#roman is a piece of shit human

[cha-lii]

karl was such a fucking piece of shit this episode, making fun of romans grief. if nothing else, i want to see karl fucking fail in the end

[ovaryacted]

REPRIEVE

PAIRING: General Marcus Acacius x wife! reader || WC: 3.8k

SYNOPSIS: The General arrives home after his most recent crusade for the Roman Empire. In the hastiness of his arrival, you aid him in his relaxation.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Rough sex. Manhandling. Marking. Choking. Fingering (f receiving). Barebacking. Breeding Kink. Implied free use kink established (if you squint). Sort of dom/sub elements. Sir/Authority kink. Allusions to loss of virginity. Sex in the bath cause I said so. Mentions of Roman customs & clothing. Marcus pursued & courted reader beforehand. Reader is female and has hair. Ambiguous age gap [Reader is assumed to be younger but early 20s]. No use of y/n.

A/N: This was a pain in the ass to write since I haven't written a full smut piece in a minute and I had to do some research to figure out shit about Ancient Roman society, but I'm glad this is done. This fic wouldn't exist without Ali, @pedgito who practically held my hand during the process and helped with the proofread and aesthetics. Also big shoutout to my other baes for the reassurance and motivation. Anyways, I hope those who read it enjoy it, likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Some would say the General was more reminiscent of a God than a man; his silent prowess oozed out of him everywhere he went. To the empire, he was respected and admired by many, an irreplaceable asset to the Roman Emperor and the one true leader of the greatest army to exist.

Outside the walls of the great city, he was a different beast entirely. Bloodthirsty and hungry for control, his name whispered through unconquered lands and peninsulas like a plague. Marcus Acacius, the moniker of death.

He commanded his soldiers to pillage and return what they could to the capital: gold, livestock, and new fodder to satiate Rome’s everlasting appetite for power. As he trampled through villages of the unknown, his steel blade cut through human flesh with finesse, his skin stained with the crimson of those who lay dismembered in a heap. Whoever was left of the inhabitants dropped to their knees, vowing servitude to the empire in exchange for their personhood, all while the General reveled in that power.

He was a force to be reckoned with in every sense of the word, dominating every space he invaded with his broad shoulders and fierce eyes. Being at the hands of the Emperor would prove to be a benefit if his sins didn’t fill him with regret. Despite his domineering attitude, he urged to want more, to be understood and accepted with all the faults of being a mortal man.

The Gods seemed to hear his silent prayers, taking pity on Acacius and granting him the opportunity to wed a wife, a pretty thing he had spotted once while patrolling the city with a few other soldiers. He was called upon for a council meeting when you crossed his path, the purple fabric of your palla catching his eye, holding your gaze for mere seconds before you continued to stroll past him.

He sought after you through the crowds in the market and at the Emperor’s banquets, seeking you out any chance he was not shipped out on a campaign, wooing you with his charisma and stories of his conquests. You’ve bewitched him wholeheartedly, pursuing you until he asked for your hand in marriage, and you accepted willingly.

After every battle and bloodbath, you awaited him in the Domus, high in the exclusive Palatine Hill. At first, he didn’t know what being wed would be like and didn’t expect to uphold the standard of a spouse, but all he knew was he wanted you, and he succeeded in his endeavors.

The sun had already set past the horizon when Acacius stepped through the entryway of his domus, the heavy footfalls of his steps echoing through the stone walls. He didn’t address the servants who attempted to welcome him into his home; instead, they bowed and greeted him in kind as he paid them no mind. He strolled past the atrium and the gardens, refusing to turn his head to admire how the moonlight shimmered over the luxurious pool, lotus flowers, and lily pads floating idly over the calm waters.

Taking another turn across the hall and striding through a wide door, he entered a dimly lit room surrounded by candles where the private bath was located, already prepared for his arrival. He didn’t hesitate to strip himself of his armor, the heavy metal of his chest plate clanging to the ground with the rest of its attachments. His undergarments were next, covered in the dirt of his recent crusade and smeared with the blood of his spoils of war, the dirty linen fabric of his red tunic piled up by his feet as he impatiently removed his caligae. He lifted his arms to force an audible crack in his spine, rolling his shoulders and neck to ease the strain he felt wound tight in his body.

Carefully, he sank into the warm water of the bath, groaning as he pressed his back against the sleek tiled edge. Acacius took his first exhale since returning to Rome, closing his eyes and stretching his arms across the bath’s rim. He’d usually sit in the water with a servant aiding him in his cleansing routine or at the careful hands of his wife, who worried more than he would’ve liked. To him, this was a much better alternative than the bustling bathhouses he frequented, no longer seeing the appeal in a stranger’s touch when he could get familiarity elsewhere.

Lost in thought, he was mentally replaying his decisions from the most recent Roman expansion when he heard the faint pitter-patter of footsteps behind him, acquainted with the light heel-to-toe pattern to know that his wife had entered the room to check up on him.

“Acacius. You have returned.” You expressed rather calmly, tone even and cautious as you eyed the back of your husband’s head.

Earlier in this union, before Acacius asked for your hand, you didn’t know how to approach him. A man of his prestige and experience was foreign to anything you’ve ever encountered. Though the gifts he bestowed you during your courting did much to convince you of the type of man he was, it was a learning curve you had to overcome. It took you a while to know how to tame a beast such as Marcus Acacius himself, but you reaped the benefits of your partnership over the months you were given the title of being the General’s wife.

“I have.” He muttered, flexing his toes under the water.

“Did you not call for the servants to aid you in the bath?” You asked him, having received word from your handmaiden of his hasty return.

“I am not interested in their help,” Acacius declared, huffing a breath through his aquiline nose. He finally turned his neck to face you for the first time tonight, his chocolate brown eyes burdened with the Emperor’s expectations to protect the city you both loved, to protect his reputation, and to protect you.

“Join me.” The words slipped out of him without hesitation, and you had half the mind to follow through on his suggestion.

“Are you sure? I can call f-”

“I do not wish for them, I wish for my wife. Now get in.” He wasn’t asking, and like one of his soldiers, you were ready to fulfill his demands without a second thought.

Carefully, you pulled at the soft material of your stola, unclasping it and letting the silk fabric fall to the floor around you. The tunic layered underneath was next, kicking it off alongside your spouse’s armor and unveiling your bare frame. You entered the bath from Acacius’ left side, not missing how he watched you as a predator would stalk their prey. Standing face to face with the man you called your husband, his big hands rashly grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards him and gesturing you to sit on his lap. Both of your legs were on either side of him, knees situated next to his hips and your pelvis hovering over his own. 

“You know this is improper.” You often reminded him of societal customs, and though he admired you for upholding Roman values, at the moment, he could care less about what was appropriate.

“You are my wife, are you not? That means I get to do as I please with you in my home.” He eyed you as you sighed and admitted defeat, not that you were complaining.

He was in one of those moods. So be it.

Quietly, you reached for the wooden bowl set off to the side of the bath, filling it with the oil-scented water and pouring it over his chest. Your fingers idly stroked Acacius’ collarbones and pectorals, making a note of the markings left behind from the heavy armor he often sported.

Sinking the bowl into the bath, you carefully streamed the water over his scalp, running your fingertips through the dried blood that settled at his graying temples and hairline. The grime was off-putting initially, but you quickly adjusted to it. Being the wife of a war leader forced you into a lifestyle you knew you had to accept, and making him happy was your burden to carry.

Acacius remained vigilant as you continued your meticulous washing, being extra attentive to his aching limbs. Grabbing the pumice stone with your palm and wetting it with a dip under the water, you began to scrub away at the leftover filth of combat from your husband’s body. You started at his neck, careful not to be too harsh and avoiding any apparent cuts. Moving downward towards his chest, you rubbed at him again as the reminder of his conquest trickled away in cascading ripples.

Many would not be able to stomach the reality of accommodating the General in all of his intensity, but to you, you didn’t mind. After all, you were a natural at servitude, having been shown the expectations of becoming a good wife by your mother since you were a young girl. Indeed, you did not expect to find yourself at the hands of Acacius; your father preferred to marry you off to a Senator and keep you within reach. But the moment your eyes locked on those warm brown irises on your walk, the man fascinated you, and your mind couldn’t let him go.

Being here like this with him caused you to reflect on the life you’ve been given. You were grateful to have a man endowed with such strength who would give you anything you wished for without having to ask. You reminisced about the night you were wed a few months ago, recalling how Acacius showed you what pleasure felt like for the first time. As passionate as he was merciless, his hands ran over your body and made you his in more ways than one, whispering promises of the future in your ear as you prayed for Venus to never cease the numbing feeling between your legs after each crashing wave that washed over you.

Strangely, you would consider yourself crafted for Acacius, to think it was fate to have met him that day to lead you both to where you are now. To Rome, he was a ruthless conqueror with years of expertise, and you honored him as the fighter he was molded to be and the cunning man you loved.

Diverting your attention to his shoulders and arms, you observed Acacius from the corner of your eye, noting his ravenous gaze when you entered the bath to join him. You could feel the texture of his worn palms over your skin under the water, clutching at your thighs and urging you closer on top of him. You permitted him to do what he wanted and touch you how he liked, not daring to tell him no.

He squeezed at your rear, the touch sending an electric pulse down your back and building towards the center of your body. Focusing on cleansing him and finishing your routine, the hardness you felt poking at your inner thigh grew increasingly evident the more he kneaded at your soft flesh. The moment his fingers teased at your entrance from behind, you exhaled shakily above him, meeting his mischievous eyes. 

“Acacius…” You started to speak, nearly dropping the pumice stone in the bath as he caressed you more intimately, his whole hand fully cupping your sex with intention.

“Hm?” His hum radiated through you, limbs vibrating with leftover adrenaline. “That is not what you call me dulcissima. Or must I remind you of your place?”

“Carissimus.” Your voice was more airy than you’d like it to be when you replied, but it was worth the toothy grin plastered over your husband’s face.

“There we go. I knew you would give me a proper welcome, just like your cunt always has.”

You were rewarded with two thick fingers plunging deep inside you, a noisy moan tumbling out of your mouth and falling over the General’s lips. His dark eyes devoured every sound you made and encouraged you to shift your hips against his hand. The pumice stone was long forgotten, sunken to the bottom of the bathing pool as you reached for his shoulders and dug your nails into his taut skin to keep yourself grounded.

If others knew of Acacius’s devotion to you, people would consider him a madman. He doesn’t take what the Gods have given him for granted, presenting him with a loyal partner such as yourself. You were always willing to please and welcome the baggage that comes with his title with open arms and open legs. You allowed him to put his energy into something other than killing rebels overseas and being the Emperor’s lap dog. All of his pent-up frustrations were channeled into the abrupt slaps of his hips against yours within the columned walls of your shared home.

You supported him, worshiped him, and preserved the same look of reverence every time he stepped through the front doors with another victory under his belt. His rank and what his duty entails didn’t intimidate you or push you away; rather, they enticed you, a curiosity he’s come to admire. The contrast between your eager softness and his inherent brashness unlocks the most primal parts of him, and more often than not, his urges win the inner battles.

If only you knew just how much you occupied his mind. Out on the battleground, as he plows through groups of people he doesn’t bother to count, the only thing that keeps Acacius going is the remembrance of your scent wafting his nose and your soothing touches over his scarred skin. He was nothing short of obsessed with you, and though he may not confess his fixation outright, you weren’t blind to your effect on him.  

The frequent pump of his digits was devastating, with no pause to let you adjust before the tips of his fingers curled into the textured spot that brought stars under your eyelids. The heel of his palm bumped into your throbbing clit with every thrust and drag of his hand, bringing you closer to that delectable edge. Rough kisses were littered across the column of your throat as Acacius’ coarse facial hair marked you, followed by the nipping of his teeth into the crease of your neck and shoulder.

“Please…” You begged him to let you seek release, cried for him to give you what you always craved. Your grip twisted into his thick, graying locks, scratching at the bruised skin of his nape.

“Give it to me.” Acacius instructed, knowing it would only take a few words to have you shaking and arching in his lap, followed by a soothing but stern order. “Come for your General.” 

Your vision whitened out, crying for Acacius loud enough for the servants to hear from the other side of the door, though this was far from new for them. Your hips moved on their own accord, pushing and pulling at his fingers as your walls pulsed around them. He didn’t stop his prodding and opted to press his calloused thumb to your sensitive nub, milking your release for all it was worth. Teeth clashed with your lips as he kissed you fervently, seeking to satisfy his craving of devouring you whole from the inside out.

Pressing your chest further into him, your pulsing core grazed his length that touched your leg under the warm water. A whimper departed from you, silently imploring for more, for anything he was willing to give you. He had trained you to take all of him properly without objections or qualms. Since then, you have become greedy for him, for the frequent reminders that you were very much his to claim.

Holding on to the bottom of your thighs, Acacius lifted you in his grasp and stood up straight in the bath. He walked off to the other side of the edge, laying you down with your back to the ground and looming above you. You glanced up at him with hazy eyes, ready for him to finally be inside you when you were manhandled to your front, your breasts pinned to the cold tile underneath, bringing goosebumps to your arms at the disparity in texture.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder, taking in the rapacious expression on your husband’s face. Acacius towered behind you with a twisted grin widening over his aged features as he stalked you down, the corners of his eyes creasing as his lips curled upwards. The lust radiating over him was palpable, pawing at your hips to keep you in place.

The tip of his cock teased your opening, shamelessly grinding into you and feeling every twitch of your wet slit. A breathless whine came from you, instinctively spreading your legs wider to make room for him, standing on your tippy toes and curving your backbone for Acacius’ view.

“I have trained you well. Always ready to take me whenever I like…” He tenderly touched your waist then, affectionately light, juxtaposed to your current positioning.

“Always, sir.” You mumbled, batting your lashes back at him as your body ached from the emptiness you felt.

“My pretty wife. Rendered a needy fucking thing.”

You didn’t have time to come up with a proper response before you felt him splitting you open, burrowing deep inside until he was nestled down to the hilt. A moan settled in the base of your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as the heavy weight of him kept you tethered to the Earth.

A sob passed your lips as Acacius drew his hips back, leaving the very tip of him inside you and thrusting forward, repeating the action again and again until he set a punishing rhythm. You sought for purchase on the tiles in front of you, letting your husband do as he wished with you, his aggressive tempo sending your body jolting forward on the cool ground.

With a broad hand, Acacius ran his touch up your back, reaching the base of your neck to wrap your hair in his fist, dragging you upwards. He held you to his chest, and all you could do was let Acacius take and take and take. Your thighs shook and your walls flexed as your hips remained at the edge of the bath pool, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

The water splashed around you both in time with his forceful bucks, the sounds of skin slapping resonating in the room’s walls. Acacius practically growled in your ear, huffing out praises and sweet nothings that made you clench around him with every brutal drag of his hips. He fucked you like he’d kill out in the field; fierce, quick, and without remorse, just the way you wanted.

The fingers previously holding your hair wrapped around the hollow of your neck, providing a doting squeeze and accepting your dazed nod. He kissed your cheek once and held your hip bone with his other hand, returning to moving against you like his life depended on it, like he’d never get the opportunity to feel your pussy wrapped around him like this again.

“Sweetest thing I have ever felt. You were made for me. Had no need to mold you to my cock, hm?” Acacius sinfully murmured in your ear, forcing another whimper from you as the tip of him hit that textured spot with striking precision.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You couldn’t say anything else, words growing heavy on your tongue the moment your husband’s grip tightened around your throat. Knowing that a man so capable of death had your life in his hands made you throb and crave the carnage that was embedded in his very being. The headiness of it all propelled you to bounce your hips against his, catching every lunge he gave you.

“Is that all you can say when you are full of me?” Acacius whispered in your ear, the degrading chuckle that rumbled from the depths of his chest made your walls quiver around him again.

Sneakily, the hand holding your hip moved between your legs, seeking out your clit to fondle it tight circles the way he learned you liked. Your keens grew in volume, head thrown back on his shoulders and your nails raked over the skin of Acacius’ forearm, losing yourself to the pleasure he was more than willing to provide.

“Please, please…”

“Maybe I should claim you properly. Let my seed take for everyone in Rome to know who you belong to.” You clenched hard at the notion of being bred, gasping under your breath as your body craved something much more than a proper release.

“Carissimus, my body is yours, I am yours.” Though you didn’t need to remind him of what he already knew, the prospect of being blessed with carrying his child was enough to launch you into a violent climax with a sonorous wail of his name. “Claim me. Claim me.”

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“I will, I swear I will.” It was a vow, Acacius’ word being his bond as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. A couple more diligent jabs of his hips and he spilled into you, filling you to the brim and holding you close to him. The blunt edge of his teeth dug into the side of your neck as he groaned, digging deep enough to tear at your skin. You squealed at the act, slumping towards the floor to catch your breath and attempt to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Soft kisses and caresses slowly brought you back down from your high, your left hand reaching for your husband’s face. He was drawn forward to your touch, bestowing a warm and slower-paced kiss on your plush lips, humming contently. 

“Must you treat a lady with such reckless abandon, General?” You jested with a breathless laugh, and Acacius couldn’t help but chuckle back. He was much calmer than before, the tension and adrenaline he carried back to Rome now dissipated and simmered to a minimum.  

“Only my lady appeals to such behavior.” You rolled your eyes at that, neck sore from the bite now imprinted on your skin, almost certain it will bruise by morning. If it weren’t your thighs or chest, he leaves his mark visible under your chin for everyone to see, as if the golden ring on your finger wasn’t enough to show that you were wed.

“Do you wish to call for the servants?” Acacius asked, catching the shake of your head.

“Nonsense, this is just fine. You still have to fulfill your promise to me.” The corner of your lips coiled up in a playful smile, and Acacius could feel his blood rushing south again.

You were just as insatiable as he was, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[sillyteecup]

The Wrong Way

Roman Reigns x black!o.c

Jey Uso x black!o.c

Chapter 4

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Misogyny

Mention of sexual assault

Taglist: @wrestlingprincess80 @nbanenefrmdao @vebner37 @theninthwonder @tshepisho @lensilver2 @trentybenty @empressdede @queen-shadow22 @becauseimher @jstarr86 @jaded-human @c-sgolden

A.N: This took me too damn long😭😭in my defense though, school has been drowning me and I've barely had the time to get this done quick enough, but ke...what can be said? Anyway, here is chapter 4 of The Wrong Way. I hope you like it. Enjoy❤️

Lori did not believe in setting expectations for people. As it was, she tried to keep her social interactions with anyone she did not know or trust to a minimal. Being a certified introvert, she thought it to be unrealistic to hold people to any social standards before speaking to them. All expectations bred disappointments as life is fickle. Human beings weren't nearly as fickle as life, but they could never be the exception to the rule.

All of that to say, she didn't know what to expect from the Tribal Prince Jey, as the first they met he grinned at her as though she were a piece of meat, and then the second time he glared at her like a foe. Now they were seated opposite each other in the matte black suv that Paul assigned to them, and he still had a scowl on his face.

"Have we met perhaps?" Lori questioned, breaking the heavy silence.

Jey tilted his head, features dancing between confusion and wondering if she was just stupid. "What?" he asked.

"Well you've been glaring at me since I landed, so I couldn't help but wonder if we had crossed paths and I happened to have wronged you by chance," she said indignantly, her irritation at his current expression slowly boiling.

"You're one to talk, when you don't look like the happiest trooper yourself," Jey said evenly, trying to keep an iron grip on his temper.

"Well I'm sure you can agree that there is nothing to be happy about as it stands," Lori pointed out bitterly.

Jey's face scrunched up in mild annoyance. "Yet you asked to ride with me. And for what? So you can shit on me for not acting like everything is sunshine and rainbows?" Jey spat, getting angrier by the sexond.

"I asked for you to accompany me so that we could perhaps get to know each other and maybe figure out a way to make this work, not have you sit there pouting like some petulant child who was denied pudding after dinner!" Lori hissed, finally losing her temper.

She watched as Tribal Prince Jey sat in his seat, jaw clenching as he likely fought the urge to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze till she was dead. If only he knew that she had the same thoughts swimming around her mind.

"Says the immature little bitch that threw a tantrum in the middle of a meeting because things weren't going her way," Jey said venomously.

"Tribal Prince Jey I assure you that while I respect your royal standing, I cannot allow you to call me out of my name. I shall hold my tongue because I was raised to be a respectable young lady, but-" she had begun to rant before being cut off by a mirthles chuckle from Jey.

"Respectable? Girl you a whole ass ho that runs around serving up pussy to every man that smiles at you," he said maliciously.

At this, Lori's heart stopped. Her hands began to tremble as tears threatened to spill form her eyes. She mentally condemned her father to hell for the way he painted the loss of her virginity as her being promiscuous. She had always rued the day she trusted him to understand and empathize with her for what actually happened that night. But now, at this very moment, she hated him for this false portrait he had sold of her to this family. He threw her trauma like a piece of raw meat into a den of lions. One day, he would pay.

"You do not know anything about me," she said, tone lowering as she seethed in rage.

There was another one of those mirthles laughs. "I don't need to. And frankly, I don't want to. Just 'cause we engaged, don't mean I need to coddle your feelings or be your friend or whatever the fuck you were hoping to achieve here!"

Lori bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from speaking out of line. Just because he was an insulant fool, it did not mean she had to stoop this level down in hell to defend herself. She was a woman of honor and dignity; there was no place in her mind that was reserved for engaging in petty spats with an individual such as Tribal Prince Jey.

"If that is what you so wish, then very well," she said evenly, marking him as dead to her.

No one could say she did not try.

➽──────────────❥

Roman, Paul and Sami arrived at the family mansion, or "the palace" as they usually called it, to find Miss Loreal Moore with her maidens, and Jey waiting for them. While the maidens each took in the courtyard with awe, Jey and his fiancé seemed disgruntled.

"Damnit," Roman whispered to himself. Even after the clear warning he had given Jey, his cousin did not cooperate. Roman could not let his incompetence slide as it would set a bad example to his brothers and the rest of their cousins. But he would deal with that later.

"The lady looks unhappy, my Tribal Chief," Paul pointed out, only adding to the grating of Roman's nerves.

"Wiseman, please tell me something. Do I look blind maybe?" Roman questioned him sarcastically, to which he shook his head rapidly while stammering for an answer.

"N-no, never my-my Tribal Chief. Your eyesight is absolutely perfect. 20/20 vision I would say-" Paul rambled, attempting to calm Roman down before he angered him even further.

"Then what made you feel the need to point out something that I can so obviously fucking see?" Roman said through gritted teeth. Everybody just seemed keen on trying his patience today and he couldn't understand why.

"I apologize my tribal Chief. But, may I ask, are there any plans by chance that the Tribal Chief may have to sway the lady in our favor?" Paul genuinely asked. If there was one thing Roman appreciated about his Wiseman, it was his dedication to the family. However Roman couldn't let his real plans be known, as one of the pieces to his little chess game was in the front seat.

"The best we can do right now is be hospitable. Show her that she's in the right place," Roman said before flashing a smile at Sami through the rearview mirror. "Ain't that right Sami?" he asked Sami in what has half a joke and half a threat.

Sami caught onto this and his lips curled up nervously. "Yes my Tribal Chief, definitely," he laughed nervously, earning a pat on the shoulder from Roman.

"Wiseman, get my door," Roman commanded while keeping his eyes on Sami. The moment Paul left the car, Roman leaned in to whisper into Sami's ear. "You and Miss Loreal Moore friends, Sami?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"She's been very kind to me my Tribal Chief," was all Sami said.

"I hope you've been returning the energy. After all, she might need a new friend around here," Roman whispered, sounding genuinely concerned for the lady.

"Oh, yes definitely, my Tribal Chief. I have shown Miss Loreal Moore nothing but kindness and I would be happy to be her friend if she allowed it," Sami rambled nervously. Roman moved back and smiled.

"Good, good. You're a good man Sami," he said, ending the conversation right before Paul finished announcing his presence and opened his door.

Right as he stepped out, Ms Loreal Moore's sharp gaze shot into his direction. "Miss Loreal Moore, you seem displeased-" Roman began to say, being cut off by his cousin's fiancé.

"I wish to go home. Now," she stated, her voice trembling as she struggled to hold it together.

Roman was taken aback by her demand. Her tone sounded to him like she had likely been angered or triggered by something Jey said. His neutral gaze quickly shifted into questioning glare towards Jey, who only scowled and turned away.

"I'm sure that whatever that happened to to make you wanna do that can be fixed. I don't know you well but you seem like a smart, mature and level headed woman. So let's just-" Roman began to say to calm her down only it be interrupted again. Which was beginning to get on his nerves.

"That thing you just did; attempting to soothe my ego to gaslight me into agreeing with whatever" solution" you were going to come up with? I hate it. It is an insult to my intelligence. And from what I can see, this family seems to be built on the foundation of insulting those they feel are lesser beings to them! I am by no means a fool! I know why that-" she took a breath to control herself mid-rant before continuing.

"I know why my father sold me to you people. I did not expect to be treated kindly or for this to be a fairytale of sorts, hell I did not even expect to be treated with integrity. But what I cannot take is being refferred to by obscene words, and then having my intelligence insulted less than 4 minutes later. If this is how it is to carry on going forward, then I would rather you put me on the next flight back to my home, so that I may live out the rest of my days in unmarried bliss," she finally finished before letting out a heavy exhale.

Roman clenched his jaw and nodded. He began to rethink every time he said Naomi was too stubborn for her own good. Compared to Miss Loreal Moore, Naomi was child's play. Even though she always gently kept them grounded, she had never outright called them out on their bullshit. Let alone on her first day on the island. As much as Roman appreciated this woman's strength, he also understood that she was going to be a nasty piece of work to mould into their image. Yet he found himself enticed by the challenge. Clearly he would have to break her and rebuild her in an image he saw fit. And one thing about Roman? He enjoyed playing God. But he would have to be smart about this. She had already seen through his first trick, which to be fair he hadn't even thought was one to begin with. He was just used to solving problems like that. Nevertheless, he was going to have to get far smarter than he ever had.

"I see. Wiseman, show them to their rooms. They've all had a pretty long day and are in no state to travel right now," he commanded, noticing the storm grow in Miss Loreal's eyes.

"Miss Loreal Moore, I shall speak with you tomorrow morning at 07:00 once you've had enough sleep," he added, hoping to quell her still rising temper.

Her eyes narrowed as she bit the inside of her cheek. It was as if she had realized that now that Roman had made his choice, there was no arguing. At least she held authority to a high regard to some extent.

➽──────────────❥

Skin illuminated by the sun rising, Lori took in the appearance of her room. The walls were a dull dull beige that contrasted poorly with the dark oak doors and large, arched windows. The curtains were a glaringly bright red, an irritating sight that drove Lori to open the curtains at the crack of dawn. They with the bedding sets and the velvet couch on the other end of the room. It was big, more spacious than the one back home. She hadn't bothered to check the size of the closet as she had no intentions staying long. The carpet and sheets were black, along with the blackwood vanity set. The whole room was dreadful.

And so was this family. Lori's mind had been flooded with predictions of how the Tribal Chief would try to coax her into staying. Having caught on to his tactic yesterday and with the understanding of the weight this marriage holds, she figured that Tribal Chief Roman would likely attempt slither his way into her mind to convince her that all of this was worth it in the end.

And maybe it was, but a few words dipped in caramel would not suffice in proving that to Lori. She glanced at the huge round clock on the wall next to the bathroom door, 05:30. Her maidens had insisted on making sure that they were at her side by five o'clock sharp, however Lori resisted. Insisting that she would much prefer if for the first time in a very long time, they rested. They deserved it. And her parents were not there to tell them otherwise.

After bathing and moisturising in complete solitude for the first time since she was born, she took the long-sleeved cotton sundress that. Minerva had picked out and ironed for her, and put it on. Lori then moved to sit by her vanity and frowned. She had never done her own hair before, and now with the bonnet covering her braided hair, the lack of experience had come back to bite her in the ass. From what she had observed in Willow doing her hair, her long, voluminous afro was no easy feat when it came to styling.

What if I just woke Willow up to help with my hair, then immediately after, she goes back to sleep? That would not be cruel would it?

Her pondering of her dilemma was interrupted by a knock on the door. Confused, Lori checked the time again, 06:30. Could the girls already be awake? She stood up from the stool and cautiously made her way to the door. The knock sounded again, right as her hand had touched the handle. Finally she opened, and on the other side was the last person she had expected to see.

"Sami? What are you going here so early?" she asked him. As nice as he was, and as much as she planned to utilise him if things went south, Lori was still guarded when faced with all the members of the Bloodline. After all, who was to say it wasn't an act?

He stook tall in her doorway with a boyish grin. He sported a black Nike t-shirt and sweats with sneakers to complete the ensemble. "Good morning Lori! Tribal Chief said I should swing by and check if you're ready," he explained cheerfully. His grin however faltered when he took note of the bonnet.

"What?" Lori said, noticing the change in expression. Sami grimaced in response and gestured for her to let him in. Hesitantly, Lori stepped to the side only for Sami to usher her back to the vanity. "Sami what is the meaning of this?" she demanded only for Sami to gently push her into the chair and smile at her through the mirror.

"You don't know how to do your hair do you?" he asked slyly, causing her eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

"How did you know?" she questioned, wondering what had given her ineptitude away.

"Educated guess," Sami shrugged as his hand hovered over her bonnet. "May I?" he asked, earning a nod from Lori which prompted him to remove it, revealing her hair. "Wow," Sami gasped as he felt the soft texture of her hair.

"What's wrong?" Lori asked in concern, not sure how to take Sam's reaction to her hair.

"Nothing, it's just-I've seen healthy, beautiful long hair before but this? God, your mom must love you," Sami said, still in awe of the sight before him.

Lori just wore a wry smile at the last comment. While she was sure that Sami meant no harm as he was unaware of her relationship with her family, he still struck a nerve. When speaking of her connection with her mother, Sami wasn't asking, but Lori had been for the longest time. And by the looks of it, she would never get an answer.

"Actually, Willow is the mastermind. Before that it was her mother. The two of them have been so kind to my hair in the way they have taken care of it. In fact, I would probably have cut it all off had it not been for them," Lori explained, notes of gratitude in the way she spoke. Willow and Mrs Graham had been taking care of her hair and keeping it healthy since she was born. They were the real heroes.

"Either way, they are hair goddesses," Sami chuckled as he began to braid Lori's hair.

That's when it dawned on her. "You know how to do hair?" she questioned, eyeing Sami suspiciously as his red locks were out and untamed.

"Yup, an old friend taught me," he replied, not seeing the way she looked at him.

"And where is she now?" Lori asked curiously as Sami kept unbraiding and gently detangling.

Sami glanced at her through the mirror, eyes gleaming with a hint of sorrow. "She-uh, got married," he said before clearing his throat. He was then quick to change the subject to how he barely saw the point in styling his anymore since the island's climate was never kind to it. Lori zoned out as he rambled on and on, watching as he carefully brushed and styled her hair into a simple low ponytail with a puff at the bottom, completing the look with sleek baby hairs.

A white man can do my hair better than me? I need to up my game.

Despite the huge favour he had done for her, Lori still couldn't help but be unconvinced. Apart from him, she had met two direct members of the Bloodline, and both of them have proven to be...unappealing for lack of better words. Why would she trust that Sami hadn't had the same ideals indoctrinated in him. After all, as much as he was "an outsider", he had still been there longer than her. And since he did not offer the family prospects of wealth as far as she understood, there had to be another, more sinister reason to keep him around. If only she had thought of this on the plane yesterday.

"Sami, why are you helping me?" Lori asked, her trust issues suddenly flaring up.

"Because you're cool, duh," he replied as if it were obvious.

"Cool?" Lori questioned, unsure what he implied with the term. Her father had always considered that kind of language to be juvenile and forbid it around the house, however Lori had heard it time and again at her old University and during the two years when Lord Byron had allowed her to go to a private high school to graduate instead of finishing with a home school education. Still though, she was not very familiar with the context of the word.

"Y'know, good, nice. Cool," he simply said. Although he was not clear, Lori understood just fine.

"Oh okay. Lovely." If Sami was acting, he sure was doing an amazing job at it. Either way, her oncoming talk with the Tribal Chief would determine whether or not it mattered.

➽──────────────❥

"The Tribal Chief requested that I escort you to his office."

Tribal Chief Roman's office was cold...fitting the stories she had been told of the man who inhabited it. Perhaps it was the intense air conditioning, or maybe it was the lack of a personal touch to it's decor. Either way, apart from the spread out red and black furniture pieces, it was rather dull. Lori doubted he cared to much about the aesthetics anyway.

She had been seated on the black couch situated next to the door, about 5 feet away from his desk where he sat, nose buried in his work. Her eyes followed the clock's hands as time slowly ticked by, foreshadowing her slow and agonising ego death, should she choose to stay here. It had been 3p minutes and the man hadn't said a thing aside from "Have a seat." Part of her felt like there was an angle he was playing at here. A psychological one that she couldn't quite point out. Perhaps he was asserting dominance by making her wait on his time. If that was the case, then the one he had hoped to present would not hold up too well.

Her eyes scanned the bookshelf to her left. The names on the spines of each book caught her by surprise. While some of the books were typical of what was seemingly his nature, such as The Art of War, the others were unbecoming of what she had noted about him so far. Romance novels.

The rest of the titles were in Samoan and Italian, two languages Lori had not an inkling of an idea about. Still though, the very idea that Roman likely not only spoke these languages, but also read them was somewhat attractive. An observation she mentally chastised herself from. The very reason she had let her sights roam around the office was to avoid settling her gaze on him. Lord knows how he would react to his cousin's fiancé staring at him.

Speaking of his cousins, before she slept, Lori had done everything in her power to cleanse her memory of her interaction with Jey yesterday. Better to pretend it never happened than to let it hold power over her. Her logic was faulty, but it worked. But that did not by any means imply that she would be thrilled about being in the same room as him. The last thing Lori wanted was to be executed for murdering her fiancé. Regardless of how satisfying it would be.

"I take it you slept well?" she suddenly heard Tribal Chief Roman say.

Keeping her gaze on the window behind him, she nodded. The room was ugly but the bed was comfortable. "Yes, my Tribal Chief."

"Good. As a future member of this family it is only fitting that the best is what you are offered," he said, causing her to scoff. His gaze narrowed at the action. "Why do you want to leave?" he asked her, tone completely neutral.

"I was quite clear about my feelings yesterday, my Tribal Chief. I do not appreciate being treated like a street urchin by your family," Lori responded coldly.

Tribal Chief Roman placed his forearms on his desk to lean forward. "What did he say to you?" he asked. His voice had dropped to a dangerously low octave that struck a feeling that Lori was not familiar with in her chest. It was a mix of two feelings really; fear that was all but expected, but more surprisingly, yet minimal, lust.

"Things I would rather not repeat," she said.

"Because you're afraid?" he questioned with an arched eyebrow.

"Because I am a lady who refuses to compromise herself by spewing anything unbecoming of me," she retorted with a scoff. Yes, Tribal Chief Roman himself was terrifying, but that was not a sentiment she held towards Jey.

He leaned back into his chair, firm gaze remaining on her. "Whatever it is that he said, does not reflect our views of you. He will be corrected-"

"You mean punished," she commented, cutting into his sentence. She noticed his jaw clench at her interuption and swore she choked on her breath.

"And I will make sure, that nobody else treats you like that again," he finished, patience waning with each word.

"Why go out of your way instead of allowing me to go home?" she questioned, knowing the answer but still wanting him to completely clear up his intentions.

"You said it yourself yesterday. You know why this engagement was arranged; political gain for my family in return of financial gain for yours," he explained with a shrug.

Lori slowly nodded, the sound of the clock ticking re-invading her ears. "Where is he?" she asked. She wasn't sure why she was curious, but she was.

"His house not too far from here. Sami neglected to tell you that you two will not be living together until after your wedding," he explained, causing Lori's eyebrows to shoot to the edge of her hairline.

"How come?"

"Tradition," he stated vaguely. "Some things I have no control over, although something tells me you don't mind," he said, subtly pointing out her already existing grievance with his cousin.

"Do you have control over how often we are to interact?" she asked half-jokingly.

"Don't push it," he responded in a tone similar to hers. "I would advise you not to worry too much about the personal aspects of your engagement. The moment you two are married, you can get your own place nearby and only have to interact during public appearances," he said, tone reverting back to serious.

She fought the urge to ask if that was his arrangement with his wife a she had not seen her yet. Unless of course the divorce rumor was true.

"Until then, I am to stay here with you and Sami?" she inquired.

"Are you comfortable with Sami's presence?" he asked. His omission of her comfort with his own presence did not slide past her though. But she would let it seem as if it had.

"Yes. He is good company," she acknowledged.

"Then he will stay here as well. Anything else?" he asked. An answer immediately came into mind.

"Yes, actually. Could one of your staff perhaps get an interior decorator on the phone?" she requested, taking him aback.

"I do not like how my room looks," she specified, putting him at ease.

"I'll have it arranged as soon as possible. Is that all?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Good. I'm assuming Sami informed you about today's agenda if you stayed?" Lori shook her head 'no' in response as her features festered into a look of curiosity. Sami must have thought that there was no way in all seven variations of hell she was staying there. Never say never, they say. Tribal Chief Roman ran his hand down his face and sighed, attempting to quell his frustration at Sami omitting this information.

"Today is your welcoming ceremony. The day when you're being introduced to the entire family and our ancestors as Jey's future bride and as a future princess to the people," Roman explained.

Lori's stomach twisted into knots. If there was anything she hated nearly as much as being blindsided to marriage, it was large gatherings and parties. All of those eyes on her, perceiving her always sent her into a spiral. If the very people that conceived her saw her as inadequate, who was to say that these people who did not know her from a table spoon harboured similar sentiments. Not to mention the whispers of gossip that she found mind numbing. A fact that would be hypocritical if Lori herself was a gossip.

She preferred self-preserving journalist anyway.

Nevertheless, she had chosen to stay and become a part of this bloodline that many considered to be of high esteem. Lori had chosen to become Tribal Princess Loreal. No longer Miss Loreal Moore. She would finally be rid of the last tie to her wretched father. If anything, that just sweetens the deal. This ceremony was just the starting point, one she would overcome with poise and grace.

"Is there a specific dress code, my Tribal Chief?"

[trippinsorrows]

Hey Ari! That last chapter of LTYE has me curious if you ever considered giving Solana a 'normal' childhood or background story? It's just all so sad, and I wonder how different her life could have been if she wasn't born to such a evil man.

hi!

this is an interesting question.

warning: long ass post literally no one asked for, but i don't know how to stfu clearly.

i actually went through a couple of different scenarios and even plots for this story. i knew i wanted to tackle abuse, sexual trauma, and/or mental health, so most touched on some aspect of one or more. a couple that, obviously, didn't make the 'cut', so to speak, are as follows:

solana being a nurse who is secretly in a relationship and married to roman, but they live separately and only those closest to him even know he's with her/married for safety reasons. her relationship to and with him eventually gets 'exposed' i.e. is exposed by someone and she's attacked by his enemies and miscarries as a result (she hadn't had a chance to tell him about the pregnancy). thus a lot of the story would focus on their healing from that.

roman meets solana who works as a waitress at a restaurant and is almost instantly intrigued by her because she randomly comes up to him and serves him pie because he looks like he's having a 'bad day.' (she's more bubbly and not as nervous in this iteration) he's not used to this kind of friendly behavior. his intrigue results in him randomly coming to see her and a relationship/connection forming. there were two options here where she has a baby from an abusive ex she escaped where roman would develop a bond with her and the child or where xavier (i know) is still her dad and arranges a marriage between her and someone who is an equal pos which roman is not here for obviously. some other things lol

there was also a similar one to the above where solana was forced into an arranged marriage with seth's psycho (no offense seth girlies) ass, they have a baby together, but he's abusive. he's deep in the hole in the bloodline and one night roman and the gang break into his house, demanding to be repaid. well, obviously, his gambling ass ain't got it, so roman, unaware of just how bad shit is or that seth really don't gaf about her and the baby, takes solana and the baby as 'collateral' that seth can 'get back' when roman gets his money. welp, feelings grow and obviously roman is like 'i'm never sending you back there' and yeah.

and one of the last was solana taking care of her two younger sisters, the youngest being a half sister. still piece of shit xavier as the father who was abusive and had the mom killed (a secret as well) and solana stays around because one sister is only like 15, and the other is lik 5. she refuses to leave her sisters, and xavier won't let solana take them. well, xavier stays true to his piece of shit nature and plans to sell off the 15 y/o with some illegal arranged marriage and enter the human trafficking world which terrifies solana, so she risks her life and approaches roman to ask him for help and/or a loan smuggling her sisters out of the country and into mexico to escape their dad. she'll then return and work for him, indebting herself to the bloodline. roman is like fuck that and just moves solana and her sisters into his house until she can figure out a better plan or whatever. and obviously, feelingssssss.

so.....yeah. 😩 my creative process is....a lot when it comes to story creation, clearly 😭😭😭😭

[the-goya-jerker]

Immersion (Piss Christ) by Andres Serrano requested by @nintheyeblinder

This piece is part of a series by Serrano including other classical statues submerged in various liquids (blood, milk, etc.)

It is not, despite what some believe, anything against Christ or the religion that follows him. Instead Serrano had this to say about it:

"What it symbolizes is the way Christ died: the blood came out of him but so did the piss and the shit. Maybe if Piss Christ upsets you, it's because it gives some sense of what the crucifixion actually was like...I was born and raised a Catholic and I've been a Christian all my life."

And listen, I'm not into piss. (I also feel like Serrano should have been drinking more water when he made this piece in the 80's, but I digress). But I think that's a cool fucking sentiment. It's one I do agree with, despite not being any form of Christian. Death is fucking ugly. You shit yourself, you piss yourself, it's gross. And you know what, that isn't because death is unique either. Birth is gross, there's blood, the birthing parent is probably gonna shit themselves and not even know. Humans are gross in general. We're nasty creatures.

Too often in our modern hyper-sanitized culture we try to distance ourselves from the aspects of our nature that repulse us. Death, aging, sickness. You cannot so much as discuss piss without someone making some comment about piss kinks, essentially raising the accusation of what they perceive to be sexual deviance in order to shut you up.

To the surprise of none of you, I am sure, I think this is awful. Our distance from death alienates us from our own mourning. Our revulsion at aging has ten year old girls creating half hour skincare routines to manage wrinkles. I think in talking about humans, which Jesus was, we should not be so distant from the topic of piss and shit. In talking about human death we shouldn't refuse to admit that the human will piss and shit themselves. Jesus, the super duper holy figure of Christianity, would have pissed and shit himself! That's nasty, that sucks! But it's true! If you feel uncomfortable with that and you're Christian maybe you haven't considered the suffering crucified people faced in the Roman Empire. If he's your savior, why would you refuse to sit with that?

I think this is a lovely devotional piece. I love a good devotional piece... I do keep thinking about the smell of that piss though, man. And I keep thinking about Serrano's hydration...

Ultimately, it's not my vibe, but if I don't look at the picture and I meditate on the actual meaning, it is kinda hot. It kinda makes me wish I was Christian. Or into piss.

3/10

[obaewankenope]

Thinking about stuff and doodling and I just had the thought that Muslim art, Celtic art, and Native American art often gets lumped together as being sort of... Uncultured? No, not that, overly simplistic in that way where someone looks at it and goes "I don't get the symbolism, ugh boring" and assumes the cultures and people who created this art (and still create it) are somehow less civilised than other groups/people (Romans vs Celts, for example, Western vs Islamic art, European vs Native American art etc) because the ways the art actually works isn't the same as the Majority Think Art Should Work.

Like, Celtic art is something I love and it's full of patterns, geometric, repeating, animalistic etc that a lot of the time, people don't get the meaning of. They'll look at it and just Not Understand why that design is circular, or where that particular repeating pattern originated and potentially why, and because of that, they just assume it's from some barbarian, uncivilised, savage people.

And this is the same sort of perspective that is all over historical perspectives of art from non-European, non-white spaces.

.

Islamic art is seen as simple and never measures up to the 'amazing' renaissance art (fuck you Boris Johnson and anyone who thinks like you) because it doesn't use actual people in its work (which meant geometry had to be a whole fucking level and meant the Islamic Golden Age was fucking Lit AF™).

[source]

I mean, just LOOK at the complexity that has been HANDCRAFTED, CHISELED, INTO FUCKING STONE that you can see on MULTIPLE buildings. How the hell can any of that be uncivilised or 'lesser' to European art? It just- it just can't.

.

Celtic art is compared to contemporary Roman and Grecian art of the time by scholars and the general public who tend to perceive it as representative of a Simple Mindset and shit which, yeah no. Like, Roman and Grecian art is amazing, I totally agree, but like it's not "better" or more "Civilised" or whatever bullshit metric is used to measure how Worthy Of Being Respected scholars used to determine how Great™ a civilisation/culture was back in Ye Olden Days. I mean, ffs go and look at some of the AMAZING torques and brooches made by celtic artisans and tell me they're Simple. You're wrong. They're amazing.

[source]

This is an 8th century brooch, the Tara Brooch, and is literally amazing. Just look at it! How tf can anyone ever think Celts were just simple or uncivilised or sth with art that fucking beautiful jfc.

.

And Native American artwork? Oh boy. The WHOLE colonialism and genocide of near enough an entire continent by European settlers and all that came after meant that anything non-European was automatically savage and lesser and needed to be Made To Look Civilised. So yeah, some of the most amazing artwork of Native American people's is just... From a European (art with people and fancy realism and all that shit, perspective) is just apparently less. Like wtf, you can see how historians and scholars for decades looked down on native American art as somehow lesser in the 'research' done on it.

When it's absolutely fucking AMAZING TOO.

[source]

This is a totem pole. That shit gets hand carved, painted, and engraved ffs. How is ANY of that barbaric or representative of a supposedly lesser or savage culture and people? Fuck colonialism and it's bullshit effect on perception of people and art and history. Just fuck that shit.

.

Like, sure, in recent years there's definitely been a push to recognise that these types of art aren't lesser or uncivilised or whatever. And I appreciate that, greatly. But then I see some bullshit hot take by Boris Fucking Johnson or some other bigoted piece of shit gain traction for whatever reason and I R A G E.

Anyway. Love all art. It's amazing.

Art is universal human expression. Treasure it.

.

.

Sidenote: In my defence rn, I'm very under-caffeinated and limited on things I can do so research quality is definitely not as good as I'd like. If you have any info, advice, or additional links for further reading/learning about these amazing art types, add them in reblogs, message me, or throw an ask my way. I live to learn and be angry on main about indignities like bigotry. ~ Kat.

[dvrcos]

Ive been bothering everyone I possibly can by dropping asks abt Aaron in their inbox soo it's ur turn now

Any Aaron hcs? Your opinion on skater boy Aaron?

And because I love Kevin too, any Kevin hcs? I feel like people tend to forget that Kevin likes photography too canonically besides exy and history

OMG I JUST SAW THIS THANK YOU FOR ASKING HEHEHEHE

Skater boy Aaron is real and true and canon (to me at least)

He is the poster boy for the early 2000s skater aesthetic

Part of the reason he continues skating in college is because he enjoys the heart attack it gives Kevin

Kevin doesn’t want him getting hurt and jeopardizing the team and his wellbeing

So Aaron makes sure he finds time to skate everyday

Aaron is a lover of pop culture and is just a fucking nerd dude

He loves Lord of the Rings and read Harry Potter as it came out (and also very actively hates JKR in the modern day)

Aaron Minyard is a chronic migraine girly

He’s a med student and athlete who gets very little sleep so his head constantly hurts

And yaknow what he’s a little bitch about it too

He is constantly complaining to Katelyn and using it as an excuse to be an asshole

(I love him so dearly)

I also think he is constantly cold and has terrible blood circulation

His hands and feet are always freezing

Years of drug use and constantly needing to take Advil for his headaches has just shot his cardiovascular system

So he’s constantly cold and doesn’t run a lot because his stamina is shit

He has a raging addiction to caffeine and his vice is RedBulls

His sleep schedule is absolutely wrecked from both Exy and school so he’s rarely ever without a RedBull in hand

I don’t think he cares a lot about his diet but he does try to keep it pretty nutrient packed bc he knows the benefits of it

But he also has a sweet tooth (not as strong as Andrew’s but still strong) and he favors baked goods like cake and banana bread and pastries

His vision is bad and it just keeps getting worse over the years but he doesn’t wear his glasses often

He usually resorts to contacts but has to switch to his glasses late at night or when his head is hurting extra bad

OKAY KEVIN FUCKING DAY

He loves tea

Like has an extensive tea collection and will spend the money to buy teas from around the world

He also has a mug collection (the Foxes start gifting him mugs every holiday when they find out about it)

His favorite mugs are his vintage Trojans mug, a “history is not boring” mug the Foxes gave him when he graduated, and a Hogwarts mug Aaron gave him

(they read the series together :P)

Kevin’s favorite areas of history to study are Ancient Rome and the history of Ireland

He’s fascinated by the Roman Empire and studying Ireland makes him feel more connected to his mother

I think he continues school on the side and eventually gets a doctorate degree and teaches a bit after he retires from Exy

He always tries to sign with teams in or near the cities the other OG Foxes are in because he doesn’t really know how to function without the familiarity of his people

Kevin works a lot on undoing his Raven dietary habits and since he’s surrounded by people who can’t cook he grows a love for frozen food as well as caffeine

I think he takes a few art classes and really enjoys it even though he doesn’t think he’s that great at it

He’s actually not bad at all and makes a lot of really cool pieces

Kevin exclusively wears 5 inch inseam shorts

Anything longer is blasphemous

He has basically zero sense of style and just kind of mimics what the others are wearing

Until Allison forces him to go to the mall with her and they spend hours building him a real wardrobe that is him

Most of his closest still consists of PSU and USC merch though

And truly would this even be me if I didn’t put kevaaron headcanons? No

Kevin is basically a human radiator, especially after practice

And that is a blessing directly from God in Aaron’s eyes

Kevin comes back from night practice and Aaron just clings to him, absorbing all of his heat as they fall asleep

Aaron is a chronic clothes stealer like he just has sticky fingers when it comes to Kevin’s wardrobe

They spend a lot of time together in the library

They’re both in quite intensive and workload heavy majors so they study together a lot

It happened more as an accident tbh like Aaron was heading to the library to study for a midterm

And basically all of PSU’s student body had the same idea so there was no open tables

But low and behold there was Kevin, alone at a table tucked in the back corner, typing away at his laptop

Aaron joins him without asking and it kinda just becomes their thing

Kevin joins Aaron at the library between regular and night practices

They spend most of their weekends there and bring each other caffeinated drinks and snacks

Eventually they’re not even studying half the time, they’re just talking and spending time with each other outside of Exy and the other Foxes curious glances and prying comments

Aaron takes a history class with Kevin but Kevin refuses to take any science class outside of his required credits

He’s not a science person so Aaron doesn’t take it personally

Kevin can never properly wrap his head around how strong Aaron actually is

It just doesn’t compute for him, like how can so much strength be packed into such a small body

But he is most definitely not complaining, especially not when that strength is so clearly but on display or used against him

Kevin is practically drooling anytime he watches Aaron body check a striker twice his size and send them sprawling onto the floor

They become each others partners/marks during practices and it is simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever happen

They’re just excessively flirting while tripping each other and fighting with their racquets

The other Foxes comment on their “weird and disturbing foreplay” every chance they get

[0junemeatcleaver0]

june you gifted us with meta on marius's virginity, can you also expound on ancient roman perceptions of penis size and what effects what he's packing would have on his Issues™ and perceptions of self?

I am SO glad you asked.

Between having my ass whooped by allergies and dealing with other household irl stuff, I can't dedicate the time to source gathering that I would typically like. And so my citations for this one are gonna have to look something like:

[1] trust me, bro [2] google will show you many fluff pieces like this so that you know this idea has been floating around in the ether for quite some time [3] i've seen even the people who hate my guts for being pretentious and too academic site this same idea so either we're both wrong or both right and they're just gonna have to try to live with that fact 🤷‍

Like most other things to do with sex and the human body, the Romans had some odd ideas about penis size. Specifically the idea that the size of one's member was a reflection of one's intellect and civility.

If a man was blessed with a small penis, he was thought to be intelligent and in control of himself and his desires. If, on the other hand, he was cursed with a large penis, he was thought to be slow-witted and barbaric.

In terms of Marius and his virginity and his sense of self re: his place in society, we have three options, really:

One: He has an average sized dick for the time and so he'd feel much the same as most men of his time. Two: He had a small dick and was quite proud of it. Three: He had a large dick and was ashamed of it.

Option One This option is beyond boring and we will now disregard it wholesale. This option is dead to me.

Option Two I think it would be a bittersweet tragedy for Marius if he had a small dick and it just did not matter. Just like his mother dying in childbirth before she could be freed (thus freeing him, too), or being born to a wealthy father while not being able to rise through the social ranks of Rome, or knowing, doing, and saying all the right things but never getting the same respect as a Full Roman Man™️...there is something so perfect about Marius having a tiny, perfect penis that no one will let him use on them because he's just such an off-putting weirdo.

Just imagine him strutting proudly through the bathhouse, head held high, ready and waiting for congratulations on his itty-bitty pretty cock and it just never comes because no one wants to bother with the guy who constantly corrects the historical record at dinner parties or spends most of his time at the function scribbling down what you and your buddies are doing and saying instead of getting drunk and joining in on the fun.

Who cares that it's the most glorious micropenis you've ever seen?? Complimenting it means you'd have to speak to it's owner and you'd rather eat ever terracotta chamber pot for sale in the market.

Option Three This is my favorite one. Because by modern values, it reads as an embarrassment of riches. The idea of the most 'rational' and 'controlled' of Anne's characters being seen in his own time as being a pea-brained moron incapable of subduing his carnal desires because he's forced to slang horse cock through the bathhouse is just fucking perfect to me.

Marius' family would have been wealthy enough to have their own bath at home, but going to the bathhouse was an important social event. This probably became a dilemma for a young Marius.

As outlined in my character study, I believe the text supports the idea that Marius was the youngest of the sons. It doesn't take much for me to be able to imagine his older brothers giving him shit for having such a large penis. I also imagine Marius at first being very wounded by this teasing. Then furious. Then being smart enough to know he can't afford to have an outburst and risk proving the rumors of those with his affliction correct. And then rationalizing it as his brothers are liars--they're giving him a hard time. They probably were blessed with tiny penises because they're all full blooded Roman men. And Marius, well. His penis is probably more on the average side. It would have been tiny like his brothers' if it weren't for the blood of his wild Keltoi mother, you see. And that's not ideal, obviously. He'd rather have a tiny cock--the tiniest!--but average isn't as bad as the alternative.

And then the potential mortification of going the the public bathhouse for the first time and realizing that his brothers were not exaggerating. And the men all having a good laugh about it because he's still young and growing. "My son Sextus had the feet of a Gígas when he was your age. Now, they look like the feet of any man. You shall grow into it." "Certainly. With my son, it was his hands." "And mine, his nose."

And so it went. Each year deeper into puberty, his body growing longer and leaner. Marius growing taller than the boys and indeed most of the men around him. And the whole time, his dick growing right along with the rest of him. Slowly, as the years go on, the reassurances dry up. No more talk of feet and hands and noses. No more laughter and friendly slaps on the shoulder. Just averted eyes and hushed whispers as soon as his back is turned.

Yet another reason he feels such a desperate need to constantly prove himself.

[calfrxca]

[JUDGEMENT]

no way, cal returns from his art hiatus to post gay people and returns from hiatus for good :00 ??? no- im. im still on hiatus, my escapades to vatican city and specifically st peter's basillica last month just caused some brainworms LMFAO, i have. way too much to say about this specific piece and how my reading of the illiad and the war that killed achilles made it so much stronger

also before you ask, yes this is based on michelangelo's pietà in the vatican, dont even TRY to @ me

my yappings aside

ordo (the guy with the fuckass pipe in his chest) belongs to @gemsbokk !!!

meanings and yappings regarding this piece below the cut as usual, i dont expect anyone to read this, i just need to get this out or i'll actually EXPLODE

(upright) improvement, forgiveness, change of perspectives, absolution and rebirth

(reversed) oppression, lack of self awareness, failure, repeated mistakes, and self loathing

generally, in roman mythos as a whole, there's this whole idea that cannibalism, incest, murder, whatever, doesnt apply to the olympians because of their status as "The Divine" and any mortal who tries to do the same will be met with divine punishment from said olympians [many times, a mortal's fatal flaw is hubris, see achilles who believed he was immortal and a god because of how successful he was on the battlefield; icarus who flew too close to the sun and died, a literal modern day saying in the west for man's own hubris, etc] and if i remember correctly, some renditions of the illiad depict the myceaneans as cannibals. the war that killed achilles specifically writes:

"In the apocryphal Acts of Andres (dating to the 3rd century A.D.), there is 'a city of the cannibals,' which is identified as Myrmidon; it is possible that this account taps into some more ancient, and savage, lost tradition."

and my recent escapades to the roman colosseum revealed that the romans regularly consumed blood because they believed it had health benefits to it and they thought it cured epilepsy [paper written by the NBCI on this topic]; is there any historical basis proving that the consumption of blood actually had health benefits? no clue, nor do i really feel like checking these exact logistics at the moment (but if anyone does, feel free to @ me about it, i love weird historical shit like this), the actual effects behind it are moot, what's relevant here is the idea

the idea of consumption and cannibalism turning one into a god have the same effects as how, in greek mythos, the gods were often depicted engaging in acts such as incest, cannibalism, whatever, acts that we as mortals define as "immoral" and "unjust," not only just to seperate them from humans but also show that morals are a very fickle, human thing

anyways, my point here is there's something so raw about tacet losing it to the point he's not even just eating mechanical parts, but he's also eating organic parts, see: organic hearts, guts, kidneys, the like

"No matter how many men you eat boy, you will not be a god."

i mean tacet himself masks his desperation for touch and sensuality with literal blood and guts, which then creates a feedback loop of violence and death, which is a reoccurring theme in greek tragedies; specifically observed and mentioned in emily wilson's translation of the illiad:

"When a man is slain in times of peace, families can gain partial compensation for their loss by exacting a blood-price from the killer. Killers may also be forced to leave the community and take refuge elsewhere, as Patroclus did as a boy after he accidentally killed another boy in an argument over a game; he was adopted by his cousin Peleus and raised beside Achilles, like an older brother. In such cases, the killer's loss of his original home comforts the family in their need for vengeance. But in war, killers recognize no binding obligation to compensate the families of their victims. The only way the bereaved can recoup their losses is to kill the killer—whose comrades will demand vengeance in their turn. Killing begets killing, death begets death, and every loss of life generates further loss of life."

another instance is observed in the emily wilson translation here:

"When it is too late to save a warrior's life, friends and kinsmen may be able at least to save his weapons and his armor. If those have been stripped, the companions of the dead man may at least save his body."

there's a certain trope found in media, especially queer media where cannibalism and consumption are a common metaphor for love (see hannibal and interview with a vampire), and considering their dynamic was written in the midst of a hannibal brainrot im not exactly surprised there's a lot of similarities here

namely, tacet was a cannibalism from the start, starting drinking energon just as a more cost and time efficient way to staying fueled, but it turned into an addiction and eventually was lauded as something holy (there's something to be said here about the christian idea of wine and crackers being symbols of christ's blood and body; communion, the eucharist, whatever); i cant remember if this was canon or not so don't quote me on this

but at some point, tacet convinced ordo to try cannibalism as well, just to "see what would happen," went well enough until ordo got the fuckass pipe in his chest; something something play on the idea of cannibalism is only reserved for the divine; ordo died and tacet lost ordo

queer tragedy is very much a phenomenon found in greek and roman mythos, and well. this feels like it fits

alright im done yapping for now, my head hurts now, thanks for listening to my ted talk

here's some pics from rome and venice as a thanks LMFAO

i'll add image IDs to these once my headache goes away I PROMISE

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Credit: pixiv.net/artworks/70581957

Motherfucker.

Hajime is Dr. Romani. This is going to connect with Izuru later. But still, of course Hajime is one of the dealy beloved human characters of Fgo.

Chiaki is Frankenstein's Monster (call her Fran). She looks great and all but besides the love of electricity and childlike mannerisms, not sure Chiaki fits Fran's animal like berserkness and tragic need for love.

Mahiru is Boudica. I can say for certainty this is solely due to Red hair and mother like qualities. Pretty sure we shouldn't compare Mahiru to someone whose entire purpose in Fgo is being that meme person who really hates the Roman Empire (ironically the founder of Rome is her best partner in battle), has big boobs, has a terrible skillset in battle, and is defined by her backstory of losing the war against the Roman Empire and had to watch her daughters be relentlessly raped by them before most likely being forced to join them which lead to her falling into despair and killing herself.

Ibuki is Nobunaga. This is solely cuz of the amount of fourth wall breaking chibi style comedic relief and crazy hijinks. (Nobu Nobu Nobu? Nobu Nobu Nobu Nobu Nobu! Nobu? Nobu Nobu! Nobu...)

Mikan is Skadi. I have no idea why. What does shy and clumsy as fuck Mikan have in common with a wise nordic giantess with insecurities about being single and unmarried?

Hiyoko is BB. BB and Hiyoko might both be detestable trollish pieces of shit who keep fucking people over and getting away with it, but comparing Hiyoko to essentially AI Junko Enoshima on crack is a bit too far.

Kazuichi is Nikola Tesla. Electricity. Master Inventor. Eccentric mofo. I approve.

Sonia is Marie Antoinette. Princess/Queen like character. I can see that. (Tho we should also try to look out for Marie Alter cuz that bitch is crazy as fuck and wants everyone to experience how it felt when the guillotine beheaded her). Tho Sonia wishes she was as much a cinnamon roll as Marie.

Gundham is Ozymandias/Rameses II. Boisterous mofos collide. I approve. (Sidenote: Ozy is voiced by Dio. KONO OZY DA!!!)

Izuru is of course Dr. Roman's true identity as King Solomon, King and Progenitor of All Magic. All magic apparently stems from him, motherfuckers. All hail the character we will never get and wish he would come back.

Nagito is Edmund Dantes. Only cuz of Memes based on similar looks. Nagito has nothing on Dantes's year long pursuit for revenge. Tho I guess they both were "saved" by the woman they loved most in the world.

Twogami is Julius Caesar. Only cuz they are chubby charismatic likeable people.

Peko is Tomoe. FUCK YEAH I APPROVE. Peko would totally be Tomoe. Why do you think I made Tomoe her Persona in my headcanon. It fits her SO MUCH TO A T.

Fuyuhiko is Rama. Why? What does Fuyu have in common with a guy who kills demon kings with an army of monkeys cuz they stole his wife yet was also cursed to die whenever him and his wife would ever meet? (Poor Rama in fgo, all he wants is to be with his wife again but destiny keeps screwing him over by killing him seconds before his wife reaches where he is).

Nekomaru is Iskandar/Alexander the Great. Solely due to being super muscular likeable badass motivators of living a great life. Nekomaru clearly doesn't want to conquer lands and rule the world.

Akane is Francis Drake. Only cuz of giant cleavage window alone. Akane ain't no pirate queen with literal flying sea ships with giant laser cannons.

And Teruteru is Fergus. Only because both of them are a super perverts with mindsets primarily filled only about banging women and having sex. Teru is no ripped Chad with a drill sword that shoots rainbow lasers from the ground. (Sidenote: Fergus's drill sword, Caladbolg, translates to "Hard Blade". Yes it's a dick joke.")

//I mean they look good?

-Mod

[southshoretides]

Type of Guy Who Fears The Void

On the object level, I think this DeBoer piece correctly identifies a certain type of person (aging white man who self-consciously and showily hates all aging-white-guy pop culture in favor of trying to stay hip), but as the commenters implicitly/explicitly point out, that type of guy is concentrated among the east-coast-grad-educated-tastemaker-social-media-part-time-writer set, i.e. Freddie's milieu, which he often tricks himself into believing is the only milieu in the world. Go to any bar in the Midwest and poll the natives on BTS-vs-Pearl Jam and you'll get different results. (Freddie is of course interminably contrarian relative to whatever his local milieu is, and if fate had brought him to Kansas instead of Brooklyn, he'd be the most red-tribe-hating, pining-for-Brooklyn's-loving-embrace guy on the internet.)

But the meta level of "People recognize that the world naturally puts them in stereotypical boxes and either fight to escape that or wholeheartedly embrace it" is something I think about a lot. That first paragraph was all about different Types of Guy, and that's all it is these days, isn't it? Type of guy, type of guy, type of guy. A whole generation of internet-raised autists can pinpoint your political beliefs based on how you dress or what kind of car you drive. "Guy who makes youtube videos while driving his SUV and wearing wraparound sunglasses" is a different type of guy than "Guy who insists that Carly Rae Jepsen is the best songwriter of the 2010s" but they are politically and culturally opposite Types of Guy, even though there's no rule that says Democrats can't drive SUVs or Republicans can't like Carly Rae Jepsen. But the trend-lines are strong enough that people notice anyway.

@max1461 occasionally gripes about how quickly and thoughtlessly people transpose is-statements with ought-statements, or in other words, take objective factual data about something and try to force it into a prefab narrative. And it certainly is annoying, but to an extent it's like making fun of cavemen for thinking every rustle of grass is a tiger. That's what their environment is giving them, and it's what their brains adapt for. What our environment is giving us is an endless parade of people who eagerly and effusively promote their political and cultural opinions, and eagerly and effusively identify those opinions with such and such group, so no wonder it's so easy for even an amateur to unearth a Type of Guy. No wonder you can look at someone with a Roman-statue avatar and predict with reasonable accuracy his thoughts on young women who dye their hair. And I think this is something the internet makes worse, not better.

I think any objective accounting of the situation would have to conclude that it's easier to be an eccentric in 2023 than in 1993. The internet has allowed weird people to find each other, talk to each other, understand each other and themselves in a way that simply didn't exist before. At the very least, you don't get that "Am I the only human on earth who's like this?" feeling. And the cheap, Hallmark version of diversity/eccentricity is still a popular cultural value: those wall-hangings and birthday cards your aunt buys say "Be Yourself: Everyone Else is Taken", not "Yourself sucks, Be Someone Else." No one wants to be seen as the stodgy, bitter old fart. Part of it, I'm sure, is a cultural thing--Americans seem to obsess over individuality and being one's truest self more than others.

And yet...there's also this ambient sense that eccentricity-in-itself has been devalued in 2023 relative to 1993, at least in my circles. Everything from eccentric tastes in art ("What are you, some kind of hipster filmbro?"), sex ("Of course I'm sex-positive but weird creepy shit doesn't count!") or politics ("You don't really think that, you're just being edgy.") People who value weirdness and eccentricity for its own sake feel hemmed in by people who either openly see it as a threat to their own culture's local hegemony. A lot of the internet really does seem to live by the 'nail that sticks out gets hammered down' and sees that as a good thing. Seems paradoxical.

(For the record, I'm not laying the blame here at any particular subculture. Conservatives blather on about freedom and liberty and then say anyone who refuses to lick an HOA's balls is a dangerous subversive. Progressives say everyone is valid and beautiful and then plaster their spaces with various 'freaks DNI' equivalents, 'freak' status being determined by vibe-centric whisper campaigns. Liberals will Celebrate Diversity up to and no further than the point where it damages quarterly profits. No "name" group is immune to this, really, but certain subgroups are.)

A theory: the normie-weirdo ratio isn't particularly different than it used to be, but the way they interact is different. In the pre-internet days, the weirdos were well aware they were weird, and in having to navigate normie-land with psychological armor on, at least they might come to understand it somewhat. Now, for those who want it, there's an unending stream of validation and insistence that you're perfect the way you are. Without shading into the "can suffering be a good thing if it leads to change for the better?" argument, I think even people who are all-in on the answer being "no" have met at least one person defined by their self-actualization curdling into selfishness and narcissism, to the point where you can't understand how they function, in a way that is directly attributable to a having a stable of pseudonymous online enablers. That's a real phenomenon the way that "Shut up and repress, you freak" is a real phenomenon. They can both suck. They can even both suck in ways that make the other one worse.

The post-mainstream, pre-social-media 'Golden Age' of the internet was when it was basically a playground for weird people. Now everyone's on it by necessity, the weirdo-in-a-small-town dynamics are back, but now the whole world is the small town with the added "no one can ever really escape for good" dynamics of the internet tracking and recording and monetizing every aspect of human interaction.

The weirdos who are old enough to remember when the internet was their turf close ranks and start watching each other for the first signs of Turning Normie--itself something that's antithetical to actually following one's own star and drawing from whatever cultural tradition you find satisfying. The weirdos who aren't old enough grin and bear it because "you're constantly being judged by everyone" is just normal life for them. The stuff that's so popular that liking it puts you in the biggest box possible will benefit; stuff that was never gonna be popular under any circumstances will keep trucking. It's the cultural middle class, as usual, that suffers the most. Again, as I keep emphasizing, this cultural panopticon being both unending and global is unprecedented in human history.

I really think a lot of current cultural neuroses are due to this, although I can't really prove it and don't have the resources to research it. This sense of modern technology revealing to people how fundamentally uninteresting they are and rebelling against it explains a lot to me--the tendency of people to ideologically self-sort to narrower and narrower levels, the uncanny ability of observers to categorize even the relatively-novel versions of those self-sorts, the tendency of some people to just give up and openly embrace everything the hivemind says about them, "be yourself" as a zombified and omnipresent cultural meme when millions of people are struggling existentially with exactly that, every culture absorbing ambient victim-mentality and thinking they're the only right-living people in a world gone mad, the 'cultural class' getting deeper and deeper into objectively-adolescent pop-cultural obsessions and lashing out at the idea they should try something more challenging, the aging-out-of-relevance hipsters Freddie discusses being mortified by the idea of being perceived as exactly that.

The problem, for me at least, is that I understand there is a way out, and if anything it feels worse. I may be a bit younger than the type-case Freddie describes, and am not in an industry where I have to constantly prove my relevance to myself and others, but I am doing the opposite of aging gracefully. Instead of constantly trying to convince my social circle (I don't have a social circle) that having the political, cultural, and artistic preferences of a 21-year-old means I still am one at heart, I engage in the much-healthier practice of spending every waking moment fantasizing being 21 or 18 or, shit, even 14 again. I know nobody really likes getting older. I also think that if everyone was as obsessive and self-loathing about it as I am, society would cease to function. My regrets and pining are definitely unhealthy, obsessive and all-consuming, but I don't really talk about them because there's no way it ends other than "Yeah, that sucks."

But a lot of the people in Freddie's comment section are saying things like "Once I realized I was fundamentally unimportant and my opinions didn't really matter, I could get down to raising my kids/doing my job, which matters more than my feelings." And maybe ten years from now I'll be OK with that. Hell, maybe I'll actually have kids, unlikely as that sounds now. Right now that mindset sounds like a self-administered lobotomy. Maybe I'd be OK with it if I'd actually lived it up in my teens and twenties, tried to become an actual person and discovered what I like about myself, instead of just vaguely Following Rules and assuming there was a payoff to that. Maybe I'd accept that there comes a point in life where my destiny is to be a good parent/worker and that necessarily implies shaving off the hard bits of your personality. Or maybe even the people who were good at being young struggle with getting old. Maybe our cultural/technological moment is just making that a struggle for everyone. Guess I'll never know.

But as we creep closer to no one's parents, then no one's grandparents, remembering a world without the eternal and all-consuming Now of the internet, I suspect I won't be the only one aging with a complete lack of grace, and I suspect we as a culture are completely unprepared to deal with it.

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 14: All for you

One of these days, Dean is going to break the Good Guy Code and straight-up murder the Angel.

“You can’t kill him,” Sam says wearily as he takes pieces of Dean’s body armor to pack away in its special case.

“Just watch me.”

Sam rolls his eyes, frowning as Dean hands him the chestplate. “Is this a bullet hole?”

“It’s a dent from a bullet.”

“You said it didn’t get you!”

“I said I wasn’t hurt, which is true.” Dean sits on the couch in Sam’s home office to wrestle off his combat boots. He straightens up just to get hit with bitchface #5.

“Vigilantism has no room for semantics,” Sam says, also very bitchily.

Dean grimaces. “Are we done here?”

Sam waves him off, and Dean stalks up to his room. 

The old Winchester mansion shows its age in the creaky stairs, dusty corners, and windows permanently fogged over with grime. 

To the rest of the world, the Winchester heirs gave up their fortune to various charities (not that their millions-bordering-on-a-billion did enough). Sam, the youngest, went to medical school to become a stand up member of society. The oldest, though, he squandered the rest they had left on extravagant vacations and lavish parties. 

Dean flops down on his bed with a groan. Only three years as a vigilante, and he feels thirty years older. Sammy’s going to have to replace both his knees soon. And maybe a hip. 

Maybe Sammy should just take all his bones out at this point and replace them with titanium. Dean would finally be able to keep up with the Angel, at least.

He rolls over, staring up at the mahogany ceiling of his bedroom. 

The Angel blew into Lawrence a year ago, packed full of super strength and badass feathered wings, making cryptic remarks about divine plans for humanity and shit. Within a month, he got a fanclub/religious cult to follow him around and give the guy a complex the size of Niagara Falls. 

Dean simply added him to his villain-of-the-week list – until the Angel blinded fifteen fishermen in the harbor. He said it was the work of “demons”, but all Dean knew was that the crew went out to sea with all their eyeballs intact and came back with 20/infinity vision.

Six months ago, the psycho escalated to setting an entire neighborhood on fire to kill an apparent “witch”.

Dean stopped him in time, but it was a close fucking call.

This year, though, the Angel abruptly changed his tune. Dean used to catch him kidnapping random civilians and the occasional assault. Now, he’s far more likely to find him rescuing cats from trees and Timmy from down the well. It makes Dean’s blood boil. 

What the hell is he up to?

The question has been circling Dean’s brain for far too long.

* * *

Dean ducks out of the gala, checking his phone for police alerts. 

“Mr. Winchester!”

Dean swiftly pockets his phone and turns, plastering a bland smile on his face before he sees the newcomer. “Oh, it’s you,” he says sourly.

Cas hurries up the marble stairs, dodging other departing patrons, sticking out like a sore thumb in his boxy trench coat and off-the-rack suit among all the tuxedos and designer gowns. “Do you have a comment about tonight’s fundraiser?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Can’t you make one up?”

Cas bristles, all offended like he gets every time Dean tells him to get lost or pass off someone else’s words as Dean’s. “That would violate my journalistic integrity.” 

“Dude, you cover human interest puff pieces,” Dean says scornfully. “Nobody cares.”

“I care,” Cas says, stung.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “For fifteen grand a plate, the shrimp was dry.” He raises an eyebrow. “Happy?”

Cas makes a face like Dean personally force fed him a dozen dry-ass shrimp. “That’s hardly a –”

“That’s all you’re getting,” Dean says sternly. 

Cas – Castiel – Carpenter has been a pain in his ass since he caught up with Dean outside Dick Roman’s last New Years Eve party. He hounded Dean for a quote, following him all the way from Roman’s lobby to the street, waiting with Dean for his car to arrive. He kept asking about Roman’s plans to scrap affordable housing developments near the river in favor of luxury condos.

Dean, with a few too many drinks in his stomach, told him Roman could learn a thing or two from the Scooby Gang. Real estate scams never seem to end well in Carver City. 

The Winchesters, of course, already had a plan for Roman. Top lawyers, paid through a shell company owned by a shell company based in the Caymans, were already compiling environmental impact reports, and Dean had plans to visit Roman’s penthouse and perhaps dangle him off it, if he didn’t see things Dean's way.

Cas, the sly son of a bitch, hadn’t even printed a word of their discussion, and Dean only found out Cas covered the goddamn gossip pages the next weekend as he scanned the paper for Cas’s byline at two in the morning after a late night run-in with the Angel.

“Mr. Winchester –”

“I’m a busy man,” Dean says coldly as he shoulders past Cas. “If you need to talk to me, you know my PR number.” 

Cas falls back, scowling fiercely. “I know you have something to say, Dean!” he calls to his back. 

“Get your clickbait somewhere else!”

Dean has places to be and ass to kick, no matter how many times Cas bats those baby blues his way.

* * *

Dean groans, since when did Crowley have the kind of funds to hire these goons? The last he heard, Crowley's mayoral campaign was hemorrhaging money, and Crowley was spending every cent on voter suppression and scare tactics to get his base to the voting booths.

Dean staggers into the storage unit warehouse, clutching a hand to his side where a lucky knife got between the plates of his body armor. He stays alert – a dozen of Crowley’s henchmen tried to take him out and failed, but that doesn’t mean another dozen aren’t waiting in the shadows.

Charlie’s algorithm traced vast amounts of Crowley’s remaining cash to holding five storage units, paying top dollar for quality and security.

Whatever the hell Crowley is keeping here, it’s valuable.

And valuable to Crowley means indispensable to anyone else.

Dean slumps towards the first locker, breathing heavily. His head pounds, and the overhead lights flare as he glances around, trying to get his bearings.

He mentally adds a concussion to his tally of injuries. Sam’s going to have his work cut out for him tonight, if Dean gets home at all.

He reaches into his toolbelt, and his fingers scramble for his set of lockpicks for too long. How the hell he’ll be able to manipulate the delicate tools – well, that’s a bridge to cross when the lock itself stops swaying in front of his eyes.

The blow from behind hits him out of nowhere.

Dean falls forward with a grunt, his ears ringing.

“The vigilante himself,” an unfamiliar voice sneers. “What an honor.”

The next hit cracks the side of Dean’s reinforced cowl, and his ears ring with the force of it. He scrabbles back to his feet, widening his stance on an instinct honed from years of practice. He’s still as wobbly as a newborn kitten, but at least he doesn’t look it.

The man wears a uniform of the warehouse staff, but there’s nothing minimum wage security guard about the way he fights hand-to-hand.

A flurry of blows rain down on Dean, his head, his neck, his chest. The body armor in his suit can only absorb so much of the impact, and Dean’s losing ground, quickly, backed up against a concrete wall.

He has one taser left, though. At his next opening, he dodges a right hook and jams the metal disk against the goon’s neck. 

He spasms with a crackle of electricity, and falls to the floor to reveal –

“Fuck,” Dean swears loudly, swinging his fists up to protect his face, not that they’ll do much against superstrength. 

But it takes his sluggish brain a soupy moment to realize the Angel's hands aren't raised in fists gunning for his face.

The Angel’s palms reach up to cup his cheeks, and Dean winces, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh light that always pours out of the Angel’s eye sockets, obscuring his entire face.

“You’re injured,” the Angel murmurs in his otherworldly voice that makes Dean’s chest vibrate with an uncomfortable resonance.

“Nothin’ slips by you, does it?” Dean forces out because, even when he has nothing left, he still has his pride.

The Angel pulls back Dean's cowl, and Dean tries to push the Angel off him, but he might as well be trying to wrestle with a concrete wall. The Angel intones, “This might feel strange.”

“No…” Dean protests, and, god, if these are his last words, they sound pathetic.

“Shh, Dean,” the Angel says, and he doesn’t sound at all surprised by the sight of Dean’s face. Two fingers press against his bare forehead, and Dean jerks away instinctively, but can’t move a hair in the Angel’s firm grip.

A cool, almost rain-like sensation trickles out from the point of contact.

Dean opens his eyes.

Is the light pouring out from the Angel dimming?

Dean’s definitely seeing more clearly now, and the pounding in his head has disappeared. With mounting confusion, he watches as the Angel’s high beam eyes flicker like a bad television signal.

His face – Dean only sees a flash or two, but he would swear – 

The Angel stumbles back a step, and Dean straightens, inhaling a painless lungful of air. “What the hell just happened?” he demands.

The Angel shakes his head, and his wings flicker next. They pop back into existence in the space of a blink. Like a lamp on it’s last legs, the beams of light emitting from his eyes give a few weak flares before dying out completely.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes.

Cas sags against the opposite wall, his wings disappearing for good with a silent breath of air. Whatever he'd done to Dean had drained him.

“You –”

Cas stares up at him. “Me,” he agrees quietly.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Dean demands. “You’re – you’re –” He can’t say it.

Cas pushes himself to his feet, his face pallid and eyes weary. “I’m an angel of the lord.”

Dean can’t help his loud snort. “You’re still sticking with that?”

“It’s the truth.”

Dean lays a hand on his utility belt, eyeing Cas warily. He might look as threatening as a belly-up hedgehog, but experience has taught Dean that some opponents are never more dangerous than when they’re cornered.

“If you’re a real angel,” Dean says stiffly, “why are you here? Why now?”

“I was sent here to start the apocalypse,” Cas says.

Dean narrows his eyes. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke.”

Dean steps closer, scanning Cas for any sign of an impending fight. “You wanna give me a reason not to end you right here and now?” 

But Cas stays right where he is. “Those were my orders. But when I arrived on Earth, I had my doubts.”

“It was you – the blind fishermen,” Dean says coldly, “that incident on Halloween.”

Cas nods miserably. “Mistakes, all of them.”

“I couldn’t figure out what was up with you,” Dean admits. “You went from nabbing Patty Hearst in December to landing broken planes in the river in January.”

Cas tilts his head. “Because of you.”

Dean can’t have heard that right. But as Dean lets the silence drag on, Cas doesn’t take it back or explain. Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You showed me humanity is worth saving,” Cas says, his voice almost painfully sincere. “So I disobeyed my orders. I turned my back on Heaven. I followed in your footsteps.” He meets Dean’s stunned gaze squarely. “I did it all for you.”

“I – what?”

“You care so much for this city, for your people,” Cas continues, and Dean, torn between telling him to keep going or shut the hell up, stays silent. Cas goes on, “You regularly put yourself in harm’s way to protect them, usually from themselves. You donate enormous sums of money and manipulate an extremely complicated political machine to make sure they have safe water to drink and places to rest.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, muttering, “Somebody’s gotta.” He jerks his head up. “Hold on, you knew it was me? The whole time?”

“Why do you think I was so hellbent on talking to you?” Cas asks dryly, the faintest of blushes dusting his cheeks.

“And I always thought it was because of my perky nipples,” Dean says distractedly. All those times Cas hollered questions about the latest government developments; where his next grant was going; who he was backing in the mayoral race. That was the Angel.

“I’m, uh, sure they’re very perky,” Cas says awkwardly.

Dean narrows his eyes. “How’d you find out?”

Cas cocks his head, his blue eyes intense as they study Dean’s face. “Your soul. It’s unlike any other I’ve encountered in the way it shines.”

Dean swallows, embarrassed of all things. “You can see souls?”

Cas nods. “Yours as well as the five people behind these storage locker doors.”

Dean freezes. “What the fuck?” He stares, horrified at the closest one, his hand already pulling out his set of lockpicks. “You’re serious?” At Cas’s confused nod, Dean swears colorfully. “And you kept talkin’ like we’re on a Sunday drive?”

As Dean ducks down to get to work on the first lock, Cas says matter-of-factly, “None of Crowley’s victims are near death. They’ve all been fed and watered recently, and eleven more minutes won’t have a great effect on their physical or mental health.”

“Alright, Patrick Bateman,” Dean says, but the accusation lacks any heat, “Superhero Rule Number One: you always get the damsels out of distress first.”

“I understand.”

Dean glances up at him as the lock clicks open. “After this, you and me, we’re gonna have a long talk.” He huffs a laugh as he pulls his cowl back up. “You want to know what I think about this city? I’ll give you enough quotes to fill a bible.”

“I might hold you to that,” Cas murmurs as Dean heaves the metal door open.

Read the sequel here!

[thecareandkeepingofwhumpees]

My entry for @whumpril day 19: "I need you".

Content warnings: religious references (as in, like, greek mythology, not catholicism), a little swearing, ambiguous/open ending, and second-person pov. Let me know if you need anything added!

You like going for walks in the woods. When surrounded by enough nature, you can almost forget how civilization has gone to shit. Today has not gone well, and as a result, you feel the need to wander deeper into the forest than ever before.

After what must’ve been over an hour, you come across something new. The remains of what must’ve once been a gorgeous structure stand in front of you, with crumbling pillars and an overgrown tile floor. You reach out to touch one of the columns. Your hand comes away coated in a thin layer of dust.

Abruptly, you come to the realization that something is wrong. The birds have stopped chirping. Perhaps this place is not as abandoned as it looks.

A gust of wind swirls around you, tousling your hair and nearly knocking you to your feet. No, you certainly are not alone here. The wind dies down once it reaches the steps of the small temple. It leaves behind what appears at first glance to be a man — and a very handsome one at that, with a sharp jawline and roman nose. But no. Something about the image is off. The creature in front of you does not feel human.

“Hello, little mortal,” he coos, smiling sharply, and no. He is definitely not a human, not with teeth like that, and not when he’s referring to you as mortal as if he isn’t. But what does that make him? You remember where you are — an ancient temple. Oh. The pieces are clicking into place now. “It seems you’ve wandered a bit too far, hm? But you needn’t worry. If you kneel before me and repent, I won’t punish you… too harshly.”

You should be scared. He’s obviously trying to scare you, and given that he is a god and you are a human, it should be working. So why isn’t it? Something about this whole scenario feels off, just like his human form. Speaking of, he’s trembling like a leaf in the wind, despite the fact that the gust had dissipated upon his arrival.

You’d never exactly believed in myths and fairytales, but you still enjoyed hearing them. The gods seemed so invincible — the chinks in their armor were so few and far between that they were referred to as immortals. Was it any wonder that you had their few weaknesses committed to memory? It wasn’t knowledge you’d ever expected to use, but now… now you knew why you weren’t afraid.

“Bow,” the god demanded through gritted teeth. He was losing his patience, and if your theory was correct, it was hardly surprising.

“And what if I don’t?” you asked. Absolutely not your wisest move, but hey. You’ve had a shitty day; you’re feeling a little self-destructive.

You can see the color being leached from his human form. His eyes widen ever so slightly. “You’re not going to.”

“I could be convinced,” you hum, and your tone makes it clear that further intimidation tactics won't be the way to do it.

“How?” Desperation is beginning to color his voice.

“How does a bit of a role reversal sound?” You smile for the first time that day. “Beg.”

You watch his face cycle through the stages of grief, but it lands, inevitably, on hopeless acceptance. He stumbles down the steps, collapsing into a pile at your feet. “Please…”

You slip a finger under his chin, lifting it so that he has to look you in the eye. Your day left you feeling a bit powerless, but with a literal god sniveling at your feet… yeah, that isn't an issue anymore. “Please, what?”

He almost snarls, but this is well and truly his last chance. “Please, please. I need your worship. I need you. Please. I’m going to die. Human worship is the gods' lifeblood, but you’ve all forgotten me. It’s been so long since I’ve been given an offering, or even a prayer. I’m starving. Please, worship me.”

Well? Will you?

[scattered-winter]

yeah i’ll bite what’s ur more correct hoo? 👀

for friends who have not yet read the series this is gonna spoil pretty much ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, everything. heroes of olympus, trials of apollo, etc etc so on and so forth. i am full of Opinions and by god's big green tits i'm gonna make them Heard.

alright listen. I have so much beef with heroes of olympus because like. the things it could've been. I'll list all my grievances first to get it all out of my system before telling you about my more correct version. if you'd like to skip the salt and get to the good bits, scroll down to the bolded text xox

gaea was a weak-ass antagonist with no real motivation outside of "she's trying to destroy humanity because she's evil." arguably, kronos was the same way, which when you look at him from a mythological standpoint it makes sense because his whole thing is trying to overthrow the gods (and really, the same could be argued for gaea; mythologically, she tends to cause some shit on occasion). but kronos had the lesser gods/demigods on his side, which added a fascinating aspect to the conflict in the og series, especially since, in the end, percy realized that they were right. everyone who had fought for kronos had justification for it. the gods used them, abused them, and abandoned them, and they were tired of being tools. and percy realized that, and changed the status quo so it would never happen again.

fast forward to heroes of olympus. gaea and the giants are destroying the world...........because they want to. there were no other arguments. there were no other motivations/antagonists to add a more interesting aspect to it. it was a classic good vs evil conflict with little to no grayness which,,,,isn't a bad thing, but it just wasn't as compelling.

camp jupiter. boyyyyyyyy howdy do i have a ramble for that. it's so insane to me that the camp was defended by kids and teenagers when an entire city full of adult demigods was literally just a short hike away from the camp itself ????? like. I get it was because camp jupiter was meant to be camp half-blood's opposite force or whatever but come on. one could argue that camp half-blood is similar because chiron is training kids to go on quests, but like......that's his mythological role. in the myths, that's what chiron does. and without an established city/safe place other than a summer camp, the greek demigods are child soldiers by necessity, but the roman demigods are child soldiers for literally no reason other than that the plot needs them to be. which ,, i'm not saying that's bad. i'm just saying it's not as good as it could be.

also the 7!!!!!!!! THE 7!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! honestly, I think their whole deal is boiled down to a classic case of TELLING, not showing. we were told all throughout the series that the 7 are all best friends ,, a family, even. we were consistently told that. but there was very little actual instances of this being shown. group interactions were uncommon, and relationship dynamics were limited almost exclusively to romantic relationships or surface-level friendships that were explored only as an opportunity for quips and funny moments, but nothing deeper than that (percy and jason, for example). even the romantic relationship that preceded the series, percabeth, was broken down into a blander, flatter version from before, and both characters suffered for it. piper/jason was also flat and flavorless for most of the series, and frank/hazel is just. a mess. a 13 year old dating a 16 year old is squeamish in any context, and throw leo into the mix to make a weird, unnecessary love triangle, and it's just. even more of a mess. throw in the fact that every single character was motivated purely by romance and romantic relationships, and that every character ended up in a romantic relationship, and well. y'all know I'm aroace, so that's fairly self-explanatory. nothing worse than a piece of media claiming to be found family but focusing only on romance. kill die die die maim tear.

also about the 7, but it seemed to me that.......rick was trying to mimic percy's inner monologue with all of them--the sarcasm, the dark humor, etc. we all fell in love with percy in the og series, and I think he was trying to make us like the new characters in the same way, but in doing so he just made them all mini percys while also sandpapering the real percy. give each member of the 7 a different sense of humor/personality is what I'm saying. come on.

calypso. the only reason she was even in the books was to give leo a love interest, because apparently the single worst thing that can happen to a character is to not have someone to kiss (sarcasm intended). the gods not freeing her from the island just threw literally everything won from the og series out with the trash, and like. we know the gods are just Like That sometimes but look me in the eyes and tell me percy jackson, the boy who had just fought for so long and lost so much to get the gods' heads out of their asses, would just assume they followed through and not even check to make sure that another person wronged by the gods, someone he was very close to, got freed from her prison. that's right, you can't. my percy would never.

in that same vein: caleo. not only was the relationship kinda shaky in the first place because it was only there to give leo someone to kiss, it's also....not very good. calypso spends all her time belittling, talking down to, and sometimes even hitting leo, a character who canonically grew up in an abusive household. idk about y'all but.....an abused character already being thrown into a relationship for no reason, and then having that relationship be abusive?? and portrayed as the height of romance????? not a good vibe. I also really hated how, on top of all that, leo left his found family (canonically the only people who have ever made him feel loved/like he belongs) to go travel the world with calypso. which. another classic instance of familial/platonic relationships always, constantly being on a tier lower than romantic relationships. and y'all know how I feel about that.

the poc characters. I'm not the best resource on this one, since I'm not a poc, but there are plenty of people in minorities who have spoken out on this point, and I urge you to listen to them, because those arguments are all valid ones. (here is a good post that provides a good overview). I also remember seeing a really good post about piper's indigenous heritage as well, but unfortunately it's been lost to the void of tumblr.

aphrodite cabin. rick riordan seems to have this complex where the only female characters he can write about are tomboyish, tough, and badass. which isn't bad, of course, but it becomes a problem when all the more feminine female characters are portrayed exclusively as bullies/wimps. smfh there's more than one type of character in this world, richard

octavian. I get it, I hated him, everyone hated him, but I really can't deny that he had the potential for a compelling story. being manipulated by the oracle spirits into playing right into gaea's hands????? it COULD have been sooooo good, but octavian had hardly any development/focus, and I think him being manipulated only came up once or twice. storywriting equivalent of "he a little confused but he got the spirit."

now, for my more correct version :]

gaea's whole deal is completely different. instead of destroying humanity just because she Can, gaea is destroying the gods because she's furious and grieving her children, the titans. kronos was chopped into pieces and cast into eternal oblivion by the gods and demigods, and the other titans were forced back into subjugation, and gaea, who's been dealing with the gods' shit for thousands of years, has had enough*. so she rallies her other children, the giants, to bring down the gods and western civilization to avenge the millennia of heartbreak and injustice. which, yeah, fair enough. the gods suck and they've done some shitty things.

*this was actually touched on in the books when piper was using her charmspeak on gaea during the final battle. and I don't own physical copies of the books and tried everywhere to find the exact quote but it eluded me so I'll do my best to paraphrase from memory, but piper was sympathizing with all the grief and loss gaea has suffered over the centuries. tartarus banished, kronos defeated twice, etc etc. and I feel like that had potential for gaea's motivations but it was literally only brought up that one time smh

bonus points if there was some nuance to both sides. a few monsters who fight alongside the protagonists because they rely on western civilization just as much as the gods/demigods do, or even some gods or demigods who fight alongside gaea for one reason or another (like octavian, if he had been better developed). something to add some new facets to the conflict, because that was part of what made the conflict against kronos so damn compelling.

the 7 would be a found family FIRST, and a group of individuals w romantic relationships SECOND, if at all. percabeth can stay, as long as it's. actually the percabeth we all know and love, not whatever the fuck we actually had. piper/jason is on thin fucking ice, and only happens with the caveat that both their characterizations are my more correct versions (see below). hazel/frank is NOT a thing. piper, annabeth, and hazel have on-page interactions and friendships, and they have conversations about shared trauma and bonding over their common pasts in abusive households and shit like that, instead of talking about boys every fucking time. there are complex and multifaceted interpersonal relationships within the entire 7, and each friendship/dynamic has a chance to shine.

jason and percy. oughhhhhhhhh I have sooo many thoughts about them. they're character foils. percy had to fight for respect. jason had to fight to be treated normally. they're sons of arguably the most powerful gods of all time. they're opposites in nearly every way, but in the very same breath they're mirror reflections of each other*. I'm all for them being best friends, but the "sharing a braincell" himbo thing they had going on? that was played off purely for humor? hell no. they have a very deep and complicated friendship because they recognize themselves in the other and yet they're so completely different that they're on opposite ends of a spectrum. sure, they can hang out and have fun, but at their core, they have both a deep-seated understanding for each other but their personalities also grate a bit because they're so completely different. maybe there's a sideplot of them learning how to get along/be amicable with each other because they're both very traumatized TEENAGERS with so much pressure and stress to deal with, which, combined with the inherent complications of their relationship already, would make them a powder keg ready to blow. and I'm here for that. *the groundwork for their relationship being "two sides of the same coin" was already laid with hera switching them, and even with some characters stating how similar they were in some ways, but of course it was never expanded on so that's why it's here in the more correct version :]

piper. sooooooooo many complicated feelings about her. at first she was a generic Not Like Other Girls type, which. felt soooo cheap to me and is probably why piper/jason felt so. meh. because they were BOTH very flat and one dimensional at first. but in my more correct version, piper and drew were able to bond over being underestimated/ignored as daughters of aphrodite and as women of color, and I also hold the concept of piper being more feminine soooo close to my chest. I love characters who are so tough and badass who aren't allergic to dresses and makeup. her sexuality is also explored/brought up before she suddenly has a girlfriend.

jason doesn't DIE right when I start to actually LIKE him. smh (I'm sorry but it felt SOOO cheap to me. like it was purely for shock value. killing and biting). I do, however, love the concept trials of apollo introduced of jason being much more relaxed and comfortable with himself both as a greek-leaning demigod and as a kid who no longer had to deal with all the weight and pressure of being a Leader (tm). and jason acting more like a greek demigod vs percy acting more like a roman demigod can be another aspect of them being mirror reflections of each other. as percy begins to pick up more roman traits (because i LOVE to study how trauma/circumstances can change a character), jason starts to pick up more greek traits. it's another facet to their very complicated, very deep relationship with each other.

i ALSO love the concept of jason having a villain arc. he was a mirror to luke in so many ways; child soldier, abandoned by his godly parent, huge responsibilities on his shoulders, etc. I'd even argue jason had it worse than luke since he was a son of jupiter and thus had the constant pressure accompanying that. I think he deserved to go a little apeshit instead of that "high priest of the gods" bullshit

leo started out as my favorite, but as the series progressed, his character development stayed right where it was in the lost hero. I would have loved to see him change and grow as a person; maybe having a sokka-style arc where he grows out of his misogyny and sexism, and also gains some maturity (I liked his jokes, but come ON.) he would also have a different sense of humor, because as I said earlier it felt like rick was trying to make everyone into a mini-percy. I would also have loved to see a character not end up in a romantic relationship, since leo canonically had a lot of complicated feelings about family; it would have been great catharsis for me, someone who also has a lot of complicated feelings about family, to see a character I could relate to be able to find a family all of his own, with people he genuinely cared about and who loved him back.

hazel gets more development in how she was literally from the past. she died. I want more development and focus on that smh!!!!!!! how much is different in the modern age?? how many times does she walk down the street and do a double take because something's so completely different??? how many nightmares does she have about dying???????

frank stays chubby throughout the entire series. he does Not have a sudden glowup where he's No Longer Fat. he also doesn't date a 13 year old godbless

NICO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! nico. first of all, him being gay is built up from day fucking one. maybe not said outright for a while, but it's at least CODED. it's not suddenly flung out of nowhere. for that matter, him being forcibly outed against his will is talked about more!!!!!!!!!!!! yes, jason was probably one of the best people he could have been forcibly outed to, but STILL !!! the trauma of having the choice taken away from you!!! especially for someone like nico, who was 1) raised in the 1940s where being gay was practically a death sentence and 2) sooo slow to trust. I need him to have some focus on that shit because it was fucked!!!!!!

in that same vein, solangelo is sooo much different. will solace gets some characterization in the pjo series to build him up beforehand, and he and nico interact a few times on-page in pjo as well to give their relationship some foundation as opposed to just. throwing them together for no reason. I would've really loved seeing them working together during the battle of manhattan!!! nico canonically has an admiration for will's bravery during the battle, and I would've loved to actually. ya know. see them work together on the page. I also think their dynamic has SOO much more to it than "sunshine bf/goth bf" that everyone+rick have turned them into. one of them is the son of death. one of them is a healer. will's probably lost so many of his friends because he was unable to save them. nico's lost so much of himself. they're soooooooo <333 by the time blood of olympus rolls around, they're already good friends, and almost losing each other in the battle only brings them even closer <3

annabeth and percy are still the same fucking couple/characters that i fell in love with in the og series, not the watered down romance we got

the final battle is much longer with much higher stakes (I want the camps having 24 hour watches while waiting for the enemy to attack again!! I want makeshift hospitals!!!! I want!!!!! a war!!! not a battle!!!!!!!!!)

the greeks are actually. taken seriously. on god. they're a highly competent force of fighters, not a bunch of immature idiots. rick riordan i am biting you (derogatory)

[dirhwangdaseul-archived]

the fact that you people keep forgetting there are many other incidents which tell you just how disgusting the siblings are, didn't roman use to beat up homeless people, hasn't he sexually harassed almost everyone in his fucking life even his siblings, hasn't shiv thrown women under the bus for a seat at the table, hasn't kendall killed a person, hasn't roman being implied to do so on the regular but feels nothing about it, hasn't kendall got his own daughter harassed, hasn't kendall put his kids in danger for putting them anywhere near logan, his own abuser, hasn't kendall hidden himself and bent his morals everytime it meant hanging on to the idea that his father could ever love him the way he wanted, hasn't kendall terminated careers for his father's embrace, i don't really understand how people can even love them so much with such abrasive blindness about it, like

they're all fascists fucks, kendall said it himself, logan cultivated an ample group of people from democrats to liberals to centrists to the fucking nazis and if they're all comfortable there together it's because they're all the same fucking sickness, nazis pretending not to be, representatives for people they don't remember anymore, it's just sick that you people can say, and then you're reminded......... these people are evil or conniving or traitorous or selfish and self-serving or cruel or abusive or billionaires.... or consuming everything they fucking touch..... that logan roy rot..... i don't know how you can forget, idk how how you can separate anything from who they are, that's the entire show, how the rot touches even the smallest expressions of their identities, it breaks everything apart around them because of the power given, the thing resented by logan, how they paved the way without earning it in logan's views, and i don't think there are scenes that we get to forget even when you empathize with their individual struggles, most of them are born out of their own inability to take the chances to not be pieces of shit, at most i can excuse their lack of consciousness to an inability to believe people could ever be truly moral or good, even the democrats and liberals they keep around affirm this, that they too, would shake hands with nazis for a seat at the table, like how can you ever forget that, i don't get jt, their glimpses into their humanity are not enough for me not to want to burn whole the people and worlds they have built on top of the rest of the world, how can you forget that, how can you forget that, how can yiu forget that, how????

[iworshipsappho]

HI YES I HAVE SOME CERES QUESTIONS OMG

1) what's her backstory?? 2) how is she with animals?/ any familiars? (i'm guessing there's some aquatic stuff involved?) 3) do they trust easily or are they cautious?? 4) are they comfortable with hugs and hair ruffles and physical touch in general? 5) are there any similarities between you and him???? 6) why did you chose the name ceres, which is very pretty and awesome btw? 😭🫶🏼🫶🏼

HI HELL YAEH :3!!!!

ok so here we goooo

hmm her backstory is what ive been working on for a while now, and yet i only have a few titbits here and there. one really cool thing i figured out a few weeks back is that he is ex-nobility, as in either she left nobility or was kicked out. this lil piece of information is evident in the way they absolutely loooove gold decor and jewellery. im still not sure why exactly they left, but i wanna get that sorted by this week >:)

they fucking loooove animals, to ceres, animals > human or like person interaction. her favourite animals are foxes :33 they've befriended a lot of foxes and she probably has names for each of them bc even tho he looks really stoic on the outside, he's a big softie on the inside but is just too scared to show it out. mmm also since they're an earth genasi, they live in the his world equivalent of a merge between a minecraft spruce biome and an oak biome, wait i think i have a picture lemme just check

^^^ they live on this island !!!!

3. mmm they used to be verrryyy trusting in their teens, but something happened that made her put up a hard exterior and protecc the guy inside :((

4. again, they used to be, but etc etc happened and he hasnt really had any intereaction with people in years almost, the closest he's come to that is with the gnome village nearby who view her as a deity (i just thought of this might not be canon in the future aka in 10 mins lmfao)

5. !!!!! MMM SO we used to be the exact same person but then ceres became more ceres than me, so while yes there are a lotta similarities, he's also become a character who isnt entirely me lmao. mmm. our similarities are probably that we both find comfort in our hobbies, writing for me and wood carving for her, and sometimes would prefer to not have any human interaction, yers in their case, also they used to be like reallllyyyy talkative in her teens but then Shit Happened

6. I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THE ORIGIN OF THE NAME SO HELL YEAH THANKS FOR ASKING ME HEHE SO i always wanted ceres to be associated with the earth, so immediately i thought of like greek gods who were related to earthy shit, and my first thought was demeter right, but i didnt want it to be demeter bc demeter didnt fit the vibes i was going for sooooo i went hmm whats the roman version, guess what. it was ceres!!!!! AND THE COOL PART IS ceres is also the name of a dwarf planet, its my favourite one now sorry make-make, but like its so cool bc the name ceres combines 2 of my oldest obsessions, greek mythology from when i was 10 and space shit, which i was obsessed with till i was like 7 and still retain some of the knowledge i got from like boring through 3 encyclopedias on space lmao

💜