#story segment

[purple-on-black]

Story Segment: And Robin Flu Away

Scene between Damian and Barbra (and some Alfred thrown in for good measure.)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60191428/chapters/153599713

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60191428/chapters/153599713

(I just really love this scene, Don’t judge me!😖 Just some fluffy, whumpy goodness. The story itself isn’t particularly good, and it’s not even finished [I can’t seem to get the ending to work right to save my life] but if you really want to see the full thing, it is linked. 👆🏻)

****

Barbra rolled her wheelchair into the doorway to Damien’s room. She rapped lightly on the doorframe to get his attention. “Hey, Kiddo. Alfred’s downstairs making you some chicken broth. Thought I’d come in and check on you.” She pushed her wheelchair over to the bed where Damien was sitting up playing something on an old Gamekid.

Damien didn’t look up from the game, but continued tapping away at the buttons as he replied, “Well, as you can see, I am perfectly lucid and would have been fully capable of carrying on with activities as normal, however, Pennyworth insisted I remain stationary and in bed.” His eyes glanced up toward Barbra, who was leaning over to look at his screen and see what game he was playing. “Timothy lent me this…contraption…to more quickly pass the time. I don’t see why anyone would waste their time with something so frivolous.”

“Well, you’re at the level 6 Fire Castle,” she observed with a teasing smirk. “Can’t be all that frivolous if you already put that much time in.”

Damien didn’t reply, but continued tapping away at the buttons on the handheld game. Suddenly a pixilated fireball came in from the right and hit his character, causing it to fall over and what looked like a tiny angel fly up across the screen. “Curses…!” Damien spat in frustration as the screen faded black, then opened up back at the start screen. He huffed as he switched off the game, dropping it forcefully on the mattress and throwing himself back into the pillows of his bed in a defiant pout.

Barbra smirked to herself, reminiscent of her own first time playing the same game. “Well, I suppose if you’re busy I’ll leave you to it. I just came in to check on you.” She held her hand against Damien’s forehead. “Do you need anything?”

Damien’s face scrunched up more into its pout. He glanced away from Barbra, but was unable to hide his flushed skin turning an even deeper shade of pink. “No. I am fully capable of taking care of myself.”

Barbra’s mind hardly registered the reply. Her brow furrowed as she touched about her little brother’s hairline. “You sure?” She asked tentatively. The heat coming off his skin had her worried. “You don’t at least want a glass of water or something?”

Damien paused, but he pulled his knees up to his chest and quickly shook his head, successfully shaking Barbra’s hand off in the process.

Barbra pulled her hand back, feeling almost hurt by the rejection. But after a moment she softened a bit, remembering where Damien had come from. She leaned onto the edge of the seat to her wheelchair. While she did she drummed her other fingers on her knee. “You know, I don’t have very many memories of being a kid. Could be a result of growing up in Gotham—all the bad pushes out the good. But one I still have pretty vividly is one winter when I got bronchitis.” She chuckled at herself. “I was so needy. I swear I was worse than an infant. But my dad was right there with me the whole time. He took time off work, canceled all plans, just to be there with me. Sometimes he’d just sit there and hold me until we both fell asleep. Yeah, it was probably a little overkill, but I’m glad he did. It was the safest I’ve ever felt in my life. I can’t imagine having to go through that all by myself.” She stopped drumming on her knee and looked back up at Damien. “Are you sure you want me to go?”

“I was trained from birth to be a lethal assassin!” Damien spat. “To need no one and to show no weakness! I don’t need your company!”

“I didn’t ask if you needed it, I asked if you wanted it,” Barbra rebuffed gently.

Damien sputtered a short, “I…”

“Do you at least want to try? To see what it’s like?” Barbra asked now leaning forward onto the edge of his bed. “Then you can decide for yourself which way is better: ours, or your grandfather’s.” She covered her mouth as if what she was about to say was a matter of national security. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

Still though, Damien seemed hesitant. Barbra reached down to engage the lock of her wheelchair. Then she sat back up and reached out her arms toward Damien. “Come here, you.”

“Aren’t I a little big to be sitting on your lap?” Damien scoffed.

Barbra huffed. “Oh nonsense. I can’t feel these from the waist down anyway. I won’t even notice.”

Damien seemed hesitant again, but soon overcame it and crawled out from the covers and to Barbra’s wheelchair. He climbed up onto it with her and she helped him position himself, then wrapping her arms securely around him. He tried to sit up again. “What about the others, they’ll need the Oracle.”

Barbra shook her head as she laid Damien’s head to her shoulder. “I have my earpiece in still, but they haven’t needed me all day. And if something happens all of a sudden I’m sure they can manage themselves without me for a few minutes.”

Damien remained tense for a minute or two, but finally relaxed. Barbra’s hand fell from his head to his back. She rubbed his shoulder gently, considering things as Damien Wayne lay in her arms. He acted so much like an adult all the time, sometimes it was easy to forget he was just a child. Now more than ever he felt like one to Barbra; cradled in her arms, small and weak, burning with a fever so high that even through her thick sweater it felt uncomfortable. She rested her cheek against the top of his head. His jet black hair felt damp against the side of her neck. Her heart ached for him. She took a deep breath as she gave him a snug squeeze, exhaling in a slow and shaky sigh. “Just rest. I’ll be here for you the whole time.”

Damien lay there curled up on Barbra’s lap, his ear pressed against her chest. Her heartbeat pumped out a hypnotizing rhythm, Damien soon finding it all he could hear. Despite himself he relaxed, snuggling closer into Barbra’s arms, unwilling to admit to himself that this had been something he’d craved. Soon his mind faded and he fell into a light doze.

Barbra felt his breathing slow. He melted into her arms and soon was snoring peacefully. Barbra brushed some of his damp hair away from his face, an uncomfortable heat still radiating from his head. Every so often his body would shake. Barbra held him securely with one hand as she reached over to his bed a pulled off his blanket, wrapping it up over his shoulders. She tucked it in securely around the both of them before then going back to just holding Damien safely against her chest.

Some minutes later Alfred came around the corner to the doorway of Damien’s room. He carried a silver platter, holding a ceramic bowl of chicken broth, as well as a set of tableware and a glass of water. He stopped short when he saw Babs. “Oh, Mistress Barbra, I was unaware you were here,” he said, regaining himself and walking over to the nightstand near Damien’s bed.

Barbra gestured to her lips as best she could without disturbing Damien laying in her arms. “I just came in to check on him; he only fell asleep a couple minutes ago,” she explained in a low voice barely over a whisper.

Alfred set the silver tray down on the end table before standing straight and regaining his stiff form. “Shall I take the young Master Damien so you may return to the others?” He asked following suit and lowering his voice as well.

Barbra nodded slowly. “Yeah…yeah, just give me a minute…” she whispered, reaching up to brush away some of the damp hair that had again fallen over Damien’s forehead. She sighed as she looked down at him. She wrapped both arms around him again and hugged him close. “This poor kid…he’s gone through so much…I can’t even imagine what it must have been like growing up the way he did…no loving parents, no real friends, just training and fighting all the time for that… Monster Ra’s Al Goul…! I can’t even imagine what that’d do to a kid! He’s way stronger than I ever could be.”

“We all have our crosses to bear,” Alfred said, sitting down across from her on Damien’s bed. “There is little that can be done about the past, but we can affect the future. At least Master Damien is in a safe place now.” He gestured to Barbra. “He has role models that can show him a better way, friends—both those that share his…peculiar life circumstances and those that don’t—he has a loving family, a fine education, and a future. While we cannot help what his mother and grandfather have done, I should say it seems to me his situation has much improved.”

Barbra nodded solemnly. “I just…feel kinda guilty, you know? Him, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim even…they all went through so much. I can’t even imagine going through all that before even hitting puberty! I think it would have broken me!” She glanced up at Alfred again. “You know he flinched when I tried to give him a hug?”

Alfred nodded solemnly. “I have seen enough traumatized children walk into this house that this does not come as a shock. In the service I witnessed fully grown men crumble under less pressure; it truly takes resilience to go through what the members of this group have gone through.” He reached out and laid a hand on Barbra’s knee. “But you should not sell yourself short, Mistress Barbra. A stable childhood in a loving home is not something to apologize for. And should memory serve, you’ve seen your fair share of trauma as well.”

Bab’s eyes glanced down to where Alfred’s hand rested on her knee, then shifted over to the metal frame of her wheelchair. The events of her becoming paralyzed played out in less than a second before she even had the chance to deflect it. Even though she’d managed to get by and hadn’t let the wheelchair negatively impact her life, that didn’t get rid of the painful jump in her chest every time the memories would sneak their way in again. She took a shaking breath and exhaled slowly through her mouth. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.” She smiled up at the elderly British man. “Thanks Alfred…for everything. You’re the best.”

Alfred shrugged dismissively with a smile of his own. “While I am aware, it is nice to hear it once in a while,” He joked.

The pair’s conversation was interrupted when the earpiece in Barbra’s ear lit up and began chattering. Barbra lifted a hand quickly to her ear to unmute her mic, “Oracle: Go ahead.”

“I need you to run some names for me,” Nightwing explained from the other end. “I finally caught the pair that’s been causing so much trouble for the harbor-master but it looks like this might be a little bigger than we thought.”

Barbra silently gestured to Alfred, who stood up and lifted Damien off her lap while she talked back into her earpiece. “Sure thing, stand by just a minute.” As soon as Alfred had lifted the sleeping boy free of her chair she disengaged the lock and maneuvered herself out the door back toward the bat cave. “Go ahead with that first name,” she could be heard saying as she rolled down the hall.

Damien stirred as Alfred laid him back down onto his bed. O-Oracle? What happened? Do they need my help?” He mumbled, still somewhat in a daze.

Alfred pulled the covers up over Damien to his chest. “It’s nothing you need worry yourself over. I’m sure the others have it plenty under control.”

Damian sat up. “You and I both know they’re incompetent. Who’s to say they are not already in over their heads and about to get captured?”

Alfred subtly rolled his eyes. “Even if that were to be the case, I doubt in your condition you would fare much better.” He pushed Damian to lie down again. “Go back to sleep, Master Damian.”

“But what if—“

“Need I report your insubordination to Master Bruce?” Alfred interrupted.

Damian recoiled slightly. “No,” he finally said in a meek voice.

“Very good. Then I expect we should have no further issue.” Alfred replied. He pushed Damian to lie down for a third time, pulling the blankets up over him once more. Then he headed toward the door, stopping as he laid his hand on the knob, turning back toward Damian. “Now then, I would encourage you to get some sleep. Should you need something, I will be right downstairs.”

“Yes, yes, understood, Pennyworth,” Damian huffed as he made a show of rolling over toward the wall.

Alfred paused for a moment, then reached over to the wall and flicked off the light, pulling the door closed silently behind him as he left.

[shwarmadillo]

the catwich saga

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ten.

The dragon slumped forward, the newly formed cavity in its chest inadvertently sucking Hollyberry's fist in even deeper as it did so. A bottomless well of blood sprung forth from the mortal wound, soaking her leather gauntlet through and staining it - and many other parts of her person, as the sticky, foul-smelling life essence was blindly spat at her - a hideous dark color. Quickly and unceremoniously, she yanked her hand back out, allowing gravity to take back control and force the dragon's fresh corpse to the ground. The hole in its chest was far from its only injury, but it was the most grievous one. And with all of them together, the creature was slain; vanquished by a fellow predator that ultimately proved herself superior.

Hollyberry stared down at the remains of her prey, as cold and stoic now as she'd been when their battle had first started. The telltale glimmer of life in its eyes was long gone; it dimmed rather quickly, fading almost in tandem with the stream of blood that drained from its body with each erratic pulse of its dying heart, vanishing completely with the slam of its head against the tarnished earth. Once a mighty beast, now beaten and broken at her feet, its face now forever frozen in incomprehensible agony.

That's ten. Ten dragons slain. If memory served, ten was the amount of dragons that had been plaguing this area and terrorizing the nearby village. At last, she had gotten them all.

She wiped some of the blood off of her shield - just enough to allow the gem at the center to enjoy the sunlight again. Taken in by its renewed shine, she drew the shield closer, gazing into the pretty, polished jewel and the grim, unkempt reflection gazing back into her.

She didn't look any different.

She didn't feel any different, either.

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

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Never did that singular phrase ever stop replaying inside of Hollyberry's mind. Never did her mind rest; never did her thoughts grant her a moment's peace. Never. Not once. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day has just been this; this terrible memory that her mind and heart and soul simply could not, would not perish. The monster hunter's countenance, as real as though he yet stood before her. The monster hunter's voice, crystal clear as a berry juice glass.

If only she'd had it in her in that moment to punch the sneer right off of his godsforsaken face.

But it was fine. It is fine. It will always be fine, if she can help it... and she can. She will. She already has. Just a messenger, he was; not worth the ammo nor the aim. There were better targets out there. Tougher ones. More deserving ones. All in far more dire need of punishment than he.

After the village had been cured of its draconic sickness, she moved on. One last day was all she chose to afford the villagers, with all of their cheers and tears and now remedied fears. They made her a feast; a hearty sampling of their finest culinary selections, the cream of what little remained of their crop. The dragons had done a number on them in more ways than one: fields torched, loved ones devoured, homes and businesses reduced to smoking ruin. But it was fine now. They are fine. And now, they shall continue to be fine, without the monsters prowling around. Without her.

What was it they'd served her again? Pumpkin soup? Roasted quail? A smorgasbord of fruits and vegetables? Even as she ventured back through the houses and streets and reached the village gates after bidding them all farewell, she scarcely recalled a single morsel. In fact, she scarcely recalled sitting down at the table at all. Life and all its contents blended together and disappeared into the fog more often not nowadays - all but her hunts. Her battles. Her cullings.

...Juice. The elegant scarlet lettering painted onto the village welcome sign, carved and decorated in such a way as to draw one's eye and heart in at a glance, awoke a single memory of the night before: a goblet of juice, eagerly set beside her plate. Their last bottle, one villager said; the dragons had either drank or destroyed the rest. A gift, one of many, for her heroism. They admired its gorgeous color, yearned for its sweet yet tart taste - but for their savior, they would happily part with it. They would be remiss and horrendously rude not to.

She made up for their politeness by being rather rude herself, and turning the juice down wholesale. "But why?" they had asked her, in such overwhelmed surprise that it was almost comical. "Is it not to your liking? Please, won't you have even a sip? We only wish to honor you! We beg!"

"I can't accept such a gift," she answered them. "You have sacrificed enough already. Don't give up any more for my sake."

"But we insist!" Of course they did. Insistence is the foundation of all gratitude, and the fuel for all celebration and merrymaking. In a different time and place, she would've obliged without question. But not this one.

"No." Her tone was cool, her words clipped; painfully firm as her grasp on her silverware had suddenly become. "I need to keep focus. Juice would get in the way of that. All of you, keep it. You deserve it more than I."

How amusing it had been, in a morbid sort of way, when their rosy-cheeked insistence withered at the sound of her harsh voice. In a different time and place, she would've apologized. In a different time and place, she would've laughed and said they fell for her joke, her act, and perhaps then she would've down the whole glass in one fell swoop to the sound of applause.

But not this one.

Her shield provided much needed protection from the morning sun's glare. Light is always welcome, but not when it dares to overtake the lines on the map. She couldn't afford to lose track of her next destination.

"A tragedy, really..."

No. She needed to keep focus.

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

What might they be doing now, Hollyberry wondered?

Who "they" were, she could not tell you. Who "they" were, she knew all too well. "They" were those clouds that drifted in and out of sight on a windy afternoon. "They" were those shadows cast on the wall by the dance of the torch light, too ethereal and erratic to keep any proper shape for too long. "They" were those wandering reflections in the windows, in her shield, in the all of those berry juice glasses she shunned. "They" were a mystery. "They" were a paradox.

She wondered if there had been a search party. If the Crown had spared no expense, no soldier, no single second of time, in hunting their targets down. She wondered if her son tore his robes and dirtied his hair pacing through the jungle, parting every bush and overturning every stone himself. She wondered if her daughter-in-law could see through her veil of tears or speak past the lump in her throat; if her strength waned with each passing day, little by little, until her knees buckled and bent and she finally collapsed, howling her grief into the earth below until her voice failed her for good.

She wondered if there had been a funeral. Might as well have. From the clutches of dragons, even great warriors seldomly escaped. No exception would have been made for a child, especially one so small and feeble. Easy pickings.

She wondered if the other child felt her sister's absence. Never for a moment were they apart, those two; not in the womb, not in the crib, not even in the playpen or the bathtub. One so loud and vibrant, the other calm yet curious. But no matter their differences, it was plain as day that they loved one another. Before they knew of the world, before they even knew their own names, they knew and loved and trusted each other. Partners in crime, they were. Or, they were supposed to have been.

She wondered what the others would have said - to her, to the king and queen, whoever, it didn't matter much. The ghostly memory of a voice, sad but serene, drifted through her ears; there was never a shortage of heartfelt prayers with him. Perhaps, in the face of a tragedy like this, even his staff would have wept. Two weapons were drawn before her mind's eye, one great and powerful sword and one sleek and dazzling spear; he would proclaim that such an injustice could not stand and he and his warriors would gladly pursue retribution on their behalf, and she... she would likely say something similar, Hollyberry thinks. She would have, if she knew her well enough. Never mind that she probably didn't know what happened. Never mind that Hollyberry didn't even know where she was now.

In the corner of her thoughts sprouted a lily, small and thin and so unsure. She paid it little mind. Before all of this, Hollyberry might have imagined her gazing upon them all with such an overwhelming sorrow, even setting her staff aside so she may offer a proper hug. But now, she wasn't so sure. Nowadays she isn't so sure she ever knew her at all.

They were the sharp cries the dragons let out when her fist collided with their snouts: agonizing, deafening, piercing through her skull and haunting her thoughts well into the night. They were the droplets of blood that ruined her clothes and her hair when she rended the flesh from the bones, and bashed the heads into the rocks: small and bright and numerous, washing away in the river and rain and always leaving her behind. They were the reflections in their wide eyes, colored first with rage and then with panic, growing cold and still as their vitality slowly faded away.

She wondered what they were doing. She wondered if they wondered the same of her.

She wondered if any of them could hazard a guess.

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

Ten. Ten dragons slain this week. Or, at the very least, Hollyberry believed so.

Back and forth across the world, she continued her endless trek: through the woods and across the lakes and over the tallest mountains. Wherever she heard whispers and wails of dragons being a blight, she went. And she killed them all, one by one, until their extinction in the area was all but guaranteed. And then her endless trek resumed, with hardly so much as a brief pause.

Interesting, really, how many of them there proved to be. As she trudged through the mud and snow, she racked her brain for answers - has is always been this way? Could she remember a time when dragons weren't there, appearing as the black marks on society and history they always were? Ten, twenty, thirty, forty - she was starting to lose count of them by now, to the point that she'd begun keeping tally with her shield itself, whittling a slash mark into the wood with each conquered beast.

An occasional glance into its back told her she'd run out of space soon. Pity.

She was in Beast-Yeast, somewhere in the north. There were dragons there, too. No one had called her there - no one ever called Hollyberry to Beast-Yeast, save for fun and adventure and the pain tucked away deep in her heart, still knocking on the walls - but she set out for it anyway. Always some unholy creature of some sort skulking around in that place, making it worse than it already is. A revisit or two or three or ten or one thousand to clean house never did any harm. Fewer dragons in the world at the end of the day.

She was back in Crispia, near the Cream Cake Mountains. An overheard report detailing an ice dragon beginning to circle the outskirts of a snowridden village brought her there quick; a day of preparing a trap and a lure brought the dragon out quicker. Some small, unfortunate part of her almost lamented the creature's demise; countless snowflakes of all shapes and sizes took the place of its scales and icicles of a shimmering, semi-translucent beauty made up its many spines. From above, it appeared as a sentient aurora, streaking across the night sky. It was almost a shame that that sky had to be darkened for eternity. Almost.

She was near the Crème Republic. She was in somewhere in Wholegrainia. She was meandering around some old, worn path that stretched into both ends of the horizon - the Sugar-Free Road or some such nonsense. She was everywhere. She was nowhere.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.

Fifty.

One hundred.

One thousand.

She ran out of space on the inside of her shield.

She didn't care. She simply stopped counting after that.

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

"Sweet Pinkyberry! It's been so long!"

Fighting the urge to wince at that old, silly name, Hollyberry dredged up a smile, hoping against hope that it actually bothered to reach her eyes this time.

"What brings you back to Dragon City this time around, hm?"

"What always brings me back here, my friend," Hollyberry said. "I'm here to hunt some dragons."

"Fair answer, haha! Not too much else to do here." Tapping on the side of the empty bowl in front of her, the Innkeeper's smile turned a bit wry. "Besides helping yourself to some of my famous stew, isn't that right?"

"Isn't that right, indeed," Hollyberry tried her best to play along.

"Let me get you some, then! And a mug of fireade to go with-"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eh?" The Innkeeper blinked. "Are you sure about that? You look thirsty to me. And you never say no to my fireade."

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, chum... If you say so."

She only half-heard her old friend call out to one of her sons to ready a bowl of dragon's head stew. She only half-noticed when it was placed before her a few minutes later, the hot steam wafting from it only somewhat snapping her out of her daze.

"The dragons have gotten quite rowdy these days," the Innkeeper remarked. "Moreso than usual. It's been a bit of a pain for local hunters."

"Oh?"

"No one's quite sure what's got them so spooked. But there have been rumors of a slayer running around the continent, culling their numbers awfully quickly."

"Maybe that's what it is, then," Hollyberry murmured into her spoonful of stew.

"Maybe, but... There's hardly anything to go on, save for the rumors. If that slayer is real, then they don't seem to want any attention. All that's ever been left in their wake are dragon corpses. Nothing else. Not even a name or a face."

The Innkeeper slowly leaned forward, propping herself up on her elbows, eyeing Hollyberry in a way that made her feel as though a thousand eyes were suddenly upon her, trying to dissect her. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"...No," Hollyberry eventually answered, the agonizingly slow sip of her stew having done nothing to soothe her nerves. "I can't say I have."

The Innkeeper raised an eyebrow at her, but ultimately shrugged. "Alright then. I'm surprised to hear you say that, in honesty. But it's understandable. Elusive fellow, that fabled slayer seems to be."

Hollyberry nodded slowly, feigning agreement long enough to appear convincing before safely turning her full attention back to her meal.

"In any case... Have you heard what happened in the Hollyberry Kingdom recently?"

It took everything in Hollyberry's power not to choke on her stew.

"That poor girl," the Innkeeper lamented. "I can hardly imagine what the royal family is going through. I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to either of my boys, especially with their father leaving me alone to hunt so often. It's a tragedy."

Everything looked, sounded, felt so, so far away now. Blurry. Incomprehensible.

"Those damned dragons," the Innkeeper muttered. "Whoever that slayer is, I wish them all the luck and give them all the thanks in the world. Who knows, maybe they'll even take down whichever one of those devils took the princess."

The sudden screech of the bar stool legs nearly deafened them both.

"Wha- Pinkyberry? You alright? Where are you off to so soon?"

"I have somewhere to be," Hollyberry spoke quickly. Perhaps too quickly. "I could never stay long, anyway. Forgive me."

In the blink of an eye, a rather hefty looking coin pouch appeared from Hollyberry's pocket, being all but slammed on the table before she made a heel-turn and began hurrying to the inn's front door.

"Wait! Sweet Pinkyberry!"

Biting back a sigh, she turned and looked back over her shoulder one final time.

"Be careful!" the Innkeeper warned her. "Dragons here are more hostile than ever thanks to the goings-on! Promise me you'll take care of yourself!"

Hollyberry nodded, a bit impatiently.

"And don't you forget! The only good dragon is a dead one!"

"How could I?" Hollyberry called back to her, before leaving the inn for good.

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

It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy. It's a tragedy.

Was there nowhere she could go to escape this? This- this word? This feeling? This bitter, endless mourning, corroding her bones? Devouring her soul?

Stray embers and volcanic ash particles lazily rained down upon her, dusting her head and shoulders and shield as she steadily hiked up the volcano's slope. The Dragon's Valley today was the same miserable, heat-stricken, inhospitable wasteland it had been yesterday, and would be tomorrow, and would be the day after that. Simply abominable in every conceivable fashion - most of all in how it so brazenly housed dragons of all kinds.

...But it wasn't the fault of the valley itself, now was it.

All manner of creature came for Hollyberry as she traversed that hellish landscape, practically the moment her feet first touched its cursed ground. Dragons, wyverns, lesser reptiles big and small. Perhaps her visage was too obvious, framed against the rich browns and dull oranges of their surroundings, even after generously allowing ember and ash to dress her in their likeness and offer her a free disguise. Perhaps her scent was too unique, too cloying, just enough to rise above all those hideous, overpowering smells wafting through this godsforsaken place.

Perhaps they sensed her anger, and their impending doom along with it, and sought her, and thus, their destiny, out of their own accord.

Whichever one was the real answer... she did not know, and she did not care. Regardless, she appreciated it - all of her enemies delivering themselves to her right on her doorstep. Easy pickings.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty- oh, what did it matter. What difference did keeping count make. What mattered was that they all fell before her. That she left behind a slew of dragon corpses in her wake.

The more blood she spilled, and the more viscera she lavished upon these lands, the more likely it would be that they would come out.

In all of her long years, Hollyberry never succeeded in finding Pitaya Dragon's nest. Her usual excuse was that challenging a foe to a battle in the foe's own house was unfathomably rude - but, the truth of the matter was that she simply didn't know where their house was in the first place, and all of her long years of adventuring and tracking expertise did far less to remedy this than she'd hoped they would. Ah well, it was nothing Hollyberry couldn't otherwise overcome; the next option was to draw that old lizard to her instead.

The so-called "legendary" Red Dragon. Undisputed lord of the Dragon's Valley since time immemorial. They had answers, didn't they? Surely, in all of their timeless and impeccable wisdom? The dragons that came to terrorize her kingdom and people always hailed from the Dragon's Valley - never anywhere else.

Pitaya Dragon has to know something. They must. They will. She won't entertain any other option.

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

Tendrils of steam whispered and coiled around Hollyberry's ankles. The air surrounding them crackled with heat and energy, born from both their godlike power and the valley itself.

"Pitaya!" she called out, daring to take another step forward. "What happened?! Where is she?!"

"What doesss it matter?" Pitaya Dragon drawled, lips curling to form a dry, mocking smirk. "She'sss gone. Ssso much for a hero."

Overcome with rage, Hollyberry lunged forward with a battle cry. Pitaya Dragon stayed where they were, feet firm and arms crossed, obnoxiously cruel expression only being wiped away with the hard swipe of her fist against their cheek.

Their fight lasted only minutes. Their fight lasted for an eternity. She blocked, parried, threw back every swing of their greatsword with terrifying ease - and a hideous smile of her own had begun to bloom as their little war raged on, growing bigger and brighter with every snarl and yelp of pain she managed to knock out of their lungs.

Yet still, something was missing. Yet still, her words and actions rung hollow. Yet still, through all of the blows they exchanged, in every hit she landed, she found no peace. No resolution. No respite.

Yet still, the voices wouldn't stop.

"Wouldn't you know it? Soon after the queen left the Hollyberry Kingdom, dragons began to roam freely, terrorizing the land!"

Carefully, she tried to step- careful not to trip over the dragon corpses. The beaten, broken, bloodied remains of those slimy, pathetic, cold-blooded cowards she dutifully removed from the face of the earth. Everything that happened, everything she did- it was deserved. It was destined. It was justice.

"And in all the chaos and confusion, those lizards kidnapped one of the twin princesses!"

Pitaya Dragon's face was a kaleidoscope of emotions, each more contemptible than the last. Smugness. Derision. Anger. Shock. Confusion. Realization. Betrayal. Terror. All the sight of them did was stoke the flames of Hollyberry's wrath even more.

"A tragedy, really. A doughy little Cookie, carried off by a dragon... Tsk tsk."

Ember and ash, fire and brimstone rained down upon them as their terrible duel shook and tore apart the heavens and earth. Red as blood, blinding as the sun, searing through skin and flesh and bone. Slowly, their color and texture changed; a new element was added to this hellish mixture. Ember and ash, fire and brimstone - and dark flour, mountains of it, turning the heavens and the earth and Hollyberry's eyes and lungs pitch black.

"Terrible, terrible stuff... Too bad the queen abandoned her duties and her land..."

In a last ditch effort to turn the tides of war in their favor, Pitaya Dragon transformed. The strain was great, Hollyberry could tell; as scarlet and emerald flames engulfed their person, hisses and howls of pain rung out from within, culminating in one skull-splitting roar as the dragon's true form came back into being. At this, Hollyberry barked out a laugh. A waste of time and effort. It meant nothing in the end.

"I bet she would've never allowed the dragons to do what they please!"

Pitaya Dragon fought frantically, mindlessly, beating and clawing anything and everything within reach, spitting fire every which way with little regard to what they actually hit, flapping their wings with such force that entire boulders were swept away in the wind. But every attack proved fruitless; Hollyberry was too quick, too tough, too clever. She had waited too long for this moment. She'd be damned before she let it pass her by.

"So much for a HERO!"

Eventually, they slipped up for the final time, and Hollyberry struck back for the final time. When they made the fatal mistake of flying too too low and too close, Hollyberry seized the opportunity and every last bit of her strength to jump up, shield outstretched and aimed at that precious gemstone, that window and key to their heart. The gem embedded in Pitaya Dragon's chest shattered on impact, blazing red shards splintering and exploding every which way. Their mouth fell open in a silent scream, eyes wide as the moon, blood staining their teeth and spurting from their mouth and nostrils. Quickly and unceremoniously, Hollyberry shoved them backwards, watching them collapse with a loud thud, blood oozing from their many wounds and pooling all around them, dyeing the soil an uglier shade of red than it already was. In a smoking crater in the middle of the Dragon's Valley thus lay the legendary Red Dragon. Beaten. Broken. Dead.

In their eyes, Hollyberry thought she had seen tears. It must have been a trick of the light.

She marched forward, making her way around her slain opponent's body until she at least reached their face. Wedging her hands between the teeth of their lower jaw and gripping them tight, she pulled, pulled, pulled; slowly but steadily prying their massive jaws open, until Hollyberry could all but stroll into their mouth with ease.

She didn't have to search for long. Sitting on Pitaya Dragon's tongue for the whole world to see was a cream-colored swaddling cloth, with a tuft of teal hair poking out of the top.

"Tiger Lily!" she shouted, rushing forward and kneeling and gathering the princess in her arms. "Tiger Lily, I-I'm here! I've got you! It's alright!"

She cradled her, rocked her, but the girl did not stir.

"Tiger Lily? Tiger Lily, please, I'm here now! Look at me! Come on!"

Nothing.

"Tiger Lily..." Her vision blurred in an instant, her whole body trembling with such force that it was a miracle she remained upright. "Tiger Lily, p-please- Please, I, I-I'm sorry, I know this is my fault, I'm sorry, I-I'm here now, see? See, everything is alright now. Please, p-please look at me, wake up, look at me, please-!"

Tiger Lily's skin felt freezing cold to the touch, startling Hollyberry when she brought her hand to her cheek. Cold, clammy, with a faint blue tint. Her eyes were closed and nothing Hollyberry said or did opened them. No matter her efforts, no matter her pleas, the little princess lay still. Silent.

Dead.

"No." Hollyberry's came out so small. So feeble. Warm tears began streaming endlessly down her face; she clutched at her chest, a deep, sharp pain suddenly striking her heart. The world blurred and spun all around her, the heavens and earth and her old friend's lifeless body melting together into a single abhorrent mess. All that remained within her comprehension was her dear granddaughter, and the tears soaking through her face and clothes, and the dark flour still floating down from the sky.

Hollyberry woke up with a start, clutching at her chest and gasping for air as though someone had tried to drown her. Frantically, she looked over her surroundings - everywhere her eyes were met with walls of cool obsidian, save for the opening a ways off to her right that offered an escape to the outside world. She'd taken shelter in a cave the night before, after slaughtering her way through the valley and ending up nowhere, with no Pitaya Dragon in sight all day. The night looked young still. The moon shone bright from a gap in the clouds, offering her a single source of precious light.

Still reeling from her nightmare, Hollyberry stared down into her lap, at her trembling hands. Caked in dried dragon blood, as were the rest of her clothes. Specks of gore could still be seen on her person, clinging to her vest and boots and even strands of her hair. Instinctively, she reached for her shield; polishing off the jewel in the center, she gazed into her reflection and stayed silent as it gazed back into her.

...Who is she? What is she doing? Who has she become?

Setting her shield aside and burying her face in her blood-soaked hands, Hollyberry began to weep.

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

Ten.

She slammed the crystal glass down onto the table - quite carelessly, sure, but who could blame her? It's hard to keep control of such things after a while.

"Care for another shot, miss?"

"Would I ever! In fact, I'm disappointed you'd even bother asking instead of just pouring! Haha!"

Ten shots in ten minutes. Was this a new record? She thinks it is. She hopes so.

Every day, Hollyberry sunk a little bit lower. But, at the very least, if nothing else at all, she could choose where she sunk. She could choose not to sink into rage and death and depravity. She could choose to sink into a tall, cold, delicious glass of beer or two instead.

The Hollyberry Kingdom, though renowned throughout the world for its berry juice, was far from the only kingdom with a fine drinks selection. The Crème Republic, for example; now there was a place and people that knew how to brew. And such friendly barkeeps, too! Polite, charming, well-versed in their trade. Perfect to buy a round from. As many rounds as they'd indulge.

The beer went down crisp and fresh, warming her throat and her stomach and her aching soul with each gulp. Delicious. Almost a rival to her own people's wares, even. She would have to leave the barkeep an even bigger tip than she'd already planned.

She hardly thought about that night in the Dragon's Valley, that she'd spent sobbing her heart out. She hardly thought about her nightmare, of her imaginary duel with Pitaya Dragon and its implications. Of the grave truth underlying her motives. The truth that she had not come looking conversation or civility from her old friend. She sought something far, far worse.

She hardly thought about the Innkeeper, or the fact that Hollyberry had fled the valley altogether as fast as she could at the first sign of morning, without stepping foot in Dragon City again to see her or say goodbye.

She hardly thought about the mountains of bodies she dumped practically everywhere she went. Almost every region of the world, littered with slaughtered dragons. In her quest to punish savagery, she became a savage herself.

She hardly thought about her newfound, twisted sense of justice, and the brutal nature of her one-woman crusade.

She hardly even thought all that much about her granddaughter now.

No, now it was back to her old routine; the only routine she ever should have known or abided by, that of fun and adventure and the illusion of freedom from her burdens. Though she was a connoisseur of poison, that which vengeance provided was simply too strong for even the likes of her. Her beloved drinks, and her beloved adventures, and the crystal clear reflection of her carefree smile captured within her glass made for a much finer alternative. One vice traded in for another.

It tasted less bitter than her shame.

[arrimorr]

My ocs, Sir and Ser, aka the eldritch malevolent policemen 😔

[mxtxfanatic]

People will claim that Shen Qingqiu is an unreliable narrator which (ignoring the fact that the story is in 3rd POV) is true, but they make the claim in reference to his thoughts and feelings about Luo Binghe (false) when they should be making it about how he views himself. Cause why is this man so casual about the fact that he became a leading instructor at a prestigious school he just happened to waltz into because he was bored? Why did it take an extra to learn that he actually spent most of Luo Binghe’s time in the abyss doing missions off the peak to run from his grief? Why did we have to find out that, due to their bullying of Luo Binghe, he was every Bai Zhan Peak disciple’s worst nightmare from Shang Qinghua???

[aprilblossomgirl]

And it’s because of you that I realized this all-kill means more than just keeping MARS alive. It’s about saving ourselves from this world. MARS will conquer the world that tells us to rush, that tells us to abandon each other to be number one. But we will prove that we are the group that will walk together, supporting each other from behind, being a safe zone when we need comfort, a cushion to support us when we fail and rise again, just like what you’ve done for me. And because of you, MARS is rebuilt with that meaning.

ThamePo Heart That Skips a Beat | Ep.12

[kirby-the-gorb]

[fatuismooches]

HIII!! First of all I wanted to say that i love your blog and your writing! it brings me so much comfort :(( ANYWAY I WANTED TO REQUEST SOME CUDDLING HEADCANONS AND MAYBE A SMALL SCENARIO WITH DOTTORE?? fluff!! yknow just sleepy cuddles <3

It wasn't often that you woke up to your husband in the same bed as you. Of course, at this point, you were used to Dottore's absence, but nothing could quite fill the void that you felt when you rose from a cold bed. And although you did bother the other segments for affection to your heart's content, even they found themselves many times too busy to entertain sleeping in with you. Still, you were just happy to be with them and cherish the soft moments that happened whenever they did.

However, a habit of yours that had developed whenever you were feeling the lack of attention, was slipping into your husband's (or a segment's) room and snuggling on his (not very comfortable) bed. If you were being honest, Dottore's bed, much to your dismay, didn't really smell like him very much, for a simple reason - he rarely ever lays on it. An easy remedy to this, however, was just to steal one of his shirts. The scent was very... Dottore-like, something that oddly brought comfort to you.

On this particular day, you easily made your way into his office - empty, unfortunately, but not too surprising. He was probably in that lab of his as usual. Regardless, as you entered into the connecting (very bland) bedroom, you immediately made yourself at home on his bed. In fact, it was exactly how you left it a few days ago, messy and tussled, meaning that Dottore certainly hadn't slept on it again. Perhaps he didn't even enter his own room for that long. Your urgent words for him to rest only got through his thick skull once in a blue moon. Regardless, you pulled the blankets up and curled into them, eager to preserve the warmth, and too tired to fluff the pillows a bit more before you fell asleep.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was that you were a lot more warmer than usual. And then, when you tried stretching to pull off a bit of the blanket, your body's movement was strangely constricted by something else. Plus, it felt like it was a lot earlier than when you usually get up. Your sleepy mind had just barely begun processing the situation when a sudden voice abruptly woke you up a lot more.

"Go back to sleep." The voice was a bit deeper and gruff than usual, but undoubtedly, it could only belong to one person, which made your heart start racing with excitement.

"Dottore!" You immediately began wiggling in his arms, trying to turn around and see him, sleepiness still holding your body hostage, not to mention how tight his arms were. "Let me see you," you complained.

"Stop moving around," he grumbled some more. "Now is not the time I wish to entertain you." And yet he languidly began to nip at the nape of your neck. But that reminded you - for him to be in bed was already a rare occurrence, and from his voice, it sounded like he was genuinely sleeping. This was... excellent news, so you probably shouldn't push your luck.

"Fine," you complied, relaxing your body once more. A wave of sleepiness hit you despite your energy from a few moments ago, but you ignored it. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Dottore parroted, as his sharp teeth continued to dig into your skin. "I come back to my room and find my bed occupied by someone who wasn't invited. The question should be, what are you doing here?" You could only sheepishly laugh as you remembered everything.

"Well... you should know your room is mine too, you know! Besides, to make it even, you're welcome in my room anytime too!~" Dottore clicked his tongue, but it was obvious to you he didn't mind your intrusion in the slightest.

"Regardless, go back to sleep. You are tired." Despite your attempts to stifle your yawns and hide your drooping eyes, your husband had noticed it all too well.

"Don't wanna," you quickly protested. Before he could open his mouth again (and perhaps teasingly threaten to help you sleep) you spoke again.

"If I go to sleep again now, when I wake up, you won't be here anymore, will you?" You didn't need to see his expression or wait for a response to know the answer to that.

"So let me do as I please, Zandik. Let me be with you." Let you bask in this moment, fully conscious of what is going on, being able to feel and process his skin against yours and more, for you would hate to be unable to remember this gentle encounter.

"... Do what you wish, but don't bother me when you're too tired to do anything." His seemingly annoyed statement was betrayed by his arms tightening around you.

"I will." Your response ended the line of conversation, a comfortable silence now taking over. Needless to say, you wallowed in his strong back pressed against yours, his callused hands against your own, a long lock of blue hair tickling your neck. You made sure to take note of even the most minuscule details before it was time for life to resume.

What existed at this moment was merely two human beings, so similar yet so different, with their troubles and masks discarded to savor the presence of each other.

[yuesya]

The Charmony Festival.

An event that is both festival and ritual all wrapped up into one grand performance, in order to spread joy in the name of Xipe, the Triple-Faced Soul, Aeon of Harmony.

There are many planets on which the Family performs this ritual, but the most extravagant and prestigious of them is the one held in Penacony, the “Planet of Festivities.” The Charmony Festival only takes place in Penacony once every Amber Era, and thus there are many who are most keenly interested in it.

In this, the Interastral Peace Corporation is no different, albeit certainly not for any of the conventional reasons that a starry-eyed tourist might have.

There is history between the IPC and Penacony. A long time ago, Penacony once functioned as a prison planet under the ownership of the IPC, before a Stellaron corrosion broke out and the prisoners rebelled –directly leading to the IPC losing control over Penacony.

But Penacony, even though it later came to be ruled by the Family, was still an asset that the IPC was interested in recovering in some manner.

There has not been a single time when the IPC was formally invited as an honored guest to one of Penacony’s Charmony Festivals. And yet–

Aventurine hums lightly, tilting the small music box in his hands. The invitation.

… His first reaction is to wonder if Lyra is the one responsible for this. But, that can’t be right. Lyra doesn’t hold any position of power in the Family from an organizational standpoint, so it’s unlikely that she would’ve been allowed to influence something like this. And even then, it still wouldn’t account for the fact that, apparently, numerous galactic factions had all received invitations to the upcoming Charmony Festival in Penacony.

There’s something curious afoot here. Of that, Aventurine had no doubt.

The young man glances down at his phone. His phone that’s still dark and silent, with no signs of any incoming response from Lyra. True, the girl isn’t always the best at giving timely responses –but she’s never outright ignored Aventurine before, either. It’s been almost a full day since he’d messaged her, asking about the Charmony Festival invite that the IPC received, and yet…

Aventurine sighs, forcibly tamping down on the small thread of worry that rears its head in his chest. Lyra is strong enough that there are few things that pose a direct threat to her, so at least he probably has nothing to worry about on that front.

(And yet…)

“I suppose I’ll just have to ask my questions in person, then,” he murmurs.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

going fishing - another segment from the beast of loch broom!

because my blog is a Mess this part happens after the argument between Haddock and Tintin and before Ramo Nash's studio in this post

[carlyraejepsans]

ghost trick was amazing but how the fuck do you make a game where unburying people is one of its core mechanics and then don't unbury the dead wives. are you kidding me with this crap.

[pink-yuri]

♡ Love Live! Nijigasaki High School Idol Club ♡

[direquail]

One of the many things I find funny and irritating is the slant of a lot of interpretations of Alecto's name (that it's about feminine rage)--on this here wlw internet in the year of our lord 2024, it's easily made to figure as rage against God, or rage against patriarchy, or religious oppression, and therefore an allusion to the idea that she's going to get her vengeance on John for betraying and oppressing her somehow, but like

John is the one who named her Alecto. He's the one who named her that. So, naming her "Alecto" is alluding to the embodiment of John's rage--their rage, since they are joined inseparably (John even explicitly says that when he first perceives her: "You wouldn't stop screaming. You were so scared. You were so goddamn mad").

He says of Alecto to Harrow, "In a very real way, you are [Alecto's] children". At a very surface level, Alecto is (depending on the text or tradition), one of the Furies--famously, in several surviving Greek tragedies, who punish Orestes for the crime of killing his mother. In fact, in Aeschylus' Oresteia, they declare that they are specifically bound to avenge matricide.

So the name "Alecto" alludes to the nature of John's mission and how he sees it.

It also implies that his divine rage, the rage that gives him power, the power that makes him divine, that he either represents or wants to represent, is feminine rage. He was chosen by Earth (which, Furies are sometimes the daughters of Gaia); he is her champion, however he's managed to fuck that up. Once the truth of that comes out, it becomes clear that all of his power comes from her.

And that's why you get statements from Tamsyn Muir like:

“[T]he God of the Locked Tomb IS a man; he IS the Father and the Teacher; it’s an inherently masc role played by someone who has an uneasy relationship himself to playing a Biblical patriarch. John falls back on hierarchies and roles because they’re familiar even when he’s struggling not to. Even he identifies himself as the God who became man and the man who became God. But the divine in the Locked Tomb is essentially feminine on multiple axes – I think Nona will illuminate that a little bit more."

So yes, he plays the role of Emperor and God and Teacher, with all of the things that implies. And I don't think it should be discounted. But he also is (and partly sees himself as) the chosen champion of a goddess, or what is for all intents & purposes for a human like him a goddess. He is her avenger, and while she sleeps, her avatar.

And I don't think we're meant to read him purely as a parasite who's taking advantage of her to gain power for himself, either. Or an oppressive, Kronos-like figure. Especially if you consider Palamedes' theory of the Grand Lysis, even if he was purely motivated by desire for power before (which I really doubt), there are parts of each in the other, now. What was clear and separate before is uncertain and interpenetrated. Is his rage his own, or hers? Is his mission of revenge his, or hers? If he wants power, is that his own selfishness, or her desire to survive?

And does it matter?

[therealslimshakespeare]

Do yall really wanna know?

please :)

Ha, general consensus of the eight immediate replies i got, told me that you’d like to know, and I don’t blame ya

I chose no. Not this time. And not even to be a tease, but because I think everyone’s post war stories are best viewed in splices of recovery or decay and this was a launching point I felt needed to be shown, but it doesn’t involve fuckface Spencer yet. Because while her head and surroundings aren’t great at all when she goes into college, he makes them tons worse. And I think it’s important to see that difference.

[fatuismooches]

If Zandik really loved his spouse he would have set a rotating roster of Segments to ensure that they are never alone for too long. All those Segments and no schedule? How dare!

Ciao, anyways so. Several Dadtorre fluffs.

First idea: Dottore having a crisis and thinking that he is a horrible father, Shinji pose and everything on the chair, contemplating the perceived mistakes he did. Meanwhile, his Segments are staring and him judgy *including* his spouse with a dry stare because their child is literally his biggest fan.

Dottore had taken their child up a summit to point out stars, even told the child how they could tell the skies are false. The stars on that direction are suspiciously repeating like the ones behind them - there was a strange thin clearing between the twinkling stars like there were seams going across the sky.

Once you see them, you will never remember what the false sky had looked like before. The child had been fixated on it since, excitedly chattering that they will be the first one to explore those strange seams in the sky after father had showed it to them. They will discover many things like him, just you wait!

Second idea: Dottore insisting that he is NOT spoiling their child—

Omega drags in the 50th custom toy Dottore has made behind him as he says this.

Never in all his centuries of life did Dottore ever see himself becoming a father - it was something so ludicrous that it never once crossed his mind for very obvious reasons, he knew the kind of man he was. It was you who had to gently convince and reassure him that he could be a good father if he truly tried, and you'd be there every step of the way with him. He had doubts, but he decided to listen to your soothing words - you always seemed to be right in these situations anyway. It really is a great thing that he has you... because sometimes he needs some sense put into that stupidly smart yet foolish brain of his.

Sure, Dottore can be awkward and surprisingly clumsy at times when dealing with his child, but his love for his kid is abundantly clear. He's even surprised you quite a few times by taking the initiative, although in the beginning, he was admittedly a bit closed off (perhaps unsure of if he deserved this, or even if his kid deserved a father like him, if he would unwittingly end up rewriting his own childhood of loneliness.) Despite this, your heart swells at how he continues to get closer and closer to his kid, protecting them from the world.

...Which is why it simultaneously upsets and saddens you when Dottore doubts himself. Like... he's one of the smartest people in Teyvat! How is it so hard to see something that's right in front of him?! His child adores him, constantly looking up at him with pleading eyes when he's supposed to be working (he has to pass them to you otherwise he'll give in.) The kid always clings to him and repeats "I love you" like it's as easy as breathing! What does he not get! The segments giving him looks too are especially amusing... he's literally judging himself.

Dottore doesn't go many places in general, and that extends to his kid, but he does like taking them out, otherwise they'd find some way to get out anyway. He'd rather not have them try to trudge through the snow. (Sometimes, he'd wonder if they'd prefer the warmth of Sumeru like he did.) Unsurprisingly he has a tendency to jump at the opportunity to teach his child anything, loving their expression when he passes on knowledge.

The wide eyes, the round 'o' of their mouth in shock, tiny hands grabbing his sleeve for him to go on. It's no surprise his kid's stupefaction is more intense when he drops that the sky they gaze upon every day is fake. No one in their right mind would ever believe that, but his kid trusts him enough to entertain the thought. They have the same thirst for the unknown just like him. He'll make sure they have the space to flourish, even though he does want them to struggle and stumble to discover the answer. Needless to say, he's extremely proud of his kid.

You and the segments don't listen much to Dottore's vehement defenses anymore. It just goes in and out of the ears. Yeah, sure old man, you're not spoiling your kid but every time they have a request or desired upgrade for a toy, you suddenly disappear into your lab and don't come out until it's finished. He swears he doesn't spoil them but sometimes he sneaks them candy from his stash... (Pantalone lets the misuse of funds slide, only because he thinks it's entertaining to see the Doctor soften up a bit, and he gets to be the cool uncle.)

(Also! You're so right about the schedule of segments! He's such an inefficient man! The segments spending time with you = you're happy = a nice rest and recharge for them = more motivation for everyone = more productivity for them all! A fool, truly, he must see that before it's too late! The schedule is posted every month in the lab, the segments are itching for their turn! Do they make bets for each other to steal time slots? ... Maybe.)

[my-pjo-stuff]

*YAPPING AHEAD, THIS IS LONG*

As someone who has circled through a LOT of fandoms, you know what differentiates the PJO fandom from most of the others? Their raging hatred for what normally would be a very popular character archetype. "Who's that character archetype then" you ask? The answer is Luke Castellan. Unirnonically, I'm complety straight with this.

Luke Castellan is one of the most popular character archetypes in most other fandoms I am/were in.

Now before I get further into this meta, we should establish what archetype Luke actually is and what the criteria are. To me, Luke is the classical Sympathetic Fallen Hero. Someone who only wanted what's best at the end of the day who was wronged by an unjust system, and pushed into straight-up villainy and evil deeds in a desperate attempt for revenge or justice. Oftentimes that push happened by him joining up with a larger, more evil figure who manipulated his hatred into serving this larger, evil goal. Generally also has some deep-rooted trauma in the form of a DARK backstory.

Like literally, that guy is TEXTBOOK. He checks all the boxes. -Someone who only wanted what's best at the end of the day

Check. His goal was a "golden age" for demigods, a future where they would no longer have to die during quests or would be abandoned by their godly parents.

-and pushed into straight-up villainy and evil deeds in a desperate attempt for revenge or justice.

Check. Luke wanted both revenge and justice, which led him to form the Titan Army and all the bad stuff he did. Some include attempting to kill Percy multiple times and leading attacks on camp. The obvious superiority the gods would have over a demigod army led to Luke allying himself with Kronos and other evil forces. (Thus the "desperate" part)

-Oftentimes that push happened by him joining up with a larger, more evil figure who manipulated his hatred into serving this larger, evil goal.

Check. On multiple occasions has it been mentioned that Kronos punished and pressured Luke, using fear tactics to get him to do what he wanted. I mean- Kronos himself said that he would have preferred Percy because he "did things easier" referring to taking the CoA ("I had to pressure Luke in many ways(.....)")

-Generally also has some deep-rooted trauma in the form of a DARK backstory.

Check. His mother went insane when he was still an infant. Hermes practically abandoned them, leaving Luke to be raised by his mentally unstable mother having episodes that scarred him so bad he hid in closets. He proceeded to run away at 9, living on the streets completely alone before meeting Thalia. From then on he went around with her having to deal with monsters. Hal happened, they met Annabeth and Luke started to get parentified/parentified himself. He proceeded to watch Thalia die as he attempted to get to camp at 14. At the same age he had his quest, which he failed and got himself a nasty scar. Luke proceeded to get no discernable mental help or sufficient support to deal with the mental strain resulting from that. Instead, he was put into a caretaker role for younger children not only showing him the results of the system's neglect first hand but also effectivley robbing him of any semblance of a childhood. Once Kronos got to him he continued to the plagued by nightmares.

All that being said, we now established that Luke in fact is a textbook example of what I call the Sympathetic Fallen Hero. (SFL for short from now on) Now onto my point that the other fandoms generally really love the SFL archetype that Luke is. That I will do with examples. Before I list these examples, a short disclaimer. I HEAVILY shortened and abridged the plot and storylines on here as to not make this post overly long. I definitely recommend checking each of these media/characters out for yourself.

Anyway, here we go : STAR WARS :

A big part of the fandom LOVE Anankin/Darth Vader whom they view as a SFH. (Even though him not really being a SFL in the way that he checks all the boxes. But I'm going with the majority fandom view here so ig Vaderkin counts. For those who want, I made a post on my main comparing him to Luke here and how Luke is what the star wars fandom pretends Vader is.)

MY HERO ACADEMIA/BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA:

I want to talk the Villain Deku AU. Which is basically just an evil version of the MC who also checks all the SFH boces. The AU is hugely popular in the fandom with tons of fanart, animatics, cosplays and even a fan song. Honorable mention to the main anatonigst from the League of Villains, but especially Shigaraki and Dabi. They may not check ALL SFH boxes but an overwhelming majority. They are very popular with the fandom and generally regarded very kindly. Another honorable mention goes out to Stain. Also doesn't check ALL the SFH boxes, but most, and is also regarded generally positivley by the fandom.

THE PROMISED NEVERLAND

Norman, one of the main trio, spends a good part of the later manga seperated and leading his own resistance group against the main bad guy race (of monsters eating human brains- long story but I recommend the manga(don't watch s2 of the anime tho, it's basically the pjo movies for the manga)). Later on it is revealed that the main bad race isn't pure evil. Norman however got to the point where he wanted to commit a straight-up genocide against the race. Women, children, and elderly included. Bit of an outlier for a SFH, since he has no higher figure manipulating him into wanting to commit that genocide- but I'll let it slide. I did use the words "oftentimes" and "generally"- he also get's "redeemed" at the end/stopped from committing said genocide. Again the fandom regards him positively, even having him as a fan favorite.

NARUTO CLASSIC/NARUTO SHIPPUDEN

..... I mean most of the villains are SFH in that show. To the point where we would be here ages if I wanted to list them all. The two main examples most popular with the fandom tho would be Pain and Sasuke. Pain is a main villain whose home got destroyed, partially because of the MC's own home village. He watched his own parents die, and later lost one of his two best friends which finally pushed him over the edge (among others). Pain is also an outlier in terms of a SFH since he didn't have a major bad guy to manipulate him, instead leading his own evil (basically) terrorist cell. His goal was to achieve world peace by harnessing an ancient power, wanting others to suffer as much as he did so they recognize the value of peace. He killed a BUNCH of people. Pain did later revive a good chunk at the price of his own life however post redemption by the MC. Sasuke is the secondary MC and rival of the protagonist. Honestly he has so much going on I couldn't possibly mention it all. Basics are that his family got killed by his own brother due to difficult politics, he was the only survivor. His drive for revenge against his older brother caused him to join up with the main bad guy of Naruto Classic who rly only wanted him as a vessel (flashbacks much). Sasuke betrays his home for the bad guy to get the power he needs to take revenge. All that was stoked by the main bad guy and his comments. More plot happens, turns out the brother rly wasn't entierly bad and was also just used by other higher powers. Sasuke switches sides again and kills OG bad guy and joins up with Pain's previously mentioned terrorist group. The main goal from there is to destroy his home village who used his brother. He was not shy to kill ppl at that point, and was also basically ready to just commit a genocide on his own home. More plot happens, he get's redeemed eventually. Again in both cases the two are CRAZY popular with the fandom.

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS

I talked about this once already on here, but the fandom seems to LOVE AUs where dark!Percy just opts to straight up overthrow Olympus. I don't think i have to elaborate more on that tbh, but for those that are interested: Here's the post I made about the fandom's hypocrisy concerning dark!Percy and Luke.

And those were only 5 examples, there are many more SFL examples LOVED by the fandom I haven't mentioned here. I'm sure of that.

Seeing this pattern really makes me wonder why Luke seems to be so despised. Logic would dictate him to be rather popular.

My personal theory ? It's a mix of a few factors. Those being : A) The fandom over-sympathizes with Percy Jackson

Percy is easily the most popular character in the fandom. He is the MC afterall. The fandom tends to take his side no matter what, without properly and honestly empathizing with his enemies. It's similar to having rose tinted glasses with a relative or friend. You take their side no matter what- not even wanting to hear out the other side. The fandom seems to have an inherent bias towards Percy, those nice to Percy are viewed positivley. Those having more negative interactions (,even if the interaction is relatively low on the nagtive scale, like a character being critical of Percy for example,) are generally viewed more negativley.

B) The First Person POV of the books and the average age of the fans when they first read the books.

This relates to the first factor in the way that the very Percy-centric set up of the fandom AND the books influence the fandom's perception of characters. The books where Luke appears in are all in Percy's POV. Luke as a character in very complex and needs a lot of empathy and reading between the lines to properly understand and analyze. The books being in Percy's POV hurt Luke in the way that Percy's opinion of Luke is omnipresent with him. Any First Person POV is inherently unreliable, thus Luke often gets presented as a rather one-dimensional evil since that's what Percy views him as for most the book. Luke lacks his own POV, meaning he doesn't really get the chance to truly explain himself. Then ontop of that is the fact that everything he does is filtered through Percy's eyes which are inherently hostile towards him ost the time. Such delivers a wrong first impression of Luke throughout the books. The fandom, due to their attachment to Percy, often do not take their time to objectivley reevaluate his POV or confront the fact that he's an inherently unreliable narrator. Especially for Luke. Furthermore, from what I have seen are a lot of the fans in the fandom "old timers". People who read the first few books as young children and were children when their opinions of characters formed. Them having been so young when first getting introduced to the characters saw them often unable to even really realize all I said above. It also further glorifies Percy as he get's the nostalgia bonus. People generally do not like to challenge their own believes, so large parts of the fandom never took their time to reevaluate Luke and his story once they got older and learnt about the concept of Unreliable Narrators.

C) The fandoms views Luke as a threat to Percy and Percabeth.

This relates to both factors above, while also including the popular false narrative of Luke being a "pedo" or "groomer" If you read the first five books you will see that besides his last question to Annabeth at the end, nothing Luke does can be even remotely read as pedophilic or grooming of nature. Quite the opposite acctualy! He has stated on multiple occasions canonically that he sees his relationship with Annabeth as platonic. The ONLY canonical romantic relationship he had was with a grown monster. He's only ever portrayed having interest in adult women (monsters) , and even that romance plot is just barely there. The fandom, again, is overly attached to Percy however. And they do not like it when other characters challenge him. Luke however is the MOST challenging character for Percy. Not only does he serve as main antagonist, but he also serves as a narrative foil to Percy. He is what Percy could become. He's the canonical dark!Percy AU. He's the other side of the coin toss. Furthermore, Luke also challenges Percy not only on the physical department (fights) but also in terms of morals. At the end of the day Luke was right afterall. One could argue that Percy wasn't really fighting for the "good guys"- he was simply fighting for the "lesser of two evils" Luke brings moral challenges to Percy. He doesn't allow Percy to be a wholly good , squeaky-clean hero. Percy was fighting for the upkeep of an oppressive system. (If U wanna argue with me on the gods being oppressive, take it up with the offical wiki article first : found here) Percy killed other demigods. Percy had flawed views. The fandom who over sympathise with Percy didn't like that Luke was an active threat towards the "goodness" of their favorite. The easiest way out eliminate that "threat" was to demonize Luke. Thus making his points "invalid" as he now was a pure evil villain only aiming to hurt. (Same for the entier TA btw) Percabeth is just as popular as Percy. Annabeth had a deep and important connection to Luke- at the time of the books arguably even deeper and more important than her connection to Percy. Throughout the book has Percy expresses annoyance at Annabeth's insistence in holding onto Luke. This combined with the points above saw Luke being viewed as a possibly threat, due to him being arguably the most important person of the other gender in Annabeth's life. And an obvious point of contention between Percabeth. Inorder to lessen that "threat" the fandom turned to demonizing Luke (again). Annabeth's and Luke's relationship can easily be swept away by saying that Luke was interested in her romantically thus making him a pedo, no ? As for the grooming....... honestly? People just used a buzzword there, because if Luke truly had groomed Annabeth she would have been on his side on the books. All I can say there is please you guys, read a dictionary and know what words mean before you use them.

D) Rick fumbled HARD writing Luke

Luke may just have been the biggest continuous mistake Uncle Rick made in terms of writing. His characterisation in the first two books made him seem VERY evil and unlikable, which is bad as a first impression for a character such as him. SFL like Luke need a lot of focus and insight aswell as sympathy to get behind them. In most examples I mentioned for SFL they backstory was known very early on and they had a lot more focus outside of villainy. Rick simply didn't give that. The backstory reveal with Luke happened far too late, he was far too evil with too little insight for a SFL in the first two books. His "redemtion" was a bit rushed. We got basically nothing on his relationship with his army. His goods sides and his doubts weren't really highlighted enough early on. His last words and questions to Annabeth were frankly said stupid. It broke the themes of family between Luke and Annabeth to some degree and only served as fodder for later accusations. The fact that it was (apperantly) later confirmed that he romantically loved Annabeth was just straight up stupid. It wasn't in character at all and just broke the themes even more, not to mention that it goes against everything we previously saw or heard of Luke. Not to mention that it also just served as further fodder for the fandom to demonize Luke.

Thanks for everyone who stuck around to read this absolute giant of a meta XD Probably was the largest Tumblr post I have written so far.