, and you felt a grim satisfaction knowing you had the upper hand. You marched him through the corridors, his feet dragging behind you as you made your way to the interrogation room.

The room was stark, the walls painted a cold, institutional gray. The only source of light was a single flickering bulb that cast eerie shadows across the floor. It was a stark contrast to the warm, inviting light of Sabo's office.

You pushed him into the room, his body collapsing into the metal chair at the center. You secured his wrists and ankles to the chair with water-based cuffs, the same ones you had used countless times to contain and question enemy combatants.

You stepped back, arms crossed over your chest, and stared him down.

"Why?" you demanded, the question echoing through the small space. "Why would you do this to us? To him?"

Silas remained silent, his smug expression slipping away to reveal something darker, something more sinister. You could feel the anger building in you, a pressure cooker threatening to blow. But you needed information, not just a confession of guilt.

You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Why, Silas?"

Silas's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, for anything that might give him leverage. But there was nothing. Only the cold, unforgiving steel of the chair and the unwavering gaze of the woman he had underestimated.

"Okay, have it your way, Karasu," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you stepped away from him. "It's your turn."

With that, you turned and strode out of the interrogation room, the door slamming shut behind you. The sound of the lock clicking into place was a harsh echo in the quiet corridor.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The scent of the antiseptic cleaner on the floor was a stark contrast to the coppery smell of blood and fear that clung to Silas.

As you walked away from the room, you felt the weight of what you had to do next. You knew that you couldn't let your emotions cloud your judgment.

The mission was more important than your personal feelings. You had to be cold, methodical, a force to be reckoned with.

The echo of the slammed door was still reverberating in your ears when you heard the first faint cry, a sound that made your blood run cold. Silas's voice, strained and desperate, was unmistakable.

Soon enough, the cries grew louder, more insistent. The sound of his pleading sliced through the air, a grim reminder of the reality of war and the sacrifices it demanded.

You knew you had to remain strong, to focus on the mission. But the screams grew more intense, and with each one, your resolve wavered.

The walls of the corridor seemed to close in around you, the cold metal pressing against your skin, a prison of your own making. You clenched your fists, willing the cries to stop, to no avail.

With a deep breath, you turned on your heel and sprinted towards the medical bay, the urgency of the situation propelling you forward. The corridor blurred as you moved, your boots echoing off the walls, a staccato rhythm that punctuated the silence.

The medical room was a stark contrast to the rest of the headquarters. The sterile white walls gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, the smell of disinfectant a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

The door swished open as you approached, revealing Hack's concerned face as he bent over an unconscious Sabo, a medical scanner in his hand.

"Is he okay?" you asked, your voice a desperate whisper.

Hack looked up, his expression grim. "The antidote is working," he said, "but the dose was strong. He's going to need rest."

Sabo's eyes fluttered open, the room swimming into focus. The first thing he saw was your face, hovering above his, your eyes filled with a mix of relief and sadness.

"Love," he whispered, his voice still raw from the poison.

You leaned in, your hand lingering on his forehead, feeling the heat of his fever. "Don't talk," you murmured, "just rest."

"Missed you," Sabo slurred again, his eyes half-closed. It was a side of him you hadn't seen before, vulnerable and weak, and it twisted your heart in a way that was both painful and exhilarating.

You knew the strength he had to maintain out there, the persona he had to uphold, and now, here he was, laid bare before you.

"Sabo," you whispered, your voice thick with a mix of fear and love. "You can't say things like that."

He managed a weak smile, his eyes drifting shut again. "It's the truth," he murmured. "I can't hide it anymore."

Your heart clenched at his words, the weight of your carelessness crashing down on you like a waterfall. If only you had paid more attention to Silas, if only you had trusted your instincts, he wouldn't be here now, fighting to survive.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Sabo's hand searched for yours, his fingers feebly entwining with yours. "Love, don't cry," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper that seemed to resonate through your very soul. "This isn't your fault. It's war. It's what we signed up for."

Tears spilled over your lashes and rolled down your cheeks, leaving salty trails on your skin. You didn't want to let go of his hand, didn't want to accept the reality of the situation. But you knew you had to. You had to be strong, not just for the revolution, but for him.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Rest," you ordered softly. "I'll handle everything."

With a nod, you turned and left the medical bay, the echo of his words lingering in the air. You couldn't afford to be weak, not now.

The corridor outside was eerily quiet, the cries from the interrogation room now just a distant memory. You took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. Silas had to be dealt with, and the revolution had to move forward.

Your boots clicked against the cold, hard floor, each step a silent promise to protect the man you had realized you loved. You knew what you had to do, and you would do it, no matter the cost.

As you approached the interrogation room, you paused, steeling yourself for the battle of wills that was about to unfold.

The door slid open at your touch, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the warmth of your emotions. Silas was still bound in the chair, his eyes wild with fear.

"You're going to tell me everything," you said, your voice firm and unwavering.

He looked up at you, a sneer twisting his features. "What makes you think I'll tell you anything?"

You leaned in, your eyes narrowing. "Because, Silas, I know your type," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "You crave power, and now that you've tasted it, you can't get enough. But you're a fool to think you can betray us and walk away unscathed."

He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that sent chills down your spine. "You think you know me?" he spat. "You know nothing. Nothing at all."

The anger bubbled up within you, hot and fierce, but you pushed it down. You had to keep your cool, had to get the information you needed. You leaned back, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Oh, but I do," you said, your voice sweet as honey. "I know that you're in love with the idea of the revolution, but you're too much of a coward to truly commit to it."

His eyes flashed with rage, but you didn't flinch. You knew you had struck a nerve, had found the weakness in his armor. "You're wrong," he hissed.

You cocked your head, your eyes gleaming. "Am I?" you asked, your voice a siren's call. "Or are you just too scared to admit it? To admit that you're nothing more than a pawn in a game you can't win?"

He struggled against his bindings, the cords of his neck standing out as he strained to argue. "You don't know anything about love," he spat. "You're all just a bunch of cold-hearted soldiers playing at affection."

You felt the sting of his words, but you didn't let it show. Instead, you stepped closer, your hand trailing along the chair's arm. "Love," you murmured, the word a soft caress in the stark room. "Don't cry."

You leaned in, your breath a warm whisper against his cheek. "You see, Silas, love is what makes us strong. It's what keeps us fighting, even when the odds are stacked against us. And you," you said, your voice dropping to a whisper, "you don't know the first thing about love."

Your hand hovered over his chest, the heat of his anger almost palpable. You could feel his heart racing beneath your palm, a frantic beat that mirrored the chaos in your own chest.

"But I do," you said, your voice a gentle reassurance. "I know love, and I know that what you did to Sabo, that's not it."

With a flick of your wrist, you released the water from your hand, letting it pool around his chest, creating a cage of liquid steel. His eyes widened in shock and fear, his breaths coming in sharp gasps.

"You're going to tell me everything," you said, your voice calm, almost tender.

"Everything you know about the enemy, every move they plan to make. And if you don't," you paused, your hand tightening, the water pressing closer to his skin, "I'll make sure you regret ever setting foot in this headquarters."

His eyes searched yours, looking for a hint of mercy, but all he found was a steely resolve. You knew that this was it, that you had to be the one to hold the line, to protect the man you had realized you couldn't live without.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, until finally, with a defeated sigh, Silas began to speak. His words spilled out in a torrent, a confession of his betrayal, of the enemy's plans to infiltrate the headquarters, of their desire to dismantle the revolution from within.

As he talked, you felt your heart rate slow, the pressure in your chest easing slightly. You had done it. You had saved Sabo, you had protected the revolution, and you had kept your promise.

But even as you felt the warmth of triumph, the cold reality of what you had just done seeped into your bones. You had used your power to coerce a confession, had played on his fear and his pain. The weight of it settled in your stomach like a leaden stone.

You stepped back, the water retreating with a soft hiss. "Thank you," you said, your voice devoid of emotion. "You've been very helpful."

Silas's eyes remained locked on yours, a silent plea for understanding, for forgiveness. But you knew you couldn't give him that. Not now, not ever.

Turning on your heel, you left the interrogation room, the door sliding shut behind you with a finality that echoed through the empty corridor. The cries had stopped, replaced by the heavy silence of the night.

As you approached the elevator, the gravity of what you had just done settled heavily on your shoulders. The thought of telling Dragon, the leader of the Revolutionary Army, about Silas's treachery and your part in it was almost too much to bear.

You took a deep breath, willing your shaking hands to still, and stepped inside the metal chamber.

The descent felt like an eternity, the walls closing in as your mind raced with the potential consequences of your actions.

When the doors opened, you were greeted by the dim glow of Dragon's office, the only source of light a single candle flickering on the desk. He looked up as you entered, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.

You could almost feel the weight of his scrutiny, the intensity of his stare cutting through the shadows.

"What is it, Y/N?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate the very air around you.

You took a moment to compose yourself before speaking, the words thick in your mouth. "Silas," you began, "he's been working with the enemy. He tried to kill Sabo."

Dragon's expression didn't change, but the air in the room grew tense. "Go on," he prompted, his tone unyielding.

You recounted the events, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. The way Silas had taunted you, the smell of the antiseptic floor, the sound of the lock clicking into place. The memory of Sabo's weakened form, his hand reaching for yours, his whispered confession.

"And what of the traitor?" Dragon's eyes bore into yours, his voice cold, the flame of his anger barely contained.

"He's in the interrogation room," you said, your voice tight. "He confessed."

Dragon nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "And what of your involvement?"

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like a boulder. "I used my powers to extract the truth," you admitted. "But it was necessary. For the revolution."

Dragon's gaze softened slightly, his understanding clear. "And how is Sabo?"

"Recovering," you whispered. "But it was close."

He nodded again, the silence stretching between you like a tightrope you were both balancing on.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Dragon said finally, his voice measured. "You did what you had to do."

You nodded, the weight of his words a balm to your tortured soul. But the question remained, hanging in the air like a specter. "What happens now?"

Dragon leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant as he considered your words. "Now," he said, his voice a whisper, "we must be vigilant. The enemy will not rest."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. The thought of the enemy infiltrating their ranks was a terrifying prospect, but one you were all too familiar with. You had to be ready to face whatever came next.

"We will deal with Silas accordingly," he continued, his voice a low growl. "And we will find the others."

The promise of justice was a comfort, but you couldn't shake the feeling that it was only the beginning. The war was far from over, and the battles ahead would be fiercer, more personal.

"Dismissed," Dragon said, his gaze returning to the flickering candle.

You turned and left the room, the weight of his words and the unspoken promise in his eyes following you like a shadow. You knew that the path ahead was fraught with danger, but with Sabo by your side, you felt invincible.

The corridors felt colder as you made your way back to the medical bay, the echoes of your footsteps the only sound in the quiet night.

The lights were dimmer, the air heavier with the scent of fear and anticipation. But you were determined.

As you reached the medical bay, the door slid open, revealing Hack still at his post. He looked up, his expression a mix of relief and concern.

"How is he?" you asked, unable to keep the tremor from your voice.

"Stabilizing," he replied, his eyes flicking to the unconscious form of Silas on the gurney. "But he'll need to be monitored closely."

"Thank you, Hack," you said, the words a sigh of relief. You stepped forward, taking over the monitoring equipment with a gentle nod to the doctor. "I've got it from here."

Hack nodded, his eyes understanding as he handed you the charts. "I'll be outside if you need me."

As Hack disappeared through the sliding door, you were once again alone with the man who had become the center of your world. Sabo lay on the medical bay bed, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

His skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh, sterile lights, but his aura was as potent as ever, filling the room with the warmth of his spirit.

Slowly, you climbed into the bed beside him, needing to hear his heartbeat, to feel the reassurance of his presence. "I've missed you too," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Your fingertips grazed his chest, feeling the steady thump beneath the fabric of his shirt. His pulse was strong, a comforting rhythm that seemed to sync with the erratic beat of your own heart.

You curled into his side, your body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle that had been apart too long. His arm slid around your waist, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back, warm and possessive.

You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him—sea salt, gunpowder, and a hint of something that was uniquely, intoxicatingly Sabo.

His heartbeat was a steady thump, thump, thump beneath your ear, the rhythm of it a soothing lullaby that seemed to speak directly to your soul. You felt your own heartbeat slow to match his, the frantic pace of the day melting away into the warmth of his embrace.

For all the times he had shielded you, you were more than happy to return the favor. You had seen the way he looked at you during battles, the split second glances that said more than a thousand words ever could.

The fierce protectiveness in his eyes was something you had come to crave, to cherish, even when it scared you. Because it meant that, in this brutal world, you weren't alone.

You leaned into him, your nose buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of him was a potent cocktail of sweat, smoke, and something else—something that was unmistakably, irrevocably, him.

It was a scent that had haunted your dreams, invaded your thoughts during the loneliest nights of the revolution.

Sabo's hand tightened around your waist, pulling you closer still. His breathing grew deeper, his chest rising and falling against your side.

You felt his eyes on you, heavy with meaning, and you knew he was fighting the same battle you were—the urge to ignore the war outside and lose yourself in each other.

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any hint of regret or doubt. But what you saw was unbridled passion, a yearning that matched your own. It was a heady feeling, intoxicating and overwhelming.

You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the stubble rasp against your skin. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

"I don't know if this is the right time," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the thundering of your heart. "The revolution, the war, it's all so… intense."

Sabo's eyes searched yours, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. "Life is intense," he murmured, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. "But moments like these, moments of connection, of love, they're what make it all worth fighting for."

You felt your resolve slipping, the dam you had built around your heart crumbling piece by piece. You had yearned for this, for his touch, for the validation of his feelings, for so long.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, and brushed his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss, tentative at first, as if he were afraid you might vanish if he pushed too hard.

But you were real, solid, and you were not going anywhere. . . .

[len-yx]

Mydei’s glaring queer coding (fixed)

(By the same person who did the twitter thread :))

First things first. Please be normal if I get something wrong. I have put so much effort into research (I am so dedicated to doing that stupid thread justice) and would like to be spoken too as if I’m an actual person who got something wrong and not like some evil being sent to intentionally spreading misinformation. I know people are much more forgiving on here than they are on twitter but my anxiety was fuck all after that original thread and I’m pretty nervous putting myself in that same situation but am desperate to not have that thread be “The Mydei queer-coding thread” that people use as reference when talking about Mydei’s queer coding. That’s all. Apologies for rambling. Onwards we go!

Amphoreus draws heavily from Ancient Greek (and Roman) influences. Greek (and Roman) armies were known for the fact same-sex relationships were viewed pretty uniquely. It was common and even encouraged for soldiers to form intimate relationships. I do want to mention (though not very relevant to Mydei’s queer coding) that despite this, Greece was not that queer normative (mostly). Yes, gay sex was typical, but it was still considered shameful to be penetrated and the most accepted form of two men in a relationship was pederasty. Which was a relationship between an adult male (usually of higher class), and a young boy in his teens. Really the higher class were the only ones that didn’t have to be concerned about judgment and their specific role in a relationship. I suppose Mydei is upper class anyway. So. This was all just something I thought was worth mentioning.

All of Mydei’s Kremnoan companions had references to Greek history tied to Alexander the Great (it’s actually very interesting I advise seeking out the meanings of their names yourself (and it’s further evidence that Mydei’s ties to Alexander the Great is far from coincidences and unreasonable stretches)). Hephaestion specifically is a reference to Alexander the Great’s closest friend and potential lover of the same name. Both the real Hephaestion and the one from HSR die of illness rather than in battle, how both were expected to die, leaving Alexander/Mydei to mourn alone. Hephaestion’s (HSR) death has extra attention drawn to it by not only being the last to die of the companions but also both Mydei and Hephaestion emphasising their close friendship. Calling one another things such as “dear friend”, “most trusted companion” etc. And with a real life comparison for this death it only emphasises how big of a deal Hephaestion’s death is meant to be for Mydei.

Funnily enough Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias, actually claimed to be a descendant of Achilles who Mydei also has multiple references to.

There are many versions of how Achilles gained his immortal body, one being that as a baby his mother dipped him in the river Styx, holding onto him by his ankle. Similarly, Mydei’s immortal body was made known/gained (I don’t believe it’s clear?) after being thrown into the sea of souls also as a baby with a matching ”Achilles heel” in the form of his tenth thoracic vertebra.

The exact intent of Achille’s and Patroclus' relationship is very very debated. And Homer isn’t responding to my emails for an interview. But I do want to remind everyone that this isn’t about “was Achilles and Alexander in relationships with their best friends” (though neither of the two’s queerness is actually up for debate, they both had multiple romantic endeavours with men) but about how some of the reasons historians believe why the two were queer are used in Mydei’s character and why I believe this was intentionally done by hoyoverse. Achilles and Patroclus have been a symbol of close male relationships since the myth was realised, Alexander the Great even comparing his relationship with Hephaestion to the two. I’ve seen a few people saying that Phainon has some looser similarities to Patroclus however I have not yet read The Iliad (I just don’t have the time I’m very sorry) so I can’t speak on how intentional these similarities seem.

However, Mydei and Phainon do parallel another duo very deeply, Mydei’s own parents, Queen Gorgo and King Eurypon. Mydei and Phainon’s first meeting was a duel lasting ten days and nights that ended in a draw, the same as with Eurypon and Gorgo’s infamous first meeting at the Kremnos festival. Except instead of a close companionship forming after their draw, Eurypon promptly proposed to Gorgo. During 3.0 when Phainon challenges Mydei to a competition to see who can kill more titankin, he uses the phrasing “Just you and me. Let’s recreate the original Kremnos Festival.” On top of that, in 3.1 while retrieving Phainon from the trial we run into ”Chartonus” (quotations because it’s within the trial) Mydei tries to ask “Chartonus” where Phainon is and “Chartonus” has an angry rant before throwing Queen Gorgo’s signet ring at him. The ring isn’t brought up again until Mydei and Phainon’s goodbye. Mydei waits until the last moment to question if Phainon was the one who told Chartonus about his mother’s ring. Phainon’s response is just “who knows” but it’s pretty clear that the audience is at least meant to believe Phainon was the one who told Chartonus about it. There is one other thing that may tie Phainon and Mydei’s relationship to Eurypon and Gorgo. However it’s pretty much theory crafting and even leaks so I’ll just leave it at that.

It’s become almost a pattern in HSR to have deeply queer coded duo’s be compared to animals, specifically a predator animal and a prey animal (e.g. Acheron and Blackswan.) During the scene in the baths the bath sprite compares Mydei to a lion and Phainon to an oryx before describing the dynamic between the animals. Cut to a black screen with the two moaning due to the hot steam and the bath sprite continues describing the lion hunting the oryx in detail reminiscent of the “Rondo Across Countless Kalpas” animated short of Acheron (a variant of a lesbian character) and Blackswan (a woman who’s relationship with other female characters are placed on a higher pedestal) doing the tango. The bath scene is very much a mix of a joke and fanservice but in the context of a rather genuinely queer coded relationship I am treating it as a more genuine innuendo. Just before deciding on the bath competition we get to see Mydei’s internal dialogue and him struggling to figure out how to comfort Phainon after failing the demigod trial, intentionally creating a more intimate atmosphere. Phainon uses rather suggestive language when proposing the competition such as “Maybe we both need to relieve some stress” deliberately creating a charged atmosphere.

In the end Mydei’s character is deeply intertwined with historical narratives of male bonds, grief, and devotion that have been read through a queer lens for centruies. Whether through his parallels to Achilles and Alexander the Great, his profound connection with Phainon or Hoyoverse’s own storytelling patterns, the intent behind his characterization feels undeniably deliberate.

[toniko]

brief words about impersonalization and Kim Soleum (spoilers up to 161

Kim Soleum rides such a hypocritical line between believing this is all a fictional world and the realness of this world. I really don’t blame him actually, the combination of toxic work culture and the base setting of him being transported into the world is like really numbing.

I mean the field exploration team uses masks that depict them as animals and as good of an item it is for exploration, that is one of the elements that dehumanizes them. It’s one thing for the groups to be split into the alphabet but it’s a whole different thing when you identify every employee by their group. You literally can not differentiate the employees in the logs (I mean look at that interview with Baek Saheon, this may be a bit of a bad example because I can see why anonymity would be kept here. Ah but it seems to be like that with every document? Mystery person here, mystery group here, finishing team). It’s awfully impersonal and while an interpretation of it just being useful code names is valid, in a profession with a high death rate, I doubt that’s the only reason. Oh yeah, highly expendable employees. But we can’t say we’re killing people, dare say individuals with their own entire lives and histories, so company employees sound a lot better. Everyone perpetuates it, it’s easy, team members die quickly and often, deal with it. Except not really right? Being human is to inherently care for your fellow human.

But hiring employees with looser personalities does help in that aspect. Capitalism win for the Daydream co. I guess. I have a small comment about how the Disaster Management Bureau. It does purposely hire righteous but orderly folks but it seems both Agent Bronze & Choi are affected by past member deaths.

It feels like Kim Soleum keeps trying to draw a line and it doesn’t work. He says that he will have left before [big catastrophic event] but unconsciously forms attachments super quickly. I think his time away from the griptok and wiki is really making him accept the reality of these characters. Agent Choi’s survival gives Soleum a little brain blast acceptance that character’s fates really can change. Of course, didn’t it take a shockingly long time for that? I think it’s implication that he was still using the same excuse of them all being from a fictional world to shield his mentality. Gotta do what you gotta do Soleum.

He does all in his power to keep as many people alive (because he’s an empath 🙂‍↕️, we know) but the hangman game was obviously super personal.

btw I think Soleum has a bias in how he treats “named” characters as well. This is just my personal opinion, but the relationship with Lee Jaheon felt purposely professional up until recently (say 130s or so I think, I’m just rambling out), since Soleum inner monologue tended to emphasize the elements he remembered. The reader would notice that Lee Jaheon really does care a lot but you might have to dig through a couple of lizard and defeating darkness through force comments. It feels this stereotype he has of the named characters stick a lot longer! It makes sense, in the kind of format the original records were in, they were in fact character stereotypes to fill the semi-anthology esque story structure (would it be appropriate just to say SCP foundation?). Again, this divorce from the griptok is what I think a big contributor of his reality check is.

There’s also this uh, Baek Saheon in the room that I haven’t talked about. Probably the meanest thing Soleum does in this novel is bullying this guy lol. But that’s because Kim Soleum’s interpretation of him is so overblown and far in time compared to the current guy we know. At this point, I’d pin down Baek Saheon as a character that would maybe let someone die but wouldn’t kill them himself (yet). But that’s it, Kim Soleum having read so far into his story, operates with the assumption that he’s a comically evil bad guy. But this guy, all he does with his hypnosis pen is hide away like a mouse? Sorry for being a much more horrible person, I would’ve tried stealing his items but he was doing something so pointless even Braun didn’t think to let Soleum know (now is that a whole nother thing? Braun being more suspicious leading up to his darkness arc? Yeah.)

Braun being an all powerful ghost story entity btw without Kim Soleum having to mask his identity almost completely was like the total kryptonite of Soleum’s “I care too much about everyone’s lives but I can’t do that because they are all fictional but also alive”. Soleum isn’t against making relationships but he often calls Braun his only friend. Isn’t that a bit out of touch Soleum, I think there’s a couple of people who would find a friend in you.

J3, for example, who was looking for him after he went missing! Actually, color me a conspiracist but I think it’s much less a self esteem issue but a reaction of realizing the people he’s (trying to) push away actually like and care about him. I mean he’s trying to get out of this fictional world. He doesn’t want the people of this world to care about him, so he’s shocked at the revelation that they do. So I don’t think it’s out of a dislike of himself but in many ways, he’s forced to act unlike himself because of this world. Well anyway that’s just my opinion anyway…

some final personal (personal) thoughts down here…

Kim Soleum’s monologue drives me nuts. I know! That’s the whole novel! But it’s something like Baek Deoksu’s style, where I sit there and shake my head going “Young man, I know you’re playing tricks with me”. I mean seriously, it’s not a bad thing. Just don’t make me work hard every chapter hooo, I’m a lazy kind of guy yk read for fun and leisure. ghost story ooo so scary…

[1moreff-creator]

Theory: Mai Akasaki’s Sixteen Killers

The theory that everyone in DRDT’s killing game is responsible for the death of Mai Akasaki. 

If you’ve been around the DRDT theorizing sphere, you might have caught sight of a very particular thought floating around; that one way or another, everyone in the killing game is responsible for Mai’s death. It comes up every now and then, so I figured I'd throw in my own take on the matter. Let’s pull a Poirot, and solve this Murder on not-quite-an Orient Express!

CW: Murder, suicide, poison, mentions of religion

The Prologue: Mai is Dead? Who is Mai?!

Alright but maybe I should explain who the hell I'm talking about for the uninformed :v

Mai Akasaki is a more or less secret character, who’s only had nine seconds of screen time in the main series (Teruko’s dream in 1-6), but is most likely Unnamed Classmate from the Bonus Episodes. A full introduction and several important theories I believe about her can be found in my Mai post. Although some parts of that post are outdated, it gives what I consider to be a good overview of everything we know about her. 

But in case you don’t feel like reading 15k words of rambling about this cryptid of a character, here’s quick summary:

-Probably part of Hope’s Peak East Class 27, classmate to most if not all the cast. After all, she’s Unnamed Classmate from the BEs. 

-Really nice girl everyone adored like a god.

-Xander and her fucked around (presumably staging some kind of rebellion against Hope’s Peak).

-She found out (per Veronika’s Mai quote, “A for who didn’t foresee the consequences”). 

-Presumed dead. 

To elaborate on that last point, given it’s part of this post’s thesis, I’ll quickly show the evidence. 

Most explicit. Mai’s numeral XI (and if you don’t know what a numeral means in the context of LGI, or what a "Mai quote" is, I urge you to read my secrets masterpost. This isn't an entry level theory lol :v) shows up alongside “God is dead,” alongside with an arrow pointing at Mai’s portrait when the word “God” shows up on screen. Not only that, this is the only grey numeral in the entire MV.

Then, just one line afterwards, the Kubler-Ross model of the five stages of grief shows up, a model often associated with death.

Even more evidence: the flowers in her tattoo are probably Mai flowers, a discovery by the-fox-in-the-socks. These flowers are associated with the legend of a girl named Mai who, among other things, died. Read their post for full clarification. 

So… yeah. Mai’s dead. But, can we really claim the cast is to blame?

The Basis: Someone’s Fault

There is currently one person in the cast who is heavily suspected to be in some way responsible for Mai’s death, two more who I brought up in my Mai post as likely candidates as well, and even more which have looser connections to her death. 

Teruko - Via Second Anniversary Art.

This gif shows Mai’s gloves disappearing from the top of a frame otherwise containing only Teruko, and in the middle flashes a code that (by rearranging the “rows” of the columns in numerical order) translates to “It’s all your fault.” So, Teruko at least is probably implicated, presumably through her luck if nothing else.

Xander? - Via Sixth Bullet

The LGI MV tells us there are six bullets to find, with the hint that we can’t actually find all of them. Indeed, only five bullets can be found. However, that could lead someone to speculate that the sixth bullet is loaded in the gun. Said weapon is labeled “(not a) prop gun”, connecting it to Xander, and aimed, while not directly at the Mai portrait, still too close for comfort. The idea here is that Xander might be considered responsible for her death because it was his idea to rebel against Hope’s Peak, and that may be what got her killed. If that makes no sense to you, again, please read the Mai post, I've already written too much about this girl to repeat myself too much T_T

Whit? - Via Tetraphobia

When Whit’s numeral XV appears on screen, we also get the instruction “subtract 4, due to tetraphobia.” XV - 4 = XI, which is Mai’s numeral, again “God is dead.” This could connect Whit to her death, with the idea being that he’s Whit so if there’s a way to look suspicious he’ll take it. That is to say, I actually don’t know how Whit could be connected to Mai’s death :p The only way to salvage Whit’s innocence in regards to Mai is to assume the tetraphobia thing is meant to connect him to footnote 11 instead of numeral XI, but footnote 11 is the Diana one, and while there’s ways to make that work, theorizing about Diana is genuinely harder than theorizing on Mai. So, for the purposes of the post, we’re gonna ignore that connection to Diana, and say that this could connect Whit to Mai. 

Ace??? - Via Highlighted Text

This is the most recent allegation to come up, and it’s based on an observation regarding Eden’s dialogue in 2-16.

Eden [2-16]: I never said that I forgave him. It's just that... The Ace I met for the first time wasn't a murderer.

The bolded text is peculiar. While it could just be for emphasis, it’s also possible it’s bolded to bring attention to it because it’s an assumption which is wrong. As in, Ace was a killer since the start of the killing game. If that’s not about Taylor (which it very well could be considering Ace’s dialogue, let's not ignore that), it could be about Mai. 

Veronika??? - Via Mai Quote

Veronika's Mai quote: A girl who didn't foresee the consequences.

Hers is the one that references consequences, after all!

Yep, that's the full connection.

David???? - Via Mai Quote Order

His Mai quote is the only one after Veronika’s in the Mai order given by the source code of Mai’s page, an order which has not been entirely forgotten. This could maybe make him suspicious if you squint harder than anyone’s ever squinted before. Does this one even make sense to anyone who is not me? Who knows.

Min????? - Via Footnote 6

Footnote 6, “[Prayer]”, flashes on screen at the same time Min’s numeral X is there.

Since Mai is a “God” in the MV, the prayer goes to the God, the scene is referencing Min’s murder kinda through the trial… Yeah this is uber weak. It’s kinda similar to saying Eden’s suspicious because her Mai quote makes no sense; just because it’s weird doesn’t mean it can be cleanly connected to the Agenda.

Yeah that’s kinda it. But, if only a few characters are being even tangentially connected to Mai’s death, how is it possible that everyone is catching an allegation? Well…

The Thread: Rule 14 & “Murder on Orient Express”

“Rule 14: All murderers must be held accountable for their crimes."

The strange wording in this rule has been a topic of speculation for a while. You could take it to mean that blackeneds who lose trials get executed, but then it wouldn’t be “all murderers,” it would just be “the murderers who get found.” Thus, the theory that there could have been multiple murderers in the cast even before the killing game properly started was born.

This is especially notable given a recent reveal: MonoTV's purpose.

MonoTV (DefaultTV) [2-16]: But there is no reason for me to punish Ace a second time. That would fail to serve my purpose. Ace: What? Charles: Your purpose? DefaultTV: Naturally. To run this killing game until the death of every participant.

There is no rule that states anything along the lines of "everyone has to be dead by the end," not directly. That is, of course, unless Rule 14 applies to everyone. If all murderers must be held accountable for their crimes, and everyone in the cast is (by some loose definition of the word) a murderer, then it follows that MonoTV would be designed to "punish" (read: kill) each and every one of them.

And this isn’t the only allusion to the possibility. The next topic to cover would be “A Murder on Orient Express.” Uh, spoilers for the book, but it’s a murder mystery where the big twist is that every suspect, every passenger in the train, had a part in the death of the victim. 

How is this connected to DRDT? Well, for starters, it’s one of the books referenced in LGI, with three appearances; one is just a reference to the David reveal, but the other two are more notable, one being attached to Teruko’s numeral XIII and the other directly preceding the “democratic-ly” shot, which directly references the killing game. A connection to the protagonist, the “main antagonist” and the killing game itself could be noteworthy…

If this wasn’t LGI. Teruko’s numeral is also attached to text from “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas,” the David scene has references to “Dogra Magra” and “No Longer Human,” and if it’s just about number of appearances, Hamlet has a whopping eight showings. If showing up in LGI was all these stories needed to be considered plot relevant, we’d need to figure out a connection to, like, a million other books, a scientific paper and several Wikipedia articles.

No, the more relevant references to Murder on Orient Express actually come from the main series itself. For starters, Teruko references Agatha Christie in 1-1. 

Teruko [1-1]: Strychnine... I think that many mystery novels mention that sort of poison. A****a C******e uses it as the murder weapon in one of her books.

However, Agatha Christie has written more than one book. In fact, the book Teruko references is "The Mysterious Affair at Styles," which I researched but couldn't find any way to connect it to DRDT (unless the concept of double jeopardy somehow becomes important). No, we need something else to refer us to Murder on Orient Express.

Which gets us to the biggest connection between DRDT and the book itself. And because dev hates me, specifically, it’s of course, in Thrown to the Wolves. 

Like, really, why is this execution in particular the most theory relevant execution in the history of fangans? I take psychic damage every time I revisit 1-12 please save this poor Min fan-

The final question Min receives is “Who wrote the murder mystery novel Murder in the Calais Coach?”. And “Murder in the Calais Coach” is the US’ localization of “Murder on Orient Express.” Notably, this is the only time in the main series (as far as I remember) that a proper noun referring to a real thing isn’t censored with asterisks; TEDtalks, Agatha Christie, and Amazon have all been censored this way. 

Xander [to David, Prologue-2]: You're just as incredible in real life as you are in your T*****k videos!

MonoTV [2-14]: But ever since I ordered 100 tons of concrete blocks from Am***n, I have been blacklisted from all online order companies.

This gives us an explicit connection, at least. Sure, it’s not guaranteed to be important just because it showed up in Thrown to the Wolves (I doubt the Riemann Hypothesis or that one enzyme system are important to DRDT), but combined with the other Agatha Christie reference and the lack of asterisks, it really seems like this could truly be significant.

So we've drawn the link between the book and DRDT. Combining it with what we talked about earlier about Rule 14 and MonoTV's purpose, it really seems like there's a solid argument to say that the whole cast might be responsible for the death of one particular person. And if that's the case, because of what we talked about even earlier, it's very possible that refers to Mai's death specifically.

Further evidence is MonoTV's Mai quote, "It's all your fault." The fact that the mascot of the killing game is saying that on Mai's page already suggests a connection between Mai's death and the origins of the killing game, so combined with the fact the purpose of this game is killing all its participants, it can potentially be taken as further evidence for the "Mai on the Orient Express" theory.

Now, to be clear, even with all of this, the evidence is... extremely loose. Understandably so; Mai and the killing game's origins are series wide mysteries which likely won't even get close to being solved until much later, so any theory which connects them is going to lack any amount of truly significant evidence. However, I feel there's enough there to at least consider it for the time being, and to keep the possibility in mind going forward. That's kinda the thesis of the post basically, "keep this in mind in case it comes up again" :v

As an add on though:

Alternative Theory: Unique Victims

Also known as: Holy shit is that a motherfucking Milgram reference?!!??!?

The idea here is that instead of everyone being responsible for Mai's death in some abstract manner, they all each killed at least one person before the killing game, but they each have different victims. "Killed" by a very loose metric, mind you, where being partially responsible for someone's suicide counts as murder in the eyes of the killing game organizers for some reason. This would be consistent with the previously mentioned Rule 14 interpretation, though the connection to Murder on Orient Express is notably weaker, as you need to generalize "everyone is responsible for the death of one particular person" to "everyone is responsible for someone's death." The advantage it has over the other theory is that we have a better idea of what each person's murder could be:

-Levi killed four people, that one's easy.

-Arturo blames himself for Felicity's death, at least.

-Min poisoned her competition. Potentially non-lethally, but potentially lethally as well.

-Teruko still probably holds some responsibility in Mai's death, or at least believes she does.

-Ace has been implied to blame himself for Taylor's death.

-Charles and Whit have Elliot and Elizabeth respectively. We don't know the full context of those two's deaths, so Charles and Whit could be responsible technically somehow.

-Veronika's done something worse than her motive secret implied, which could be murder. There's no evidence for it, but you know, it's possible.

-We know less than zero about Diana, to the point it's not impossible to make a theory that David caused her death.

-Xander has survivor's guilt... It's really not the same thing but y'know. You can kinda twist it into self-blame for death.

-Maybe Eden tried to kill Xander when she gouged out his eye? (Again sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about, should've read my secrets masterpost :p). If the cast calls Nico a murderer for attempted murder, then this could work. Technically.

-Hu attempted suicide. This is the biggest stretch in history, but there's some way to call Hu her own murderer with the same idea as before, that attempted murder still makes you a murderer. You know, ignoring that attempting suicide is completely different from murder. I'm trying, okay?

-Maybe Arei ruining her sisters' lives can be considered murder? Absolutely not, but again, I'm trying.

-If J, Rose and/or Nico killed someone before the killing game, it's never been implied. So, yeah. We're cooked on that front.

There's admittedly more set up for it than I'd realized before writing all that, but it's still not particularly perfect. I'll point to Arei as a particularly big problem for this theory, because there's almost no way for us to easily learn that she's killed someone now that she's dead, assuming her secret isn't somehow considered murder. Not to mention that Rose would probably have her murder as her secret if she remembers doing it. That, alongside with the Mai theory's closer connection to Murder on Orient Express, is why this post is mostly focused on said Mai theory; I find that to be the stronger possibility.

But of course, that's just my opinion. These theories are highly speculative and very likely to be wrong, but I wanted to get them out there somewhere. Hope you enjoyed them, and thanks for reading! If you made it this far, then you deserve a copy of Murder on Orient Express to read... or something like that. See ya'!

[hatsukeii]

i caved in guys…i went and read the manga…and now i can’t get them out of my head…

call it fate, call it karma / gojo satoru x reader

genre(s): angst + hurt/comfort, sadness, gojo is a poor unfortunate soul :( conflicting intentions/feelings, tbh he js needs a hug and you can be the one to give it to him!! i do twist up the canon timeline a little bit so apologies for that but it's all for continuity's sake!! im debating over whether this should end well or not but i'll let time decide ;P

warning(s): um idk jjk spoilers for s2 and jjk 0? just sad tbh but no nsfw or anything so dw!!

wc: 1564

tldr; close the door, not all the way.

Fires of cursed energy burn at Gojo Satoru's body as he towers above the corpse of Geto Suguru. He reeks of blood, hands shaky despite barely exerting any power to finally end Suguru's maniac rampage, and his bloodshot eyes train onto the crater pushed into the cavity of his chest, mutilated by his hand.

"You were my one and only best friend, Suguru."

Palms move towards the hanging head as Satoru conjures up the inferno of cursed energy that plagues his body. His eyes sting beneath his blindfold, the energy can't seem to emanate from his fingers.

Enough.

He's already dead. Suguru is not going to get up, he isn't coming back, he can't do anything but slump against the fucking wall, blood pooling at the ground beneath him.

So Satoru shoves his hands back into his pockets, forcing the cursed energy back into his body like a rag soaking up fresh vomit, and runs.

The first time Gojo Satoru shows up at your doorstep unannounced, it is following the death of Geto Suguru, special grade curse user, Tokyo Jujutsu High alum, his best friend gone rogue. He knocks at the door in the rhythmic code that you have established long ago in the secrecy of your usual meeting spot- some alleyway of Shibuya. With two knocks, then a pause, then three, he invites himself in. You sit at the couch, eyes trained on the television as yet another report of mass destruction has graced regional news. You, his beautiful, yet fragile secret behind closed doors, the light at the end of a tunnel, something he swore to never come back to, not in times like these.

"Satoru?" No one has called him that name in years.

The house is silent, spare from the droning news report on the channel. The door shuts gently behind Satoru as he steps his shoes off, and slumps into your floor. You frown, a pang of something bitter plucking at your throat. Something has gone unequivocally wrong. Glances are taken at the faded streaks of dried blood on his hands, his blindfold sitting looser than usual on his nose, his fingers gripping at his hair until strands begin falling off. He rips off the fabric above his eyes, setting his vision free as he soaks in his surroundings; the shuffling of your feet on the hard ground, the city lights that seep into your living room in streaks of yellow and white, your gradually approaching figure.

"Turn it off, Satoru." He turned it off before even reaching for your door.

"It already is."

Your hands pry his own away from his hair, ignoring the stench of death that wafts from his body as you hold them together and bring them to your lips. His breathing finally finds its pace, slowing from frantic hiccups to normal exhalation. Gojo Satoru alone is the strongest, yet in your wake, he is the smallest man alive.

"He's gone. Suguru. He's not coming back."

Your heart drops at the revelation, and Satoru gets up from the ground, pulling you with him as he walks towards your room. Tears begin welling in your own eyes at the sight of his despair, before they ever begin to even form as a knot in his throat. The bags of his eyes suddenly seem this much darker, the twitching of his fingers by his side growing into erratic trembling. Gojo Satoru has killed many before, taken thousands of heads clean off bodies without a second thought, yet the mangled state of Suguru's corpse is everywhere; on your couch, at your desk, through the hallway too. It's all a little too much, a little too fast.

"Satoru..." His name spilling out of your mouth feels exactly as it should. Like home.

His lips quiver, and he collapses into your body, sending both of you into your bed. You toy with his hair, scratching his head the only way you know. Satoru is unmoving, eerily serene as he buries his face into your chest, warm heaves diminishing into small breaths as he passes out in your arms. You hold him in your crossed arms, carving out the perfect cradle for his head to fit into. Fingers continue to massage at his head, and for just a moment he is just Gojo Satoru, rid of the special grade title, stripped of the burden to be the honoured one, away from the despair of Jujutsu.

He leaves the next morning, careful not to wake you, and he swears he will never return. Not when you can live away from the grasp of curses that plague his every waking hour. Not when you can live the life he will never be able to give you.

The next time Gojo Satoru turns up at your doorstep unannounced, it is almost one year later. His arms are heavy, feet dragging along the ground to your apartment. He swore that he would never return, especially not in times like these. You have waited, God, you have waited so patiently. You replayed his head against your chest every night, heart heavy at every passing thought of Gojo Satoru, the man whom you understood from the inside out, but never managed to keep around for long. After one year, the knocks still resonate throughout your apartment; two, pause, then three. The door unlocks, and Satoru selfishly invites himself in at midnight, the same way he did a year ago.

"Satoru?" He has not heard this name in a year, nearly forgotten by most, even himself.

He stumbles towards you on the couch, legs giving out from beneath him as he falls into the plush fabric. He is frail, almost sickly pale, and you shoot up, rushing towards the kitchen to fix him something, anything to help.

"I can't stay." He wants to punch himself for confessing it.

You snap around, glaring at Satoru, who groggily props himself back up from your couch. Like hell he isn't staying, he can barely walk straight.

"Yes you are. You are staying right fucking here, Gojo Satoru."

He doesn't think you understand, rightfully so. You did not see him in that box, waiting day after day to break free. You could not find him beyond the world of the ordinary, uttering baseless prayers to a God that he doesn't believe exists, begging to see you once more before whatever awaits him. You don't know of the promises he has made to keep you safe, which meant keeping himself as far away from you as possible. He swore to never come back, no matter how badly he needed to relish in the mundane for just a fleeting moment.

"I have to go after him, now. I can't let him destroy this world."

You storm towards him on the couch, panadol and hot water in hand as you set them down on the coffee table. It's not much, but it's what you can do.

"Then why did you come back here?"

Satoru's words gather at the base of his throat, too many to release at once. No, he isn't sure why he came back here either, after swearing a million times to never return, for your sake. Yet his questions are answered as you lunge forwards into him, chest heaving and rising frantically as you weep into his shoulder, arms around his neck.

"You were gone for a year, Satoru!" He knows, and he would kill himself a hundred times over if it means you would forgive him.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So, I'm telling you to stay this time! Don't leave again!"

He readjusts his position to prop himself upright, bringing an arm to the back of your neck as he holds you closer, closer than he ever has before. Pressing a soft kiss into your pulse, his lashes tickle your skin as he stays there. Just for a little longer, he pleads with the ticking clock that taunts him, begging to be the weakest man alive, to be nothing but Satoru, the name that rolls off your tongue in velvety syllables. He squeezes you against his body, and his mind tells him to let go, to release you from the torment that is his existence.

Yet he cannot bring himself to do it, even as the curses run amok across Japan, destroying everything in their wake. He is selfish, thoughtless for any other that is not you.

Until you pull away from him, nose running and dried tears staining your skin. His thumb presses into the streaks, rubbing them dry. He presses kisses into where the tears drew their lines, holding your face in his hands. You shake your head and get up from your position. You know that he means it when he says he has to go.

After all, he is Gojo Satoru, because he is the strongest.

"Go. They need you."

Satoru crawls off your couch, stepping towards you one last time. His hands find your face again, and he holds it tenderly, like it might shatter if he so much as moves. He takes in your eyes, and your hair, and your lips, and everything that is conceivable about you, who he swears he can never come back to, but knows he selfishly will anyways.

He betrays his promise one last time.

"Don't close the door all the way on me, please."

"It never is, Satoru."

author's notes:

YALL i really needed to write angsty gojo as a jjk debut to this account because i feel like all i see is smut and dad gojo or like super smitten gojo but like no i need his heart to fucking BREAK and i need your hearts to break with his too!! sorry not!! this is what true gojo is like and i will actually die on this hill alone if i have to!!

i genuinely hope you guys like it though i thought it up after a martini and two sake shots and literally just fleshed it out when i was fully sober again and i had this whole idea but then the pacing was hard to balance so i had to cut some stuff out because it would be too long and drone on and i was NOT ready to write another 7k fic today sooo

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @starlysama @fiannee @bailey-reeds @catsoupki @akaakeis @hiraethwa

ok i love u guys bye bye until the next one

[11queensupreme11]

AHHH ! I’m so glad you like my modern au !

Ok so Percy’s dad is still pjo Poseidon lol sorry ! Him and sally were one of those Sumer romances and he did lowkey wanna stay but pjo Zues ( bozo telenevela level drama queen ) has a hissy fit and his family have him stuck to his og wife. Sally was first with Gabe then divorced ( Loki found out and burried his ass in cement ) Rn Sally is Happy and married in nyc with Paul !

Percy goes to college in Long Island and lives with Grover and anthonius ! ( thanks for the ideas btw I love it !!!) Grover works at a nonprofit to save the ecosystem and he too won’t show up yet since he was raising money to preserve an endangered plant. They both still pay for rent but are currently off doing their stuff at the begening of the story.

Because of that Percy mostly hangs out with her other friends, Brunhilde a law major and her little sister Goll a highschool senior who is currently doing a nursing tech ( I went to a highschool in Long Island where you could do that I think it was also called Boces )

As for how Percy ends up at a frat party ! Her apartment neighbor Drew calls her panicked because she was at a frat party and her idiot sorority sister piper acted a fool cause the both of them had a thing for Jason ( Percy’s cousin ) whose this really nice dude who’s only in the same frat as Cu cause of his idiot dad wanted him to follow his legacy. Anyways shit went south so Percy went to help her and met one of the banes of her existences in the process.

For the health issues I could totes see Apollo clocking her in the hospital he has his residency in and breaking all The doctor codes to see what’s wrong with her ( I still don’t know what illness to give her lol ) he then proceeds to coddle her like she’s some fragile girly, he’ll lift her stuff, walk her home, feed her, people assume they’re dating or married with how he dotes on her.

And omg yes ! Hades would put his mouth in his foot and hire Beel as her new math tutor, Beel is also a sad bozo loner who’s only freind Lilith is currently off abroad because she’s a photographer usually and curbs his less ethical ways and is a voice of reason but with her gone he’s been spiraling internally. Then this brat who can’t do math and wears blue dyslexia glasses barged in to his life… and no he doesn’t like her even when she brings him food and check in on him… and she’s definitely not his new bestie…

Loki and Percy’s friendship ??? Kinda happened from him being semi related to Goll and Brun, so it tends to be them plus Thor on sleepovers and movie theater nights, of course at first they were passive aggressive as shit but one drunk night and they’re chill ? Ok not really but he’s a beloved grimlin that crawled out of somewhere and Percy tolerates him ( also cause she doesn’t know he turned her abusive step dad into a cement statue )

And although pjo pos wasn’t with Sally he’s actually a pretty good dad when he can be, he’ll send her fish shaped plushies and even secretly paid for her college, he even owns the apartment complex she lives in and keeps the rent affordable. Him and Percy go fishing every summer and he even own one of those #1 dad mugs ( Percy made it in a pottery class ) also HE PAYS HIS CHILD SUPORT !!! The only reason Percy and Sally struggled at first was cause gave was a shitty abusive ass but as soon as Sally could girly pop ran.

Also not to confuse things I think the pjo gods would be named after their Roman counter parts to make it easier.

As for ror Poseidon man did he not like her at first ! She’s this pretty looking girl who can’t read for shit always wears blue sunglasses indoors ( he doesn’t realise they’re dyslexia glasses ) and smells like coffee and cookies. He had beef with a college girly ( looser ) then they have a dramatic stuck in the elevator moment where he finds out oh hey… she’s not that bad I guess ? And then when he realises she loves marine life as much as him he is obsessed ! So what if she’s the only one who gets praised ? Or better grades ? Or the only one who gets to go on his internship in the summer ? She’s perfect…. ( bro is delulu )

Also I deff wanna hear anyone else’s ideas about the au it would be so fun 😋

I FORGOT TO ADD THIS IN THE PREVIOUS ASK. but since beelzebub was made her tutor only because anthonius was gone..... imagine him crashing out when anthonius comes back and percy tells him "hey beelie, i just wanted to let you know that you don't have to tutor me anymore because my friend came back! yaaaaay now ur free of me, haha!!! 😄"

also, i'm picturing ways they find out about anthonius lmao.

like for beelie, it's what i said above. she drops him as a tutor cuz anthonius is back and she's all like "i bet ur super happy cuz now you don't have to deal with me anymore haha!! 💖💖💖" and he's just crying internally

for cú chulainn idk, maybe he goes to the cafe to be a menace again, but she's on break and talking to some other dude and he's just fuming. or maybe he tries to mess with her again like always, but then ANTHONIUS who doesn't give a shit who cú chulainn or his family is, steps up to tell him to fuck off??? idk lol knowing cú chulainn, he'd probably start a fight ngl

and for anubis.... hmmmmmm........... maybe he goes to visit her sometime near closing time. percy's always last to leave and she and anubis sometimes meet up at that time so she can make a special treat for him and kebi, but maybe this one time he goes there only to see her talking with some dude 💔💔💔💔💔 and he's just... face-pressed into the window like 🥺 or something and anthonius and percy are like 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♀️

for poseidon..... he'd definitely be evil enough to have a 9 AM class and percy ALWAYS does her best to show up in time but one day she was late and when he asks her about it she's like "oh sorry! my friend anthonius came back from rome and we stayed up super late celebrating! 😅💖" and he crashes out

and with hades.......... hmmmm maybe anthonius finds out that hades has been snatching her up for random meetings in his office and anthonius is all like "umm percy... that's a little concerning, maybe you shouldn't do that anymore" and she listens and stops coming 💀💔

and for loki, since you mentioned that she hangs out at the valkyries' place (and loki by extension), maybe he notices that she hasn't been visiting frequently and asks brunhilde and she's all like "oh percy's friend that she may or may not be in love with came back from rome so she's been hanging out with him. btw they live together lol" 😂😂😂😂😂

for apollo, maybe the same with beel! she calls him up and is like "hey apollo! i'm so sorry i've been making you waste so much time with taking care of me.... you don't have to do it anymore! my friend came back, he can handle it! thank you for everything!!! 💖💖" and he loses it LMAO