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kamaluhkhan · 3 months

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GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you wanted revenge on luke castellan)

read part one — THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis!reader (afab, she/her pronouns)

summary: you were very angry and possibly still in love with luke castellan. kill him or kiss him — you still weren't sure what he deserved.

warnings/disclaimers: spoilers for season 1 of pjo + lots of book references. reader + luke are around 21 for most of this. rough? smut (p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, etc...) 18 + MDNI ! injuries + blood + violence. reader and others drink alcohol + smoke. lots of angst!!! luke + reader have matching tattoos. twilight + other pop culture references. reader kinda gives 'hell is a teenage girl in her 20s' vibes. maybe slightly toxic dynamic between reader + luke but we love complicated relationships ♡

author's note: thank u so much for all the love on part one!! i got a bit carried away with this one oops, but i hope y'all enjoy it :)

♪: "get him back" by olivia rodrigo

(i. he had a savior complex)

if you were less consumed by anger, you might have noticed the sound of his footsteps following closely behind you.

no one was supposed to go into the forest alone, but you were 17 and reckless and not at all concerned about breaking the rules, especially if it meant proving clarisse larue wrong.

you ventured into the woods, farther than you'd ever been before, with nothing except your knife and a chest full of determination to prove that you were strong and brave just like any other demigod, regardless of if you had a cabin or not.

you were younger then, less disillusioned, and more willing to buy into those fantasies of power and glory, spoon-fed to demigods as truth. one that you hoped to cross off that afternoon: being worthy of attention if you could sink your blade into the next monster that dared to cross your path.

everyone would see that you’re not just some little, powerless girl with no reason to be at camp.

and, sure, there was a small but not insignificant part of you that hoped your mother was watching, that she’d finally notice how much of a hero you could be.

you could have died that afternoon. you put up a decent fight, but soon enough you found yourself fallen to the forest floor: blade down, broken arm, bleeding out. a manticore inches away from sending you to the underworld.

you weren’t angry anymore, the adrenaline had left your body. you just were a scared child, silently praying to deities you hoped wouldn’t look away like they always do.

i’m sorry, mom. i couldn’t do it.

you closed your eyes, waited for your fate, and just when you thought all hope was lost —

the sound of a sword ripping through flesh, an injured growl, and then nothing but your ragged breathing.

your eyelids fluttered open.

it wasn't your mother, or any of the other gods, who jumped in to save your life.

standing in the middle of the clearing, gripping his sword, was luke castellan.

he tucked annabeth’s invisibility cap into his back pocket and brought you to the infirmary.

"she's okay, though?" luke asked. he was watching you carefully, ashes from the manticore dusting his orange camp shirt. his arms were crossed, and it seemed that he managed to defeat the monster relatively unscathed.

lee fletcher, son of apollo, nodded as he set your injury.

"nothing more than a broken arm and minor concussion. make sure your girl gets lots of rest, okay? no more monster hunting. probably has to sit out capture the flag tomorrow, too.”

you ignored the churning in your stomach when lee assumed you were luke’s girl. luke didn’t bother correcting him.

lee left to get you some ambrosia to speed the healing process, leaving you and luke alone in the room.

“you know, i’m not a damsel in distress you have to follow around, waiting to save. i’m not your girl.”

“seriously?” he raised an eyebrow, but his cheeks became slightly flushed. “you would be dead if it wasn’t for me. i heard what happened with clarisse, but gods — you didn’t have to go and get yourself killed to prove something.”

he was right, of course. part of you wanted to argue with him for always having to be the hero, but the fight lingering in your throat wasn’t enough to act on. you just sighed and looked away, feeling too impulsive and powerless and exhausted down to your bones.

you felt the bed dip beside you, and then a hand on your shoulder. it was warmer than usual, but the calloused skin still felt familiar on yours.

“they’re not worth it, okay? that’s what you’re always telling me.”

luke’s voice was lower than before, a touch of bitterness laced through.

“yeah, well you never believe it,” you replied, voice hollow. “so why should i?”

clarisse entered the infirmary before he could answer. luke was instantly on his feet, blocking you from her view, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“what are you doing here?” he practically growled.

“i heard what happened,” clarisse explained, looking past luke to catch your eye. you waved at her with your newly applied cast. “i’m sorry about what i said earlier, if that had anything to do with it.”

at that point, you were still trying to figure out where you stood with clarisse. she had arrived at camp just before the new year. you’d been so used to new campers being younger than you, and it was nice to have someone the same age to be friends with.

it wasn’t until the start of march, around two weeks ago, that ares had claimed her. ever since, there had been a newfound animosity between you, leading up to your explosive argument earlier that day. part of you had a feeling she was just trying to fit in with her siblings. it was a subtle thread woven throughout the camp, especially with the ares kids: this hierarchy of power according to the gods, with you on the lower end because your mother was only a minor goddess.

needless to say, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t heard before; it was just that the words pierced through your thick skin when coming from a friend.

but the very fact that she came to visit you, that she apologized and seemed to regret that you’d gotten hurt, healed you more than the ambrosia lee was just coming back to give you.

“thanks, clarisse,” you said after a mouthful of ambrosia.

even with an established truce, luke didn’t move away from you. in fact, he puffed his chest out a bit more.

“if you say anything like that to her again, i swear to all the gods —”

“i just said sorry, castellan,” clarisse scoffed. “now get out of the way so i can sign her cast.”

clarisse attempted to move closer, but luke stayed planted where he was.

“you are not getting anywhere close to her,” luke warned.

“easy, tiger.” you got up to put your hand on his arm, but luke jerked away from your touch. your fingers brushed against his skin however, and even that brief moment was enough to shock you with its temperature. you tried again, this time bringing a hand to his neck, and he let out a hiss upon contact. his pulse seemed quicker than normal.

“are you feeling okay?”

“i’m just fine,” he huffed, and stormed out of the infirmary.

a few days later, you were training with clarisse, when silena beauregard ran into the arena and interrupted you.

“it’s luke,” she coughed, out of breath. “he’s in the infirmary—”

you sprinted towards the big house before silena could finish her sentence.

when you reached the infirmary, luke was being held back by lee and a few others, screaming that he needed to go find you or you’d die. he was holding his sword, and campers wrestled to remove it from his grip. the sleeve of his shirt lifted up slightly, and that was when you noticed it: a gash across his bicep, shallow, but turning a sickly green. the rest of his skin was flushed, his eyes frantically searching for someone — you — and he was breathing heavily between sentences.

it turned out that he’d gone the entire week with the wound festering. one of the manticore’s spikes must have grazed luke, and he hadn’t thought much of it because he was so focused on making sure you were okay.

manticore poison could fuck with someone’s mind if not treated right away. worse: it could be fatal.

despite your heart beating out of your chest and the chaos you walked into, you kept your voice gentle, but firm.

“luke.”

for a moment, everything stood still. luke froze, and the campers took the opportunity to get a better hold on him.

he blinked at you and shook his head. “no. no. you’re not her. i heard her screaming from the forest and - and she’s in trouble. i need to —”

“it’s me, tiger,” you assured him.

you approached him carefully and, despite some whispers of warning, you gestured at everyone to let go of him completely. they might have had a point, because as soon as they did, the tip of his sword was dangerously close to your chin.

“you’re not her,” he insisted. “you’re just some monster trying to trick me.”

you stood in front of him then, and slowly raised your arm to show him your cast. a few people had signed it — beckendorf, chris, clarisse, silena. luke had signed his name too, of course, along with a poor attempt at a cartoon tiger that made you all laugh.

“see? it’s me. i’m okay.”

there were a few moments when you held your breath, feeling the celestial bronze dig into your skin a bit more. and then:

“it’s…you. you’re….okay?”

luke’s speech was slightly slurred. he dropped his sword like it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds; it nicked you on its way down. you didn’t care though, because luke almost fell to the ground, too.

you gripped his wrist to steady him.

“you’re probably not okay, though,” you explained, well aware of the urgency of the situation. his pulse felt weaker by the second, his skin burning against yours.

“i’m….i’m fine. i just need to — she’s gonna die if i don’t —”

“i’m right here. i’m here because you already saved me, remember? you saved me, but you got hurt.”

he shook his head slowly, and his eyes started to flutter close.

“no, i’m okay,” he breathed, his voice smaller than you’d ever heard it. “i need to make sure y/n is okay. she needs me….”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, seeing him start to fade away right in front of you.

you refused to lose hope.

no — you wouldn’t watch luke castellan die.

“i’m here, luke.” you gripped his wrist even tighter to remind him.

“but —”

“just rest for a minute, ” you insisted, guiding him towards a bed. “for me, okay?”

as soon as you managed to get luke onto the bed and, more importantly, calm, everyone else sprung back into action.

chiron was away for the week, so will solace — one of the younger apollo campers, but probably the best healer at camp — used some healing magic, while lee misted luke with cold water to cool him down and another kid dripped some nectar onto his wound.

luke hissed when the liquid seeped into his skin and reached out for you. you felt like the flesh might melt right off your bones, but you let him squeeze your hand for as long as he needed. somebody came around to put a bandage on your chin, too.

you'd always resented the gods, but that was the first time you'd really lost your faith in them. watching luke fight for his life even after saving yours, other demigods joining the battle, and you thinking: this is the life you cursed us with. you imagined the gods, with power to twist fate in their favor, simply enjoying a feast on mount olympus, hermes sipping nectar and not even aware that another one of his children is dying. you supposed your mother wasn’t any better either. her neglect felt like revenge for something you didn’t even know you had done.

after a while, the skin around luke’s wound lost its greenish hue. you released a deep breath when both lee and will declared that luke seemed to be on the mend — he just needed to get some rest, and, best case scenario, the poison should have run its course by morning.

you didn’t ask about the worst case scenario.

you estimated it was around 2 am when you heard luke’s voice again.

“cold,” was all he said through shivering teeth.

you wordlessly grabbed as many blankets as you could, and tucked them around luke. you waited a few minutes to see if it helped.

“so - so cold,” he shivered again. you reached out to check luke’s pulse, and all you could find was the faintest heartbeat. his skin looked pale in the moonlight and now felt ice cold despite his high fever earlier.

no one else was in the infirmary then. you were wracking your brain to remember what you had learned in demigod survival class about hypothermia. something about warm drinks? you ran to the kitchen and made him a cup of hot chocolate — with cinnamon, just how he liked it.

you whispered his name once you were back at his bedside. his eyelids fluttered open. you tried coaxing him to take the drink, but he wouldn’t even hold the mug. you didn’t think twice about climbing into bed next to him, gently sitting him upright against the headboard so that you could offer him tiny sips. you noticed then that he was still only wearing a tank top, so you took off your sweatshirt — which happened to be one of luke’s — and slid it on him.

when the hot chocolate was done, luke sighed. some of the color returned to his face, and his teeth stopped chattering.

“thanks, karma.”

you just hummed in response, setting the mug down on the nightstand beside you and twisting underneath the blankets. luke settled back down next to you. he brushed his thumb over the band-aid on your chin.

“what happened? did clarisse —”

“easy, tiger. it’s nothing — just a little scratch,” you replied.

you spared him from the whole truth. sure, there was a moment earlier when you didn’t know whether or not luke would hurt you. it was only a split second, because that wasn’t your luke. he shouldn’t have had to live with the guilt of something he did by accident, as a result of a poisoned mind.

“anyways, i should be thanking you. you’re the one who almost died saving my life. you were hanging by a thread just a few seconds ago. it seems like you’re not completely out of the woods yet.”

“well, i guess the fates are still deciding what to do with me.” he cracked a smile.

it was a bit morbid, given what you’d been through the past 12 hours, and the fact that the manticore venom clearly hadn’t left his body completely. the possibility of his death had not completely disappeared, though you supposed that, as demigods, the risk always remained higher.

fuck the gods. they weren’t your protectors. they weren’t your family.

the campers who put their whole heart into healing you and luke, the boy who risked his life for you — they were your family.

you took luke’s humor as a good sign. the luke castellan you knew — confident banter, radiant grin, heart of gold — was coming back to you.

the luke castellan you would not allow die, even if you could still feel the cool bronze of his blade linger on your chin.

(ii. he had an ego)

according to annabeth chase, it was statistically improbable for a demigod to reach drinking age. something always kills them first - a monster, a blade, a fatal flaw. the likelihood of survival only gets exponentially lower with each passing year.

she repeated that information to luke on the morning of his 21st birthday.

“thanks for the cheerful birthday wishes, sis.”

annabeth shrugged and hugged him before walking back to the athena table to finish breakfast.

"you hear that, tiger?” you pointed a syrupy fork at luke. “you are literally saying fuck you to fate, just by being alive."

"that’s the way i like it," luke quipped, and stole a blueberry from your plate.

"hey man, happy birthday." chris patted luke’s shoulder on his way to sit across from you and luke. "so, i just talked to chiron and he agreed to let us go out tonight."

you smiled between bites of your pancakes, reaching over to offer chris a triumphant fist bump.

“nice work, rodriguez.”

"we're going out tonight?"

you pressed your knee to luke's under the table.

"of course we are," you hummed. "we have a lot to celebrate."

so, you, luke, chris, and a few of your friends — beckendorf, silena, and clarisse — went into the city to celebrate. one of luke's favorite bands was playing, and you had managed to snag a few tickets. you'd all entered a bar confidently that night, the fake ids you were at once so giddy and paranoid about no longer needed.

there were few times when you could all just kick back and have fun, without having to worry about the responsibilities of being senior counselors. that night, you were all itching for a taste of freedom. or, at least, some alcohol.

"happy birthday to the one and only luke castellan: a hero by any other name!"

everyone raised their shot glasses, echoed beckendorf's words, and threw back their drinks.

the night became louder, more vibrant. yet, even as you laughed and drank and danced with your friends, there was a heaviness lingering in your chest.

for most demigods, birthdays were bittersweet. each one served as a reminder of time running out because of exactly what annabeth said that morning. most half-bloods don’t even live past their teens, let alone the age of 20. you had the blood of gods flowing in your veins, and your lives were influenced by sinister, divine forces from ancient times. you were the new generation of heroes, protagonists of those greek tragedies that made mortals weep.

there was no guarantee that this would last forever, but all of your friends — the people you loved — had beat the odds.

so, who would blame you for getting a little sentimental?

beckendorf and chris had wandered off to play pool, in hopes of winning some bets and free drinks. clarisse was flirting with some girl who caught her eye, and silena went to grab some water after having danced for a bit. you and luke were still in the crowd, swaying to the music. for one glorious moment, you were just a group of twenty-one year olds enjoying a carefree night out.

under the flashing lights, you stole a glimpse at luke. he wore a simple white tank top and ripped jeans, paired with a leather jacket and some rings he borrowed from you so he could, in his words, look more punk-rock. his curls were messy, his skin glittering with a thin sheen of sweat. the chain he layered with his usual camp necklace caught the multicolored light and highlighted the sharp angles of his collarbones.

whatever aesthetic he was going for, luke looked good. based on various eyes following him throughout the room, you assumed others thought the same as well. it made you just a little bit furious, feeling that he wasn't only yours to admire.

“you good?” luke’s voice cut through the noise, but he had to lean in close.

his fingers brushed against the section of waist exposed by your cropped top. you’d gotten so warm that you had to tie your flannel around your waist, but luke’s touch sent a shiver through your body. it made you somewhat dizzy, feeling the cold metal of those rings on your skin. even moreso, when you realized how much you wanted to kiss your best friend, sink your teeth into his smirk and taste the mint chapstick and tequila on his lips.

to be fair, you and luke had crossed that line before, and you were in the fields of asphodel ever since.

not quite friendship, not quite romance. something deeper, more volatile and electric.

you didn’t want to make things blurrier than they already were, though. whatever you acted on that night could have just been dismissed the next morning as a drunken mistake.

so, you just nodded at him and turned back towards the band as though you were never thinking about anything more than the music.

after a few more songs, luke commanded your attention once more.

“hey, didn’t you once say you wanted to start a band?”

“what do i look like, a child of apollo?” you joked, but luke raised an eyebrow at you, clearly wanting a serious answer.

it was slightly alarming, how well he knew you; through your childhood dreams and down to your core.

“in another life,” you conceded. “maybe.”

“in another life,” luke echoed. he leaned in close again. “you’d be a pretty hot drummer, and i’d be front row at every show.”

your lips could have touched if you moved your head just an inch, but he pulled away before you did. he was giving you that classic son-of-hermes smirk, the one that made everyone swoon.

the thing was, you were sure that luke knew the effect he had on people. you had seen him continuously bask in the praise of chiron and other campers, always preening for the crowd's attention, as if he had to do anything more than smile. everyone loved luke — he was handsome, charismatic, strong.

and, yeah, you weren’t immune. your fatal flaw: not loyalty, or anger, or recklessness, but luke castellan’s charm.

you had to keep yourself grounded. it would be a bad idea to cross that line again on his birthday, right?

luke licked his lips as you kept staring at him. you could tell he was waiting for you to do something.

maybe it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or the rhythm of the music vibrating through your bones, but you started thinking — fuck it.

before you could act on that impulse, some person with bright red hair stepped between you and luke. she introduced herself, telling luke she saw him from across the room, and she'd been watching him all night, and would he by any chance want to dance with her?

luke seemed flattered, interested even. he flashed her the very same smile he had just given you, which left a bitter taste in your mouth. you excused yourself before you had to hear them flirt even more.

you walked over to silena at the bar. she had a half-empty glass of ice water melting in front of her, her attention somewhere else. you sat down beside her and followed her gaze to what — who — she was looking at.

“if confessing feelings to someone is hard for aphrodite’s daughter, then there’s really no hope for the rest of us,” you tell her.

silena whipped her head towards you. her cheeks were flushed a light pink.

“i - i don’t have feelings for clarisse.”

“lena, please. we all know. well, except maybe clarisse.”

“what?” she blinked at you, eyeshadow shimmering in the light.

“yeah,” you said with a small laugh. the irony of it all: the head counselor of cabin 10 denying that she was in love with someone. “we talk about it all the time.”

“well,” silena huffed, cheeks now a bright red. “i guess i should tell you that the rest of us talk about you and luke.”

you reached over to grab her water, your throat suddenly dry.

“what about us?” you asked after finishing the drink in one long sip.

“about how you obviously both have feelings for each other. half the camp already thinks you’re dating.”

you started to crunch on whatever ice was still frozen.

“well, we aren’t.”

that reality hurt more than the sharp pain piercing your brain from ingesting too much cold, too fast. you couldn’t even spot luke in the crowd — he and the redhead had probably gone off to some private corner.

“people think love’s a joke,” silena sighed. “but they don’t realize how much power it can have over a person. it can make people —”

“cowards?” you suggested.

silena nodded solemnly. “cowards.”

neither of you said anything for a while, two love-sick half-bloods slumped over a sticky bar counter.

suddenly, silena sat up straight. she tied her black hair up into a ponytail. perfect, of course, along with her makeup. you were sure you had sweat off the glitter she had applied to your cheeks earlier.

“i am not a coward.”

without another word, silena got up and glided towards clarisse, and you were left with an empty stool next to you.

part of you was proud of her for following her heart. the other part couldn’t stop picturing someone else’s tongue down luke’s throat.

“can i get a ginger-ale, please?” you asked no one in particular, hoping that the bartender heard your request for something to ease your nausea.

“you sure you don’t want anything stronger?”

someone slid onto the barstool next to you. he looked around your age, wearing a navy and red rugby shirt. he had what looked like a pretty expensive watch on his wrist, and he was already leaning in way too close for a stranger.

“i’m fine,” you deadpanned.

“oh, come sweetheart, it’s on me.”

you scoffed at the nickname and shook your head.

the guy next to you didn’t care. he snapped to get the bartender’s attention. “two vodka tonics, please. that’s your drink, right? i’m usually pretty good at guessing.”

“dude, i said i’m fine,” you repeated through clenched teeth.

the bartender set two drinks in front of you and rugby shirt pointed towards them.

“well, i already got you a drink, so you at least owe me a conversation.” he slid the drink closer to you.

"i don't owe you anything."

"oh, come on," rugby shirt cooed. "i don't bite." he slipped his hand underneath your skirt, nails scratching along the skin of your upper thigh, through your fishnets.

you growled at the contact and stood up abruptly, more than a little coincidentally knocked the glass over. the liquid splashed onto him. his flirtatious grin melted right off his face.

“jesus christ —you bitch,” he spat. “this is what i get for trying to be nice?”

“that’s what you get for trying to grope me,” you snapped. “but i could do a lot worse if you’re in the mood.”

his face was a pissed-off shade of red, his mouth formulating a response when —

you felt luke’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to him. you side-eyed him, and ignored the hickey blooming at the base of his neck.

“is there a problem here?” luke’s voice was firm, steady.

it seemed like all the fight left rugby shirt’s body, and he put his hands up in surrender.

“oh, sorry dude. i didn’t realize she was taken.”

you rolled your eyes. figured that this guy would only back off if there was a jealous boyfriend in the mix.

“it’s fine, i’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“that’s for sure,” the guy continued. “your girl practically bit my head off for being nice and buying her a drink.”

your fingers tightened into a fist.

“that is not —”

“look, i gotta apologize on her behalf.”

“luke, what are you —”

“let me handle this, baby,” he hummed. “trust me, she’s normally a good girl. she just gets….harder to control after one too many drinks.”

“i am this close to throwing my next drink at you,” you insisted.

you weren't naive. you knew luke was putting on an act, but you weren't sure why he felt the need to appease this jerk and put you down in the process.

you hated the way he was acting now — arrogant, condescending, borderline sexist. you wanted to storm off, you really did, but that would mean having to tear yourself away from luke, and.... you didn't hate the firm hold he had on you.

he chuckled and raised an eyebrow at the guy knowingly, like they were the closest friends.

“see what i mean?”

“that’s quite the firecracker you got there,” the guy complimented, as though you were a prize luke had won. “those are the ones you gotta keep on a tight leash, though.”

oh, your patience was wearing thin. if luke didn't take care of this guy soon….

“don’t i know it.” luke laughed when you barred your teeth at him. “look, we all came here to have a good time. why don’t you go join your friends again, and i’ll send over some drinks.”

rugby shirt looked at luke, then nodded.

“alright. thanks, man. and sorry again for the….confusion.”

luke extended a hand, and the guy shook it.

"no hard feelings. i'll be sure to keep her on a tighter leash, though."

rugby shirt walked away, laughing. you were just about ready to bite luke's head off.

you shoved luke away from you. your whole body felt like it was on fire.

“luke castellan, i don’t care if it’s your birthday, if you ever talk to me like that again, i swear to all the gods —” you faltered when luke’s lips curled into a smirk.

that smug, gorgeous, self-important smirk.

“what?”

“i’m just waiting until you’re done chewing me out,” he said, clearly a bit amused. “you done?”

you hesitated, narrowing your eyes at him. “for now, i guess.”

“good, because we have about 2 minutes before our misogynistic frat buddy over there notices that something’s missing.”

he lifted his hand to show off the real prize of the night.

“you did all of that….. to steal the guy’s watch?”

“well, duh. he was being a jerk and i’m the prince of thieves, karma. gotta use my powers for good.”

luke winked at you as you stared at him in awe.

“we really should go though. the others are waiting for us outside.”

you jutted your chin towards the bruise on his neck.

"what about the redhead?"

luke flushed, adjusted his collar to hide the hickey. "i kinda lost interest when she said i was hot for an asian guy."

"oh." you ignored the triumph in your gut. "sounds like a jerk, too."

"whatever." luke shrugged. "hard to find the good ones, right?"

luke turned towards the exit.

"wait.” you tugged him back, and luke looked confused for a split second. “you're one of the good ones, luke castellan. did i ever tell you how incredibly happy i am that you were born?"

luke grinned. "you could stand to say it more often."

his smile was infectious. you liked this side of luke: protective, mischievous, a bit of a trouble-maker.

it made you want to kiss him all over again.

(iii. he lied without flinching)

you couldn’t find luke anywhere.

he wasn’t at the climbing wall, or the arena, or the forge. luke seemed to have a knack at vanishing when you needed him most.

when you finally found him, he was outside the big house, in what seemed to be a somewhat heated conversation with chris and a new camper, ethan nakamura.

ethan nakamura, son of nemesis. you were shocked when your mother’s symbol — swords crossed underneath a set of scales — appeared over his head after two weeks of staying at the hermes cabin.

you were still getting used to having a younger half-brother.

“hey,” you greeted the trio, slightly out of breath from running all over camp. as soon as you joined them, a silence fell over the group. “i was looking for you everywhere, tiger. what’s going on here?”

“actually, we were just —”

“nakamura,” luke spoke ethan’s name like a warning.

“i’m just saying, maybe we should consider —”

luke cut ethan off this time with a sharp glance.

“i already said no. end of discussion.”

“whatever you say, boss,” ethan grumbled.

the trio was silent again, and you eyed each of them suspiciously.

“okay, seriously. what’s —”

“we’ll talk more about this later, guys,” luke interrupted. his tone was commanding. ethan and chris dispersed.

once they were gone, you furrowed your brows at luke, not sure what they would be talking about that could make him speak so harshly.

“what was that about?” you asked for the third time.

“nothing important.” luke gave you a smile that seemed to stretch a bit thin. “you said you were looking for me everywhere. wanna go makeout in the hermes cabin? i’m pretty sure it’ll be empty this time of day.”

you shook your head, no matter how tempting the offer. the scene you walked into made you so uneasy that you completely forgot there was something important you needed to tell luke.

“percy and annabeth just iris-messaged me,” you explained.

“oh,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “is their quest going alright?”

you repeated everything the kids had told you: medusa, the chimera, ares. clarisse maybe being the lightning thief. luke had to sit down on the stairs leading to the big house when you spoke that last part. you understood why — clarisse was your friend.

sitting down next to him, you sighed.

“you don’t think….you don’t think it could be true, do you?”

clarisse was hot-headed, sure, maybe a bit impulsive, but a war between the gods? that didn’t seem her style.

you hoped luke would assure you, but instead he said:

luke ran a hand through his hair. “it would make sense.”

“what?”

he leaned in close, voice low.

“clarisse was there with us during our field trip to olympus in december. the gods are arrogant enough to leave their stuff in the throne room, and there’s not really any security. she could have easily snuck in when everyone was sleeping. clarisse….” luke let out a heavy breath. “clarisse is the lightning thief.”

“no. no. she wouldn’t —”

“it makes sense, karma,” luke insisted. he placed a hand on your knee. “clarisse is angry at the gods.”

“we all are,” you pointed out.

“well, sure, but her dad is ares. how else do you get the god of war’s attention if not starting a war?”

you took a second to process luke’s reasoning. maybe he did have a point. it was just that sharp pain in your chest keeping you from believing it.

“we don’t know anything for sure,” you decided. “and until we do….we don’t tell anyone. especially chiron.”

luke squeezed your knee, gave you a reassuring smile.

“sounds like a plan.” he moved in closer and whispered: “now, how about we sneak away, and i do that thing with my tongue that makes you squirm?”

you felt something tighten in your lower abdomen. you and luke were still in the sneaking-around-camp stage of your relationship; you both got a thrill from it.

at the time, you figured luke was just offering you a much needed distraction.

he kissed just below your ear to sweeten the deal — and how were you supposed to resist?

you didn’t even question how luke knew when the bolt was stolen, let alone how he seemed to have the theft already planned out perfectly.

(iv. he hid behind a pretty face and perfect teeth)

it had been a little over a week since people around camp — including percy, annabeth, and grover, who had gotten back from their quest — found out about you and luke, together. apparently your friends had a bet going, meaning that everyone other than silena was less than thrilled about your announcement. they warmed up to the idea since then.

it still felt a little bit surreal calling luke castellan your boyfriend.

luke often played the role of the perfect demigod, the one everyone should strive to be. he paid extra attention to new campers and made them feel welcomed. he did his chores on time, stepped in if more hands were needed for kitchen patrol, and spent hours going through reports for chiron. he taught sword-fighting and encouraged younger campers to keep practicing. he did participate in the occasional prank, that mischievous child of hermes streak impossible not to indulge in, but it only made everyone adore him even more. because luke was responsible, but not boring. he was incredibly skilled and driven, but also gracious. he was sensible and charismatic.

you watched that luke — camp half-blood’s golden boy, the hero everyone either wanted to be, befriend, or date — and you were in awe. mostly, you wondered how he managed to bury the anger and resentment you knew was churning inside him, the same anger and resentment you sometimes let slip through.

no, you were not as careful as golden boy luke, who showed no malice towards the olympians. to chiron, to everyone else, luke castellan respected the gods, honored them in everything he did, and taught others to do the same.

that was not the luke who sucked a bruise onto your neck while suggesting something even you might consider blasphemous.

“we can’t just - uh,” you had to catch your breath when luke slipped his thumb underneath the band of your sports bra. “we’d get in trouble, tiger.”

you felt him chuckle against your skin.

“since when do you care about that?”

“since the king of the gods would probably strike us with lightning, or turn us into some horrible monsters, or curse us if we were caught fucking in his cabin."

"that’s only if we get caught."

luke gave you that flirtatious smile, the one he now reserved only for you.

it was that smile that led to luke settling between your legs, fucking you with his tongue and fingers, his other hand digging into your thigh to keep you from writhing too much.

zeus’ cabin was, of course, empty, since his only known child was turned into a pine tree. you and luke had tucked yourselves into the one corner where the giant statue of the god couldn’t see you, setting a sleeping bag down on the cold marble floor and your discarded clothes scattered throughout. the dome-shaped ceiling was decorated with an enchanted mosaic sky that seemed to move. the only sounds that echoed throughout the room were moans as your orgasm washed over you.

"you're so, so pretty," he mumbled, wet lips brushing the skin of your inner thigh. he stayed where he was, awfully concerned with lapping up everything.

you whined his name when you found him taking too long, already a bit sensitive and wanting him inside you.

it might have been your conscious, but you swore you could hear a storm brewing, the threat of thunder and lightning looming. the mosaic sprouted some clouds, growing darker by the second as if a countdown to your doom.

luke, on the other hand, was acting like you had all the time in the world, and then some.

he paused after his name tumbled from your lips again, and you tugged his hair. he propped his chin on your stomach to get a better look of you. luke was gorgeous, with his mess of black curls, deep brown eyes a little more dangerous than usual, smirk shining with your come.

"yes, sweetheart?"

“get up here and kiss me,” you groaned.

once again, luke took his sweet time. his mouth left a trail along your thighs and your hips, your stomach and ribs. it felt like he was worshiping every inch of your skin, scarred and uneven and tattooed as it was. luke took extra care in appreciating the sword engraved on your sternum, the tattoo that matched the one he had on his collarbone.

“hi,” luke whispered once he was face to face with you.

“hey, tiger,” you matched the softness of his voice, contrasting the harshness that followed when luke crashed his lips into yours. you could taste yourself on his tongue, and once he sucked all the air from your lungs, you had to pull away.

you informed him: “there’s a condom in my back pocket.”

“always prepared,” he noted with a smile, reaching over to get it.

you kissed luke again as he entered you, your nails scraping down his back. when he pulled away to look at you, you couldn’t meet his gaze. instead, you were mesmerized by the sharp contours of his body and the healed wounds that lingered, every scar that you knew by heart like they were your own. it might have been strange, but you had a favorite — the faint cut on his hip from when he, thalia, and annabeth were on the run and they had to jump a fence.

if luke hadn’t been thrusting into you, you would have bent down to kiss it.

“eyes up here, beautiful.”

when you complied, luke smiled and ran his thumb along your jaw.

“good girl,” he praised. “you okay if i go harder?”

you settled for kissing the scar on his cheekbone.

“yes,” you finally answered. "please."

luke brought his hand down to wrap your leg around his hip before he started moving faster. your head fell back against the marble floor, but you didn’t care about the impact. you just focused on how good it felt to have luke inside you, his strong hand on your hip, his warm breath on your skin.

after feeling you tighten around him, luke let go a bit more. he dropped his head between your neck and shoulder, his curls brushing against you. as he reached his peak, luke bit your shoulder, hard, to keep himself from groaning too loudly. you could have sworn that you heard thunder at that exact moment. in fact, it seemed to shake the entire cabin.

luke seemed to catch the threat that time, too.

there was no room for pillow talk as the two of you rushed to get dressed and get out of there before the king of the gods lost his patience and struck you with lightning, turned you into some horrible monsters, or cursed you. maybe all three, maybe something worse.

you slipped on your underwear and pants, but couldn’t find the top half of your outfit.

“do you see my shirt there?”

luke had just pulled on his boxers when he turned and passed the item to you. you weren’t sure why he paused for a second while doing it. then, he whispered:

“shit.” luke’s eyes were glued to your shoulder, where his teeth had broken skin. his cheeks flushed a bright red. whether it was shame or embarrassment, you didn’t know; but you were slightly taken aback. “i’m, i’m sorry, i — i didn’t mean to hurt you. i never want to —”

you placed your hands on his cheeks.

“hey.” you whispered at him softly, and it was enough for him to stop rambling. you could tell he felt guilty, though, since he refused to meet your gaze.

“luke, baby, look at me.”

when he finally did, your heart ached.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t done similar to luke. you’d never broken skin, sure, but luke seemed to enjoy — really enjoy — whenever you used your teeth in the heat of the moment. you just assumed he knew you wouldn’t mind the same.

but, one bite, and luke was almost reduced to tears, all because he was afraid of hurting you.

“it’s fine, okay? i’m fine.”

luke didn’t seem convinced, his brows furrowed with concern. you kissed the crease on his forehead and reassured him once more that you were fine.

“if anything, consider it payback for the hickey i left that took a week to fade away.”

luke smiled softly at that, and you knew he was coming back to you.

“you know, annabeth suggested that i go to the infirmary because of how it looked. i had to tell her i got it during sparring practice.”

“it wasn’t that bad,” you laughed, and so did luke.

thunder rumbled throughout the cabin once more, and you swore the clouds were growing darker by the second.

you were about to finish getting dressed when he grabbed your waist.

“look, if i’m ever too rough whenever we’re —”

“sparring?”

“sure,” he smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on your bare skin. “whenever we’re sparring, just promise that you’ll let me know.”

“of course,” you hummed. “only if you do the same.”

“of course,” he echoed, and he pecked your lips. “i think it’s hot, you know? when you feel like you can let go. when you mark me. i like everyone knowing that i’m yours.”

you bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

“well, i think it’s hot when you mark me, too. especially when you bite me,” you admitted.

“don’t tell me you’re still into the whole vampire thing,” he teased.

“oh, please. you were as obsessed with it as the rest of us. don’t you remember?”

as if either of you could forget marathoning the entire twilight saga with your friends, the six of you squeezing onto the small couch in the big house, sharing one bowl of popcorn and endless cups of coffee to stay awake.

you shivered out of the memory when he brought his fingers up to trace the bite mark he had left on you.

zeus could have sent more thunder. he could have created a whole godsdamned storm, but you wouldn’t have cared.

luke was so close that you had nothing better to do than to close the distance between you.

luke got bolder as the kiss became more heated — he sank his teeth into your bottom lip, his tongue sweeping over the crimson liquid that emerged, the tang of copper invading your mouth.

“easy there, edward,” you joked, and felt him smirk against your lips before moving to nip at your neck.

you trailed your hand down the front of his exposed stomach, outlining the contours and curves. with the moonlight reflecting in, accompanied by the crackle of lightning, it almost looked like luke’s skin was glittering.

“you’re so beautiful," you cooed, nails scraping against the tight muscles of his lower abdomen.

“this is the skin of a killer, bella!” he mimicked.

you laughed at the reference, but when luke seemed to realize what he said, you swore you felt his grip tightening on your hips, though you didn't know why.

“i never want to hurt you,” he finished the sentence you had interrupted earlier.

��you won’t.”

at the time, you didn’t think he was even capable of such a thing.

for better or for worse, that was the night you realized something.

you liked golden boy luke. or, at the very least, you tolerated him.

the rule-breaking, sin-committing, blood-sucking luke?

in the words of bella swan: he was the one you were unconditionally and irrevocably in love with.

except your life wasn't some cliché yet endearing love story about fictional vampires and werewolves.

it had monsters, too. you just didn't realize who they were until it was too late.

(v. he made you look so naive)

there was blood on your hands, but you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

yours or luke’s — it was a toss-up that made you more than a little nauseous.

luke had stolen the lightning bolt. luke had tried to frame percy and start a war between the gods. luke had begged you to join kronos’ army with him. you almost killed him because of it until you realized that he left percy to die.

you summarized everything to chiron and mr. d once you had made sure that percy was getting help in the infirmary. the scorpion poison was still putting up a fight, but percy was strong. annabeth was there with him.

dread simmered in the pit of your stomach just thinking about having to tell her everything, too — to see the look in her eyes when she hears just how much her big brother betrayed her.

“and you have no idea where mr. castellan could have gone?” chiron’s voice was stern, as usual.

you shook your head, not particularly paying attention. you could still feel blood seeping from the blademark luke had left.

“that’s awfully convenient,” mr.d scoffed.

you narrowed your eyes at him.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i’ve heard around camp that you and this luke were quite…. close,” mr. d said, pointing his can of diet coke at you accusingly.

a wave of anger surged through you. it had been building in your gut ever since luke revealed his betrayal, and you didn’t care if it was a god who was on the receiving end of your wrath.

“seriously? i saved percy and told you everything, and you’re here suggesting what? that i’m somehow a traitor, too?”

“seems like the plot of a pretty twisted love story.”

your lips curled into a snarl, and you were about to pounce until chiron dismissed you.

you were in a trance for the rest of the day. chris was gone, too. ethan didn’t seem surprised. silena sobbed, clarisse comforted her, beckendorf cursed luke’s name. other campers kept asking about where their favorite counselor had gone, until they started growing weary of you.

because if golden boy luke was evil, what were the odds that his hot-headed, impertinent girlfriend was, too?

luke left you there, looking like an absolute fool for believing in him, trusting him, loving him.

you couldn’t unsee his blood on your hands. you might as well have been lady macbeth, desperately scrubbing out stains that would never leave.

vi. he was a vice you could never shake

calling all riot grrrls and punk rockers — this show is for YOU!!! come see the SIRENS OF NEW YORK perform THIS friday at joan’s bar ;)

the flyer was an obnoxiously vibrant shade of red and plastered throughout the neighborhood, and it did a good job. one of queens’ best dive bars was packed with people waiting to see the band perform: stella yamada on guitar, mohini banjaree on bass, sally mcknight on vocals — and you on drums.

it was nice and still a bit new, this relatively normal existence with relatively normal people.

you couldn’t cut off the demigod side of your life completely. there was still a war brewing, and you were in regular enough contact with camp.

but, you’d been away for a few years, trying to live the life of a non-halfblood in their early 20s. you had an apartment, a cat and a nice enough roommate. you were in school and working as a bartender to pay for rent and tuition. you had friends who, for lack of a better term, were normal. people who worried about paying off student loans and finding their passion in life, whether it be law school or feminist prose or angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion. people who spent their time in classrooms or tattoo parlors or their friends’ bathrooms at 2am while bleaching their hair after a bad breakup.

sometimes though, usually late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you had to admit to yourself that you missed your old life.

you missed home. you missed playing capture the flag and training in the arena and having breakfast in the dining pavilion. you missed your friends, the ones you’d grown up with.

you missed —

no. you tried not to let your mind wander towards him, or the consequences of what he did. you both drew blood the afternoon he confessed his sins to you, but he was the one who twisted the knife. he was the reason you couldn’t stand your life as a half-blood anymore.

you just tried to focus on the mortal, mundane things that now composed your everyday life, like the stage you would be performing on in 30 seconds.

before every show, your bandmates went through different degrees of anxiety. you didn’t get stage fright like them. they called you fearless, but the reality was that you had just gone up against much worse.

and yet, that night, you almost froze mid-set, just as you started a cover of the joan jett’s “you don’t know what you’ve got.”

ironically, luke had gotten you a cd of this album for your 15th birthday.

i was caught so unaware, when you made other plans.

think of the devil, and he shall appear.

it couldn’t have been him there, though. last time you heard of him, luke was growing kronos' army somewhere on the west coast.

you pushed through, even though your concentration was shaken.

i can’t stand to hear your name

you had to shake off the feeling of him watching you.

it was just that — a bad feeling, right?

you missed another beat, and mo turned around to give a concerned yet frustrated frown. joan had hinted that there might have been an agent in the audience, and you couldn’t afford to mess up.

oh baby, you really blew it.

the song ended, and your blood ran cold.

it had to be a trick of the light, seeing luke in the crowd, but just the thought of being in the same space again made it impossible to be up on that stage, so exposed.

as the band was getting ready for the next song, you slipped away, out the back door and into the alley for some fresh air. with shaky hands, you brought a cigarette between your lips and pulled out your lighter. it was a terrible habit, you knew.

those were always the ones hardest to quit and you needed a vice to keep you grounded.

so there you found yourself, shivering in your black tank top, just cropped enough that the fishnets you wore underneath red leather pants were slightly visible. the bricks were cool against your back and you exhaled into the soft evening twilight when you realized it hadn’t been a trick of the light.

“you look like buffy the vampire slayer.”

you rolled your eyes, because of course luke would do that. you were on opposite sides of an impending war between gods and titans, a world-ending conflict that luke directly enabled, and he led with a light-hearted comment like you were still the best of friends.

as if you hadn’t been on the receiving ends of each other’s blades ever since luke revealed himself to be a traitor.

“give me one reason why i shouldn’t kill you right now. ”

“because i’m alone.”

“you could still be here to kill me,” you reasoned. “or at least try.”

after everything, you wouldn’t put it past him. you known him to do a lot worse, all to people he claimed to, in a past life, care about.

luke tried again.

“because you always liked a fair fight. i came alone and unarmed.”

you scoffed, dropped your half-finished cigarette to the ground, and snuffed it out with the toe of your chunky patent boot before walking over to stand in front of luke. he put his hands up in surrender as you approached him.

“if you’re not here to fight, then why are you here?” you demanded, fingers brushing against the switchblade in your pocket. you always kept a celestial bronze weapon on you in case you came across any monsters in the city. you looked at the one in front of you, and wished you had brought a bigger knife.

“i just….i wanted — needed to see you.”

your eyes grazed luke carefully.

he looked rough. deep shadows under his eyes, hair disheveled and partially matted down, shirt wrinkled like he’d been on the run for days. his hands caked with blood and dirt, his face, too. a nasty bruise on his elbow, and what looked like another one disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

you bit down the urge to care. you had to remind yourself that luke was dangerous, cruel, and heartless. you couldn’t stand to look at him for one more second, at least not without biting his head off, or at the very least the cut on his lip.

“no. you don’t get to just —”

the door slammed open, echoed throughout the alley. stella poked her head out, guitar still strapped to her shoulder. from inside, you could hear the crowd cheering.

“jesus christ, y/n! where have you been?”

“sorry, stel. i needed a smoke break and then i ran into a — ” your voice caught on the word friend. “luke.”

his name left a poisonous taste in your mouth, and you swallowed its bitterness.

she saw luke then, who gave her that charming smile of his you hadn’t seen in forever. he extended a hand towards her, but stella just scowled at him and turned back to you.

“are you coming to finish the show?” stella demanded.

“i need to deal with this,” you told her. “i’m sor—”

stella huffed and slithered back inside before you could finish apologizing.

“great,” you laughed cynically. “now one of my best friends is pissed at me, and i might get kicked out of the band. my luck just gets worse every time you force yourself back into my life, castellan.”

you weren’t quite sure how to make of the way he looked at you — maybe apologetic, possibly desperately, definitely some sort of disguise.

“i know….i fucked up, karma.”

you glared at the use of his old nickname for you, feeling a shudder run down your spine.

“yeah, you fucked up. and now everyone, the whole world, is suffering the consequences. me, annabeth, your mom —”

“please,” luke begged once more, voice shaking now. “if you ever loved me —”

“don’t.” you barked. “if you ever loved me, you’d accept that the next time we see each other, it’ll be fighting on a battlefield. until one of us is on the ground, bleeding out, or never again.”

luke stared at you. you glared back at him.

“sorry i’m late, lukey. did i miss much?” a sickly sweet voice cut through the tension.

you turned and saw a cheerleader. she looked relatively normal, but the mismatched legs — one bronze, another furry — along with the red eyes and fangs gave her away.

“you said you were alone,” you pointed out, tilting your head towards the monster. “looks like you brought company.”

“i didn’t,” luke insisted. “kelli’s been hunting me down.”

kelli pouted. “i thought we were playing hide and seek. but it’s over now — i win. please don’t be mad, baby.”

baby. you could have laughed.

“i guess you moved on, castellan.” you meant your words to come across as mocking, so you hoped luke couldn’t sense the resentment behind them.

kelli giggled, and you thought your ears might bleed.

“he sure did,” she cooed and moved closer to luke, running a long red fingernail down his chest. he pushed her away abruptly, and kelli pouted once more. “we miss you, luke. i miss you. please come back home with me.”

“that’s not my home.”

out of everything luke had said, those were the words that got through to you. you glanced at him once more — his hands curled into fists, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on yours, panicking and pleading at the same time.

you had to give in to those pleading, panicked brown eyes.

luke didn’t have any weapons on him. all you had was a tiny pocket knife and some combat skills you’d been maintaining through kickboxing classes with your roommate, but you were willing to put them to good use.

you stepped in front of luke.

“listen — kelli, was it?” the empousa growled at you. “call me sentimental, but i can’t let you take him.”

kelli gave you a snarl, and you whipped out your switchblade. admittedly, it looked a little pathetic compared to her deadly fangs and sharp claws.

“aw, cute!” she mocked, and then pushed you backwards.

you expected to tumble into luke, but he had disappeared. seemed like you did make the wrong choice, to trust luke again.

again — the worst, most sinister habits were the hardest ones to break.

it briefly crossed your mind to chase him down after this for leading you into a trap. for now, you had a shapeshifting cheerleader to take care of.

you managed to side-step kelli’s next attack, and sliced across her arm in the process. she shrieked. her hair bursted into flames, as if your day could get any worse. you tried to get another jab in, but kelli managed to be quicker this time. she punched you in the jaw, then kicked you, hard, with a hoofed foot, causing a dull crack to your ribcage upon impact. the kick sent you spinning towards the brick wall; it stopped you from falling, but knocked the air out of your lungs. you spat, your mouth thick with the taste of blood. your ears were ringing, and you couldn’t locate your knife.

you were definitely out of practice.

“kelli!”

you both turned your attention towards luke, standing at the entrance of the alley with his sword in hand.

“luke!” kelli said like he was her long lost lover. she batted her eyelashes at him, the murderous grin she had given you melting away to something more enticing. “you came to help me finish her off.”

luke tilted his head. “not exactly.”

luke threw the sword towards you. despite a split second of surprise, you caught it; made a sharp diagonal cut. before kelli knew it, she was reduced to nothing but dust.

you dropped luke’s sword and fell to the pavement, adrenaline coursed through your veins from the first near-death experience you’d had in months. even with your body bruised and broken, fighting was a thrill like no other.

luke came to kneel in front of you, sneakers crunching over the ashes of his ex-girlfriend.

“you said you were unarmed.” your voice sounded muffled. you spat out another mouthful of blood.

“half-bloods are walking monster bait. i’d be an idiot if i didn’t have any celestial bronze on me.”

to emphasize his point, luke tucked your switchblade carefully back into your pocket. he moved his hand to the hem of your shirt. it was your instinct to keep him from lifting it up, and he stopped when he noticed your hesitation.

“i’m just trying to see how bad it is,” he informed. his lips then formed a bemused grin. “besides, i’ve already seen everything.”

“shut up,” but you smiled weakly even if it made your cheek hurt.

the skin where kelli had kicked you was turning an alarming shade of purple. luke tried to touch it, but you let out a sharp breath when pain emanated across your ribcage, and he recoiled.

“okay, we need to get you —”

“i’m fine,” you groaned. you struggled to stand up, but you urged yourself to walk away. in your mind, the scales were already balanced.

the moral, logical side of you was in danger of yielding to the wicked desire you always tried to suppress — to be with luke, even once more, just like old times. your quest for vengeance could only be stopped by your hunger for something more, and you needed distance from him before you gave in too much.

“i don’t need your help,” you insisted. “i protected you from kelli, and you gave me the sword that saved my life. we’re even.”

you started to limp away, but luke grabbed your side before you could get too far. you yelped at the contact.

“sorry,” he winced. “just — let me at least get you to a hospital.”

“what do i look like, a rockefeller?” you scoffed, and then grimaced when it felt like a giant was crushing you from the inside out. “i can’t afford that. i have some emergency nectar and ambrosia at my place, anyways.”

“let me at least get you back there, then. please.” he grabbed your hand. “i owe you.”

looking into those deep brown eyes, something in your stomach snapped.

bad habits were always the hardest to break.

“fine,” you coughed. “but one wrong move, and i swear: i’ll go full vampire slayer and pierce a wooden stake through your heart.”

luke nodded once, lips curling into a smile. “seems fair.”

you groaned as luke wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you steady, his hold terribly familiar as he carried you back home.

(vii. he loved you — and you weren’t sure if that was a fact or a weapon)

your apartment was only a few blocks away. luke must have gotten stronger, because he was able to carry you up the fire escape to avoid too much attention.

“i’m not sure if my roommate is home,” you whispered as luke set you down on the carpet by your bed. “so we should try and be quiet.”

you told him where you kept the supplies. he snuck away and emerged from the bathroom a minute later with clean hands and a first-aid kit.

luke knelt down in front of you.

“can i take your shirt off?”

you nodded, trying to keep your eyes from fluttering closed. you were so bloodied up, more so than you initially let on, so you let luke do whatever he needed to do. he took off your shirt, assessed your injury and apologized when the pressure from his fingers made you wince. he wiped the blood off your lips and coaxed your mouth open to feed you some ambrosia, offer you a sip of nectar.

there was no doubt about it: luke was taking care of you.

at first, you imagined your bones stitching themselves back together, and maybe some pieces of your heart, too.

what were the odds that he was manipulating you, though? certainly not zero.

and then you noticed something when he reached over to place the canteen of nectar back with the kit. he was moving slowly, his breathing shallow and fresh blood seeping through his shirt.

“wait. what happened?”

“nothing,” he winced. luke was always good at hiding his pain.

“luke.”

“it was a few days ago. a hellhound bit me when i was trying to escape from….”

kronos’ army. he didn’t need to say it for either of you to remember.

wordlessly, you switched your positions, led him to prop himself up on the bed frame while you crouched in front of him.

“can i take this off?”

luke nodded.

the first thing you noticed was that his muscles were more defined, yet his body was more beat-up than you'd ever seen it. there was a pretty nasty bruise on his shoulder. your eyes traveled down to the bitemark at his hip, and the haphazard stitching job luke must have done to himself. it looked like it could be infected, and with the activity from today, it was no wonder the wound reopened.

like he had done to you just seconds before, you took care of him.

“so…how are our friends?” he exhaled as you ran a cloth over his skin to clean off some of the blood.

our friends. it didn’t feel right that luke could still call them that.

“i’m guessing you know what happened to chris….” luke grimaced, and you hoped he felt a little guilty at sending one of his best friends into a madness-inducing labyrinth. “clarisse and lena broke up, and neither of them will tell me why. beck is doing fine, always coming up with stuff in the forges. i guess that’s as good as anyone can be now, inventing new weapons for a war none of us wanted.”

you couldn’t help but add that last part.

“and the kids?” luke asked as though you were divorce parents and he lost the custody battle.

you looked up at the gray streak in luke’s own hair, remembering that he had manipulated annabeth and percy to hold the weight of the world, a burden that they couldn’t seem to shake.

it made you more than a little uneasy, luke showing any sense of caring for the people he seemed to leave behind and hurt so easily. you wished he hadn’t been so tender and attentive, like all the fighting and animosity had been a bad dream.

luke just had to make everything so complicated.

“they’re fine, all things considered.”

you didn’t offer anything more, anything less.

he was quiet for a moment.

“you seem to be doing alright, though?”

you ignored the question completely that time, focusing on getting the job done. you gave luke some ambrosia and nectar, watched as the infection magically disappeared. the wound didn’t completely heal, and there were many bruises that lingered. you were about to give luke some more when he shook his head.

"you should save the rest for emergencies," he suggested, chin jutting towards your diminishing supplies. "in case something happens."

"is that a threat, castellan?" you asked, only half-joking.

"no." luke reached out to touch your face, perhaps a move to reassure you, but then he redirected himself. "besides, i'll be fine. just need to cover it with some gauze."

"you should take a shower before, then. i'll see what we have to eat."

you helped him up, and sent luke into the bathroom. you changed into clean clothes before going to look for some food.

the ambrosia and nectar made your body feel more powerful than it had in days, even before getting kicked around by a demon cheerleader. no wonder the gods felt invincible, if that was their diet. meanwhile, all you had in your kitchen was a half-empty box of cinnamon poptarts and packets of instant coffee.

you could hear your roommate singing from behind her closed door. you were quiet in toasting the breakfast pastries, and then slithered back into your room to look for something that would fit luke.

luke didn't hear you knock, so you just entered and closed the door behind you gently. on the bathroom counter, you set a pair of sweatpants that an ex had left behind, along with an oversized shirt of yours. before you could leave, there was a knock on the door. luke heard this one, and poked his head from behind the shower curtain. you gestured at him that you’d take care of it. he nodded, and closed the curtain again.

"yeah?"

"do you have any tampons in there?" your roommate's voice was muffled through the door.

"yeah," you replied. "i'll be out in a minute."

"do you mind if i just come in now? i'm bleeding out, out here."

you were about to protest, but the doorknob started to turn, and you panicked. you slipped behind the shower curtain with luke, who looked at you wide-eyed. you placed your hand over his mouth before he could say anything.

you were lucky earlier, that stella's mind was so preoccupied she didn't notice how beat-up luke was. you didn't want to take another chance. you didn't need your roommate asking questions.

once the sounds of shuffling through cupboards stopped, and you heard a small thank you followed by the door closing, luke bit your palm.

"ow!" you hissed, pulling away from him.

"she's gone,” luke shrugged. “you don't need to muzzle me anymore.”

you rolled your eyes. “i put some clothes out for you, and a clean towel.”

luke caught your wrist before you could leave.

“wait. my shoulder is killing me. do you mind…would you maybe help me….”

his question trailed off, and you furrowed your brow when he pointed the shampoo bottle in your direction.

“you practically carried me down 3 blocks and up 4 flights of stairs, but you’re too hurt to wash your own hair?”

“i guess the pain just caught up with me.” his cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “sorry, i shouldn’t have —”

something pinched in your chest, hearing him stumble for forgiveness, even if it was so mundane. you caught yourself saying:

“i’ll do it.”

before you could decide if it was a bad idea or not. you got rid of your shorts and tied your shirt up around your waist to prevent the clothes from getting too wet. luke blushed even more at your panties and exposed stomach, as if he wasn’t fully naked — which you were, of course, trying to ignore.

neither of you said anything as you focused on the task at hand, massaging shampoo and then conditioner into luke’s curls until they were rid of the grime trapped within. all you heard were luke’s soft sighs as your fingers scraped across his scalp and steady stream of water hitting the bathroom tiles. luke seemed so relaxed that his eyelids fluttered closed, and he almost toppled over. with your own sudsy hands, you brought his hands to sit at your waist, steadying him.

the space was a little foggy, slightly too warm. you and luke had been intimate before, but never like this. it was almost enough to make you forget.

once all the soap was washed away, you brushed your fingers over the scar on his face, down to the sword tattooed along his collarbone, before you realized what you were doing.

“sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand away.

“it’s okay,” he hummed, and he moved his hand up to brush against the very same tattoo you had on your sternum, touch burning through a layer of cotton.

you wanted his hands elsewhere — around your neck, between your legs.

the water was running cold by then, and it jolted you back to reality.

you had to keep your desires in check. luke was manipulative and cruel and ruthless — you were enemies, not friends or lovers. you weren’t supposed to want him carnally.

you reached behind him to turn the shower off without another word, and left the bathroom so he could get dressed.

neither of you were armed, but the situation was dangerous. you were barely healing from the claw marks luke left on your life and yet….

part of you wanted him to dig his fingers back into those wounds — to feel him again, even if it bled you dry in the end.

luke’s sword, backbiter, leaned against your windowsill, a menacing reminder of who he had aligned himself with. luke was essentially kronos’ right hand man. he was your enemy.

what were you doing, bringing him into your home, taking care of him and letting him do the same to you?

leaving yourself vulnerable to him, letting your guard down?

now that you thought of it, if his guard was down, you could probably grab your own knife and just —

you heard luke clear his throat and you turned to see him standing in your doorway, shirtless and sweatpants hanging low. it was embarrassing how much you wanted to lap up the drop of water traveling down his chest.

luke must have noticed, so cleared his throat again. your body felt warm all over when you met his gaze, and he gave you an annoyingly confident smirk.

“so, here’s the thing. i’m pretty sure you’re either thinking about wanting to kill me, or wanting to fuck me.”

you rolled your eyes at his arrogance, but couldn’t help but play along.

“sounds like you’ve accepted your fate either way.”

“well, i do have a preference,” he quipped. “i just don’t particularly care as long as it's in your hands.”

it didn’t get past you that luke was checking you out, too, eye trailing over the exposed skin of your legs and lingering on where the t-shirt hugged your chest.

how bad would it be to, for one night, indulge? no concern about what was right or wrong, about titans or gods; no worries about what a prophecy foretold or which side of a war you’re on.

just you and luke: giving into your own twisted desires, and dealing with the consequences later.

another droplet trickled down luke’s torso. it disappeared underneath the band of his sweatpants, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

you strode over to him, about to crash your lips into his when —

luke stopped you with a hand wrapped around your neck.

“no kissing,” he warned.

“what’s the matter?” you smirked. “i thought you liked it when i bite. worried that you’ll turn away from the dark side if i do?”

luke swallowed thickly.

you were taunting him, relishing in how his breath caught in his throat and gaze seemed fixed on your lips.

it was cute, how luke tried to hold onto some semblance of control, but couldn’t hide the slight tremble in his voice.

“no kissing. that’s my only condition.”

“okay.” you took off your shirt, positioned yourself on the bed to punctuate your point. “as long as you’re fine sleeping with the enemy, castellan.”

luke stared for a few seconds before accepting his fate.

he caged you in with his arms, settling his hips between your legs. his lips traveled down your tattooed sternum, nipping and sucking and re-bruising your skin until he reached the waistband of your panties. luke pulled it up with his teeth, the elastic snapping back when he let go. you whined his name and he looked up at you with dark eyes.

“can i?” his breath fanned over your navel, his nails digging into your hips as he waited for your answer.

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel luke smirk against your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into it. you whimpered, and luke salved his tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. he positioned your legs over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him most.

luke manipulated his tongue and fingers in all the ways he knew ruined you. in return, you gripped his black curls, tightly, and uttered praise in all the ways you knew ruined him.

“just like that, pretty boy,” you encouraged, practically melting into the mattress. it felt so good — dangerously good — to be devoured by luke. “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

luke’s moan vibrated throughout your body and he became harsher, bringing you over the edge. he left a few more bites on your body on his way up to meet you and when he did, luke’s lips and chin were still shining with your release.

you leaned forward slightly to lick it up. you ghosted your mouth over his, and luke groaned when you pulled away.

“no kissing,” you mocked and ran your thumb over his tattooed collarbone.

luke tightened his grip on your hips, surely leaving bruises for later. his eyes feral, his curls a terrible mess, when he grumbled:

“you’re such a —”

you twisted your calf around luke’s leg and you flipped your positions before he could finish his sentence. he grunted as his back hit the mattress.

“don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll still take care of you,” you drawled, starting to trail your tongue down luke’s body, occasionally incorporating your teeth or sucking brutally, imprinting a constellation of bites and bruises. his skin smelled like your pomegranate mango body wash, and it was more than a little intoxicating.

you weren’t soft or gentle, because you knew how luke liked you — rough, raw, a little ruthless. luke once told you that the wounds you left on his body weren’t the type that left him bitter; they were the type of wounds he wished would never heal.

in a moment of weakness, you left a kiss — just one — on the semi-healed wound on his hip. luke sighed at the gesture and reached a hand down to gently brush his fingers against your cheek.

“i missed you so much, karma,” luke almost sobbed.

slightly shaken out of your lust, you weren’t sure whether to smirk at the hold you had on him, or sob at the reality that you missed him too.

sensing your hesitation, luke removed his hand and told you to continue.

you made quick work of luke’s sweatpants. luke, already hard and throbbing, didn’t last long with your lips wrapped around him. you swallowed him whole, and then some.

“always such a good girl for me,” luke praised when you were face to face with him once more. his thumb swiped over your wet lips to gather what you missed. you granted him access to push into your mouth, and luke groaned when you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked his thumb clean. your teeth scraped the skin on his way out.

what followed was a brief squabble over who should be on top. you won out.

there you were, luke sitting up against the headboard, you on his lap with his length nestled in your cunt. you scraped your nails down luke’s chest, and then curled your hands around the base of his neck. he gripped either side of your waist, thumbs pressing circles into your back encouragingly. luke looked up at you in awe, desperate sighs leaving his mouth as you rutted your hips against his. it felt sinful and wonderful, feeling luke buried deep inside you again, stretching you deliciously. the two of you exchanging animalistic grunts as you used the other's body, chased your high.

when you rolled your hips into his at just the right angle, luke’s moans turned into whines.

“fuck it. please — kiss me.”

you stilled your hips, and luke whined some more. “are you sure?” you asked, breathing heavily.

luke nodded and gently moved you to lay on your back with him hovering over you. he leaned close, nudging the tip of his nose against yours.

“please,” luke pleaded once more.

his brown eyes looked down at you with such hunger and passion, something deep within you ached.

you kissed each other harshly, then. you still tasted him on your tongue and yourself on his. his sharp nose cut into your cheek, mouth attacking yours and vice versa. your nails pierced the skin of his shoulder as he resumed thrusting into you at a vicious pace. luke kept gnawing on your bottom lip until he made you bleed. you groaned, and he slipped his tongue back into your mouth to savor your coppery taste.

yes, luke could also be rough and raw and a little ruthless — which you always loved. but you knew, regardless, you were safe with him in that moment. all he wanted was for you to feel good.

you yanked his curls to force luke to look at you. he whimpered at having to detach himself from your lips.

“i missed you too, tiger,” you finally admitted, calling him that old affectionate nickname you promised yourself you would never use again. “i missed you so fucking much.”

luke gave you that troublesome smile of his. you connected your lips once more. you wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer, and luke wrapped an arm around your back to do the same.

it wasn’t long until you both reached your peak, collapsing back onto the soft mattress, chests heaving. you each lied down on your side, facing each other. you admired luke’s mess of curls, his swollen-kiss-bitten lips, the rose-petal bruises you had left.

you wished the post-sex haze lasted longer, but then luke had to disturb it by saying:

“what you said earlier — i never think of you as my enemy, you know.”

you sighed and covered your face with your hand. “luke —”

“never,” luke insisted. he inched closer, took your hand in his and held it to his chest.

you were overwhelmed by his heartbeat, strong and fast, so you pulled yourself away.

“we’re fighting on different sides,” you pointed out.

you could’ve said more, but all the things that have been said and done already hung heavy in the air, reoccupying the space between you and bursting your brief moment of peace.

“but we’ve always been fighting for the same thing.”

maybe that was true.

in theory, you weren’t against overthrowing the gods. but you couldn't reconcile with everything luke had done, what he was willing to do. you couldn't let your friends and thousands of innocent people die in the name of divine beings who valued power and control over all else. you couldn't hurt or betray people you loved for the sake of revenge. you couldn't turn that love against them, the way luke had, in search of justice.

deep down, you knew it wasn’t right to have him there in bed with you. if it was so wicked, sinful, treacherous — then why did you want him to stay?

“i’m not sure they have a word for what we are,” you concede, returning to the conversation moments ago.

"i guess not."

you let luke bring you into his arms that time. you rested your head against his chest. his heartbeat still steady, but a little slower. you idly traced your fingers across the marks you left on him, and you avoided the ones you didn't.

"how's your shoulder?"

"it's okay," luke sighed. he lifted your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "whatever we are: i love you."

those weren’t the words that were meant to make you sick, but your stomach churned — with nausea or desire, you weren’t sure.

you moved to straddle his hips. your eyes glanced over a scar you didn't register until now. the cut you had sliced across his cheek that afternoon he tried to kill percy, and then ran away from camp. you had a similar one that he had given you during that same struggle.

matching tattoos, matching scars. there really was no word for what you and luke were to each other.

"i love you too.”

at some point throughout the night, with luke’s strong arms wrapped around you and your legs intertwined beneath tangled sheets, it occurred to you that luke must have tracked you down for a particular reason.

maybe he was here to convince you to join kronos' army, to help him overthrow the gods and burn the world as you knew it; maybe he was here to break your heart all over again, just for the sick thrill of it; maybe he did just want to have one more night together, enemies or otherwise. maybe, maybe, maybe.

luke’s soft snores lulled you to sleep, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the scales of justice.

you'd figure it out in the morning. then you'd decide whether or not he deserved a blade to the heart.

#i haven't seen the finale but from the gifs my heart is already broken #and here i am breaking it more <3 #luke castellan angst #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x fem!reader #saf writes #Spotify #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo show #pjo fanfic #pjo series

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months

Text

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll.

The other twenty-two are, though.

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it.

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums.

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.”

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?”

He bristles. “You…!”

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time.

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap.

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?”

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss.

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.”

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?”

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch.

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.”

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.”

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments.

You both elect to ignore her.

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?”

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away.

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.”

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck.

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.”

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey.

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease.

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.”

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.”

“I never needed one before.”

A glass shatters violently.

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath.

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.”

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly.

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew.

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you.

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether.

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged.

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again.

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you.

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.”

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement.

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it.

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede.

You have to stand on your own strength.

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago.

You grumble a few choice words.

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.”

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods.

And so the three of you part ways.

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office.

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially.

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond.

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist.

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong.

“Who will be there?” Blade asks.

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality.

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.”

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps.

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?”

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.”

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone.

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic.

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment?

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?”

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.”

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely?

“What do you consider a sin?”

“Anything that defies the natural order.”

“Such as…?”

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over.

“Defying death.”

“Not inflicting it?”

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.”

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity.

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption?

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper.

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.”

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.”

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature.

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys.

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.”

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?”

“I can multitask.”

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.”

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting.

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan.

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?”

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.”

“Hm.”

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that.

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds.

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary.

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not.

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back.

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression.

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply.

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous.

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond.

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world.

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks.

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.”

“Have an underling do it.”

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.”

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence.

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.”

You rise to your feet.

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…”

What have I sacrificed my freedom for?

Blade’s eyebrows furrow.

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.”

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes.

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter.

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready.

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received.

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again.

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too.

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump.

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?”

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better.

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?”

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament.

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!”

(It sounded better in your head).

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?”

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground.

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end.

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished.

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness.

The planet itself is frozen for a time.

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon.

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire.

Then the screaming begins.

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind.

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes.

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone.

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?”

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye.

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin.

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops.

The dark swath — that’s Blade.

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely.

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch.

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive?

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold…

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed.

Unless he chose to shield you.

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions.

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are.

Blade stirs.

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it.

Or so is your conviction until he moves again.

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position.

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket.

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice.

“Don’t bother.”

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place.

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand.

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks.

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid?

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause.

“If you can’t speak, point instead.”

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy.

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short.

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision.

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone.

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest.

“It’s not my priority,” he says.

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches.

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated.

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye.

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework.

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights?

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle.

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later.

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded.

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop.

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated.

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle.

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second?

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress.

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out.

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts.

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate.

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks.

An invisible force hauls you back.

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader.

You blink and you’re back in reality.

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you,

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.”

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet!

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape.

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against.

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…?

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.”

The sentence has been delivered.

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber.

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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bestdeadbeatmilf · 25 days

Text

Round One, Bracket Three

Propaganda under the cut!

Kenjaku:

Submission 1: Kenjaku. Absolutely. Experienced the miracle of childbirth to have a son (for purely the purposes of being a vessel ) they did not bother to get to know- going quite a bit past being a deadbeat mother, what with murdering his father and leaving him to grow up raised completely by his grandfather. Actually, forget being a deadbeat mother to one son, try all nine of his siblings as well, all ditched immediately after birth! But they’re not really done after leaving the scene, and have lovingly taken the time to bodysnatch the ex of their son’s teacher, happily ruin their son’s life by making his head a roommate for an ancient sorcerer that gets him on society’s death row, barely bat an eye at the deaths of nearly all their sons, try to kill one of their sons, set up circumstances that nearly get their other son killed, and run into one of their son’s friends only to cheerful tell her they’re grateful she got along with their son. And then died housing their ex’s fetus in their man-made womb. Wonderful.

Submission 2:

Kenjaku is a genderless brain thing that took over the main character's (Itadori) mom and got laid by the main Itadori's dad in order ot enact her evil plan for the future. Truest deadbeat mom in the world she leaves soon after giving birth and Itadori doesn't know who his mom is. But wow she's kind of hot I can't lie. She's got game, she's hot and she's ambitious with her goals in life? Queen of my heart.

Extra notes: Wins both hottest deadbeat milf and dilf award in my heart

Lee Sookyung:

Submission 1:

Without spoiling too much, she kinda sorta maybe went to jail for murdering her abusive husband, and then maybe sorta kinda wrote a bestselling book about it thereby ruining her son's life by forever associating him with a murderer and then kinda maybe sorta doesn't ever address what happened and instead continues to pull the "mother knows best card" even though she hasn't spoken to him in like 20 years. SPOILER WARNING: For that reason she also is sorta maybe kinda the reason the apocalypse happens but we're not playing the blame game here she just sucks

Extra notes: I am legally required to tell you to read ORV

Submission 2:

murdered her abusive husband <3 then she wrote a book about it <3 accidentally ruined her sons life because of her refusal to speak to him/convey solidarity about the book and press attention with him + taught him that the only and best way to communicate your love for your child is to leave. when it was prophesied that he was going to be killed by the person he loved most she kidnapped and trapped him in a recreation of their childhood house and killed him. it didnt even fulfill the prophecy. shes so cool and leads an entire gang of female prisoners in the apocalypse and her sponsor/god is also a mom (and a bear. and the mother of the founder of korea). she hates her sons favorite character so bad for raising him where she didnt. you could make an argument that she gets into yuri with her sons friends if you want.

#kenjaku #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #lee sookyung #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #poll tournament

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lewsnumerounofan · 6 months

Text

party foul part 2 (jeremiah fisher x reader)

summary: so what if you're in love with your best friend jeremiah fisher? one drunk kiss won't change anything. right? (spoiler: it does)

notes: not biblically accurate conrad, kissing, smut, unprotected oops, somewhat public, 3k words, reader previously dated co**ad, angst/miscomm., not proof read at all

+ part 1

+ i fucking hate htis one its so bad i'm so sooryim gooo fuckjuhnbsorry oh my god and dw abt the header image!!!!!! it's okay!!!!!

your phone hit voicemail again. it was the seventh time you’d tried calling jere, but still no luck.

“maybe he’s staying at a friends place,” belly supplied, but she looked worried too. ever since you and jere had kissed the night before, he’d been mia. steven, you, conrad and belly had all taken turns trying to reach him with no success. at first it had been expected, but it was now rounding out on 24 hours since he’d left, and worry was starting to permeate amongst everyone. well, everyone except taylor. she wasn’t too worried about it. he’s probably just moping around feeling sorry for himself, she’d said.

unfortunately, you couldn’t quite master taylor’s level of nonchalance. in fact, you felt awful. for a few minutes, everything had been perfect. you’d been kissing the boy of your dreams–the boy you were in love with. and then…

“yeah, he kinda checks out when he’s upset. he did the same thing after mom died.”

conrad, this time. him and nicole had just come back from driving through town trying to find him. you nodded, but a tightness was slinking into your chest. jere hadn’t ‘checked out’ after suzanna died. he’d called you, and together you’d talked for hours as he wandered the streets of boston. never before had he shut you out like this. it made you worried. more than worried; it made you feel scared.

“i think i’ll try him again, just in case,” you said. because you couldn’t not do something. because you were scared you’d messed things up permanently, because jeremiah had never, ever ignored your calls.

“okay, well i’m ordering pizza. jere disappearing or not, i’m fucking starving,” said taylor. she’d hopped off her place on the counter and now started flipping through the take out flyers stuck to the fridge. steven and belly sounded their agreement.

“i can pick it up,” you offered, “it’ll give me a chance to go look for him too.”

you were out the door soon after, steven and taylor’s argument about whether pineapple belonged on pizza still lingering in the background. feeling a bit better now that you had something to do, you let the warm summer air breeze through your car windows. jere was out there somewhere, probably doing just fine. it’s not like he’d do something dumb or get himself hurt. if you were honest with yourself, he’d most likely just crashed at an old hook up’s house. there were plenty of those around in cousin’s, and they’d likely all enjoy having jere back. you tried not to think about it.

the pizza place was a 20 minute drive from the fischer’s, and you took the long route along the beach. it was a perfect summer night: seagulls called off shore, the sunset lingered to the west, and couples lazily strolling back to their cars. it was the type of night jere loved.

you were a couple minutes early for your order, so you decided to make the most of it and join the sparse crowds decorating the beach. you pulled over and parked, grabbing a light sweater for the evening weather.

amongst the waves and people’s quiet chatter, the beach possessed a lingering hum. it was a sound that accompanied many of your fondest childhood memories, and you took comfort in it’s familiarity and peacefulness. you couldn’t help but think of jere–think about what had passed between you last night, mostly.

did you finally tell her you're in love with her?

you hadn’t been able to get steven’s words out of your head. the thought of jere ever liking you was one thing, but love? it felt too good to be true.

and besides, it’s not as though it would matter if you never even got to see jeremiah again. for the first time, you almost felt annoyed at his vanishing act. he’d left you confused and frustrated and wanting more.

just then, as if you’d conjured him yourself, you noticed jere on the beach before you. his curls were unmistakable–almost the same colour as the sand. his hands were tan and strong as he leaned back on them, sun-bleached bracelets wrapped around his wrists. you wanted to take a picture of him there. keep this precious moment of discovery and summer immortalised forever.

and then he turned around, blue eyes catching yours.

you could see the moment worry set in by the tight line that furrowed over his brows. he started to rise from the sand and you moved towards him, carried by adrenaline and anger and a little bit of excitement. halfway down the beach you caught each other, but before you could speak jeremiah was shrugging past you.

“you shouldn’t have come.”

the waves and gulls seem to mock you then–the whole perfect august night laughed in your face as you stopped, stomach sinking. it took a few moments for his words to register, and a few more for you to whip around and catch up to him. he was almost past your car when you finally managed to grasp onto his sleeve. deja vu hit you hard enough that you almost stumbled. just last night this same action led to jere’s lips on yours, his mouth hot over your body. today’s jere must have seen the memory on your face because he scoffed, pulling back sharply.

“see? you can’t even think about what happened without looking disgusted,” he said. his voice was low but convicted. closed. you hated it.

“jere, what are you talking about? you wouldn’t know anything about how i feel–you ran away last night and no one’s been able to contact you since,” you tried. he made an attempt to keep walking but you didn't let him, this time coming to stand between him and the road. ridiculous.

“no calls, no texts, nothing. do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?”

at this jere’s eyes blazed and he took a step forwards, letting his head lower as he spit the words into your face, “yeah, i’m sure you and conrad were just about worried sick huh.”

it took quite a lot of effort on your part not to roll your eyes. what was with this boy. had the kiss not been enough? did he really think, after all this time, conrad stood a chance?

“you’re such an idiot sometimes jere,” you said, regretting it as his chest shuddered under a heavy breath.

he laughed and looked away. his eyes were bright in the dwindling sun, his jaw harsh as he fought to control himself. slight smudges under his eyes, extra tangled curls, slightly red eyes. now that you were up close, jere looked a mess. heart hurting you reached for him, wanting to smooth back the stray hair falling over his cheekbones. to smooth over this, over him, to let him know everything was alright. he caught your hand. even this, even his firm grasp on your skin, had your body lighting up. awakening in a way it only would for jere.

“you sure know how to make it hurt. why can’t you just fuck off and we can pretend this never happened, okay?” he hissed, but you knew jere. the way he blinked more and the way his voice changed. “just- just please go home. it hurts me to look at you right now. it hurts.”

his voice broke and he dropped your hand. you couldn’t stand the look on his face. you didn’t let him turn away from you though. this was your boy, the boy you’d been in love with every day for a year. and you wouldn’t have him thinking otherwise.

your pulse raced as you said, “it’s you, jere. it’s you and it’s always been you. not conrad. and it would hurt me if you thought anything otherwise.”

he flinched at your words but there was something in his face that changed. something small, something that took you having to know how he breathed to notice. hope.

“jere, look at me. look at me,” you said. and he did, his eyes wide and blue. the same eyes you dreamed of.

“i love you. i love you, jere.”

you folded the words onto his lips as you kissed him. wrapped them in sugar and pressed them onto his mouth, begging him to understand. to see what had been obvious every night you’d called him, every time you’d hugged him, every time you’d smiled at his dimples.

“i love you.”

and then you couldn’t say anything else because he was cupping your jaw, tilting your face and running his tongue over your teeth. panting as he consumed your gasps. pulled the air from you.

jere shuffled you back until the cool press of your car met your hips. under him and the way he kissed at your neck, you had no notion of what surrounded you. no idea of anything except the heat of his tongue against your throat. your ear. your lips.

“up,” he mumbled. that was all the warning he gave before lifting you onto the hood of your car. the metal was cold beneath you but his hands were burning as they circled your thighs, coaxing your legs apart until he could press himself against you.

he was so big in front of you. the wide span of his shoulders, the strong shape of his hands. he was kissing like he’d hurt if he didn't. you felt feverish, you felt elated. jere broke away enough to rest his forehead on yours, chest rising and catching.

“need you,” he said. his voice was tight.

“what?”

“said i need you.”

“here?”

you were incredulous at first, but jere didn't even bother to look embarrassed. his gaze was level with yours and you had to blush and look away.

“we could- i mean, we’ve got my car…”

he grinned as he pulled you down, and the giggle came before you can stop it. around the vehicle and into the back seats you were both trying to stop from laughing. it was such an encapsulation of being a teenager. of sneaking around and driving each other crazy and being in love. the feeling had you collapsing onto his lap as he pulled the door closed, huffing onto the tan skin of his neck.

“this is so stupid,” you said. the grin jere gave leaves you breathless. your fingers pressed over his smile, tracing the red line of his mouth. the car was warm and dark and protected.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he said, “waited for you.”

you wanted to laugh again but his hands were pulling up your shirt. goosebumps followed the path of his thumb over your bra, under your bra; when he put his mouth on you you moaned. in this little space you’d made the sound was a feeling and jere grinded into you at its touch. focused as he toyed with you, painting your chest red and purple with his lips.

baby, baby, you were saying as strong hands held you close. even as you tried to pull away–push closer?–from the intensity of his kisses. of having his curly hair fall against your chest and stomach. of his eyelashes brushing over your collarbone. you molded your palm to the thick muscle of his shoulder, watching it shake as he took his time drawing you out.

“please, jere.”

he knew what you meant. off comes his shirt, crumpled on the ground beneath the drivers seat. outside the sun had set. gulls still called from offshore, quiet on the other side of the car’s window.

neither of you bothered getting fully undressed. after struggling with both your pants, he tugged down his boxers enough and helped your trembling fingers pull aside your own underwear. he was whispering you’re sure? even as you raised up on both knees, murmuring in your ear until you had him notched inside you.

except for your stuttering breaths, it went silent in the car. jere’s hands were at your back, gently gathering your hair into a loose ponytail. he was shaking too then.

it almost doesn’t seem real–that moment. the press of warm, bare skin. that just days ago you were best friends, and hours ago you weren’t sure you’d have a relationship at all. and now you were here on top of him, having sex in your car at the beach. you wanted to laugh again, but you were seeing white as jere filled you.

you couldn't keep your head up. you were dizzy as you fell forward into his warm chest, taken over by the stretch of him, the perfect fit. he found his breath again, enough to murmur that you were taking him so well. that you felt so good.

“jere,” you said as his hands found your hips. nodding, kissing the top of your head, he guided you forward and then back, transfixed as he watched where you two fit together.

it was a tight fit in the car. you had to bend over him so as not to hit your head, and jere’s long legs pressed against the back of the front seat. you don’t care much though, not when you could grind down and watch him tense up, muscles in his neck tight. it should have be criminal to look that pretty. his hair, slightly damp from fucking, curled tighter around his temples. his eyelashes were long over his cheek bones as he tilted his head back, eyes closed. leaning down to lick his adam’s apple you listened to him groan.

“can’t believe ive been missing out on this,” he said. his voice was breathy and quiet and warm on your face and you drew even with him. you wanted to arch into his hands, to bend yourself around him until every piece of your skin was held by his. you felt crazy.

talking to him like this, when he was still inside you, when you were riding him, made you clench. already you were aching for it. jere knew it too. he was watching you, watching the movement of your body and your face like it was a special act just for him. like you were beautiful.

“jere,” you said. it was just about the only word you can remember.

he shifted beneath you, one hand coming to map the side of your ribs, the other between your legs. the rhythm changed as he began to meet you with his hips, and every breath became hinged on a moan. the way he thumbed over your clit, the way he mouthed at your tits. control was slipping away from you. fast.

the new angle was almost too much, and as jere buried deep you gasped. your body was liquid and you almost tipped backwards, grabbing at his shoulders. like a man possessed, jere didn’t even pause. his large hand gripped the front headrest above you as he laid you down over the armrest between the front two seats.

lying prone and naked half in the front of your car, you realized something quite quickly. your back windows were tinted. the front ones most definitely were not.

“someone could see, jere!” you said, attempting to lift yourself up. most beach-goers had cleared out after the sunset, but faintly you could still hear the sound of people playing in the surf. jere’s tan hand on your chest stopped you.

“we’d better be quick then.”

before you had time to try reasoning, jere was pushing back into you. unable to argue, unable to say anything, you found his hand and laced your fingers together. it was all you could cling to as he fucked into you, as the heat of his body spread over you. it was warm and close and dark and when you finished, together, he stopped breathing. just for a second. then, while your mind was still hazy he pulled you back onto his lap and kissed you. hard.

holding you there, safe in his arms. at some point he found his sweater and pulled it over your head. warm against his chest, body and legs aching. he whined when you clenched, absently, around him. still pressed inside you. it’s funny so you giggled and he groaned again and threw his arm over his face.

“don’t do that,” he grit out.

“why not?”

you were teasing. his eyes found you, tongue already in cheek. you couldn't look away from his red mouth.

“because i’ll get hard again.”

it amazed you how ready you were at the possibility. your spine already straightening. you don’t think you’ll ever stop wanting him.

but, faintly, you heard your phone ring. it was beneath a pile of clothes and it was on the last ring when you finally managed to snag it.

“hello?” you said. jere watched you lazily, still smiling.

“hey, uh where are you?”

you pulled the phone from your ear. the caller id read conrad. shit. pizzas. you’d gotten a bit… distracted. jere caught the name too and though his expression faded slightly, his gaze remained on yours. you smiled at him and couldn't help but kiss him. quickly.

“yeah sorry about that conrad. listen, bad news is the pizza might be a bit cold,” you could hear groans from the other end of the line, “but uh. good news is i’ve found jere.”

you didn't bother to listen to the response, instead you leaned up to the boy you loved. kissed over his cheek and his dumb grin.

“i found my jere.”

#jeremiah fischer #team jeremiah #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah smut #jeremiah fic #jeremiah x you #bigkeepup

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gisele0127 · 11 months

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Blanket Fort With Kurona!

notes: wanted to get rid of the draft😭, just some fluff, minor spoilers (not really), kurona being really cute, kinda short.

Kurona loves building blanket forts with you, and just spending time with you overall. So when he came back after the U20 game he was so exited to see you. He invited you over to his house one day while his parents were gone for work, and you gladly accepted. When you got to his house you were so exited to see him! Sure you just saw him yesterday (y’all have been hanging out everyday since he’s been back), but you didn’t get to see him for months while he was gone. As he let you in you went up to hug him and give him a little peck on the cheek. He’s so cute when he’s blushing. You love hugging him too even though he’s only a little bit taller than you. Tall boys are overrated. Short boys is where it’s at. As you both get settled on the couch he puts on the little mermaid (it’s his guilty pleasure), you both love watching it together. Kurona is a very quiet and introverted person, just like you. But with him you always talk and he will always listen. He brings out a very special side of you. Normally you’re usually asking for affection or cuddles but this time it’s kurona.

“Blanket fort?”

You smile. He’s so adorable.

“Sure babe”

He gets multiple blankets from his closet while you clear the living room a little bit. He loves building blanket forts with you, but loves cuddling in them with you even more. As you two get settled in the fort kurona pulls you closer to him. He then gets on top of you, and practically glares at you until your hands are either rubbing his back or playing with his hair. (It’s his favorite position right behind him being the little spoon.) He gives you a kiss on the forehead and says,

“Missed you so much y/n. Some of the boys are dramatic and smelly.”

You snicker at that. He’s funny even when he doesn’t try.

“I missed you more. Do you know how annoying it was not being able to see or text you. Got me worried you were cheating on me…with a dramatic smelly soccer player😟”

He smiles. You love it when he smiles. He’s just so adorable. He kisses your lips one more time before he settles his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Love you. So much. So much.”

It’s been about 3 hours since you both fell asleep and 1 since his dad got home. His mom enters to see a mess in the living room and her husband sitting at the table reading a book. She looks at him confused until she looks at both of you sound asleep tangled in eachother. She smiles.

“I can’t wait to plan their wedding”

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havensins · 2 years

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May I request headcanons for Dr Strange with a top cis male bf who was raised to use Dark magic. They met in battle but feel in love and now " work" together. Reader is flirty,sarcastic and touchy ( with consent) to Dr Strange

Thanks! Can I be 🐉 anon?

stephen strange x m!reader

cw . can be read as gn!reader, minor mentions of eating, is this a slight slow burn? flirty!reader, minor mention of smut (dom!reader).

note . there are no MoM spoilers so don’t worry! & yes, you can be that anon, i hope you enjoy :) also not proofread-

okay so we all know how stephen is right-

yk he’s always putting people above himself no matter what, and always tries to make the better decision

so when the both of you meet in battle, he’s taken aback for two reasons

for one, you’re probably one of the most handsome men he’s ever come across

and for two, you seemed so??? experienced??? with magic in a way that he’s never seen before and it kinda shocks him for a minute

but at the end of the battle, of course he’s victorious no matter how experienced you are

he gives you a chance yk, to work alongside him and try to get you to see the bigger picture and other ways you could use your magic

okay great

now that the backstory is over with, we can actually get into the actual headcanons-

training with stephen is fun for you and a full time job for him

he teaches you safer ways to use your magic

well, tries

you’re mostly too busy staring at him while he’s focused to actually retain any information

“… what are you even staring at?” he grumbles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes

“you.”

he literally just goes ????? and gets all red as much as he tries to keep the blush down

you make him so flustered and shy whenever you flirt with him

if you’re just sitting down and going over spells and such and notice his hands, you’ll grab them and hold them

the first time you did it he was in a state of shock almost bc it’s been so long since he’s been treated to such kindness he doesn’t know how to react

he loves your hugs but would never admit it, he’ll just say “move…” but make no effort to actually get out of your embrace

it took a minute for him to get used to your sarcasm and slight witty remarks though

you’d say something in reply to him with a shit-eating grin on your face and he’d just narrow his eyes at you

wong gets so so tired seeing you be so flirty and stephen pretend like he doesn’t like it

the blush stephen has when you say certain things is hidden so poorly, its cute

wong feels like he’s watching a romance soap opera unfold right in front of his eyes

strange doesn’t know when exactly he fell in love with you, but the moment he realized, it hit him hard

when you’re not around him, he finds himself wondering if you’ve eaten that day, or if you drank your water

he wonders if you’re rested and even finds himself missing your sarcasm and the way you’d flirt with im

and what really put the icing on the cake was the fact he missed your touch

the way you’d hold his hands or wrap yourself around him in your embrace

the thought of being in love scares him honestly. but he wasn’t one to hide his feelings

so when he saw you and felt his heart go “!” the moment you opened your mouth the greet him, he decided it would be best to tell you

and so, while you were telling him about your most recent adventure, rambling away to him while tracing along his hands, he just… blurts it out

“i think i love you,” cue the song page by got7

and you’re a little in shock, because it was just so?? random??

and you’re silent for a moment while he searches your eyes for any hint that you even feel the same way about him

“i think i love you too,” you smile, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding

“you make me feel a way i never thought i’d be able to feel again, and it scares me but i don’t think i want it to stop,” he murmurs

and you don’t know how the both of you got so physically close to the point where his lips are brushing against yours

the gap between you two is closed and your lips meet

and stephen swears his heart sings as your lips are moving in tune with his

you pull away from him and give him a smile that makes his heart leap once more

and from then on, stephen is more happy around the sanctum, and your affection has gotten more obvious

bold flirting, longer touches, kisses when you’re both alone

wong catches you both sharing a kiss and just- gets so happy that he doesn’t have to deal with your endless pining anymore

but he does have to deal with hearing the loud creaking of the bed nearly every night and the loud moans from stephen

idk man, i don’t really have much to add now, you’re the one stephen wants to be with for the rest of his life, even if the outcome of your meeting was unexpected.

#dom!reader #dom male reader #top male reader #stephen strange x male reader #stephen strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr strange x male reader #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x male reader #avengers x male reader #x male reader #x reader #stephen strange #dr strange

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yeuheart · 1 year

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IDOL!AU

Synopsis: BlueLock characters as idols | CW: mentions of diets, crazy fans, fainting, little bit of Hiori backstory spoilers, tiny angst | Featuring: Isagi Yoichi, Chigiri Hyoma, and Hiori Yo | Notes: Can be read as in a group or soloist. @hiorisgf

In general

Blue Lock is a entertainment company with Ego as the founder.

Probably one of the most difficult companies to audition for since Ego is very critical about who he chooses. Also definitely went bankrupt once. Anri is the one who makes all the announcements regarding the idols because if Ego does it he’s gonna get flamed.

All the idols go through lots of exercises (vocally and physically), sometimes it goes on until early in the morning.

They get paid well, and have decent breaks but their schedules are really busy.

If they’re trainees then they are required to sign a form regarding leaking things and such.

Isagi Yoichi

Idol!Isagi’s main genres are ballads and RnB, he really likes the flow of it. He’s definitely open to other genres such as pop, soft pop, etc. His singing voice is really nice but he can’t do really long high notes and such.

Ido!Isagi who loves to work with other singers on songs.

Idol!Isagi when it comes to dancing he’s kind of stiff and the choreographer always tells him to loosen up, at first he does feel a little awkward but he gets used to it as he goes. He probably likes contemporary, jazz, and hip hop dance but is also open to different dances. Although the may not be as good in others than the ones he likes. Sometimes he feels awkward if it’s the first time he’s doing a dance in front of the mirror, he thinks he looks funny but the choreographer tells him it’s because he’s not yet used to himself dancing in front of the mirror and that he should practice more in order to get used to it. Not a fan of break dancing or freestyle, he just freezes on the spot if you ask him to do those.

Idol!Isagi really really loves his fans, he especially appreciates the ones who have been there since the first day he debuted. Also if his managers allow him, he will absolutely reply to all of the comments if he can on weverse. He’s really scared of the sasaengs, and is always looking over his shoulder whenever he takes out his phone, wallet, etc. His fans definitely make lots of memes out of him, he even has some saved on his phone. Tbh he probably doesn’t really care to speak about haters and just chooses to ignore them (definitely talks mad shit abt them tho).

Idol!Isagi sometimes gets the least lines.

Idol!Isagi is kinda hesitant to go on diets sometimes especially when he’s starting to feel weak and stuff. Will literally argue with his manager if they ask if he can go on a ice cube diet, tries to convince his manager to let his group mates eat and not go on diets too much. Has actually gotten sick and fainted once because of a diet he went on. He’s his group mates N1 fan literally no question and will not hesitate to defend them if someone says something insulting that isn’t true. (Sneaks food in for his group mates)

Idol!Isagi who is definitely the mom of the group and is always nagging at his members to take care of themselves

Idol!Isagi is definitely the center or face of the group

Idol!Isagi is the ambassador of Burberry and probably Nike

Hyoma Chigiri

Idol!Chigiri’s main genres are electropop, nu-disco, city pop, dark pop, and alternative rock. Occasionally he’ll make songs that are very poetic and hard to unravel without someone actually asking him. The meanings are usually sad but have a nice beat to it. His singing voice is not the top but his visuals, talents, and personality make up for it.

Idol!Chigiri isn’t the worst or best dancer and usually just sticks to singing if he can. But if he does dance he likes to have minimal moves and also likes if it’s slow, although he does warm up to more dancing depending on how much he likes his songs. Once in a while he’ll do these fast paced dances and he’s really good at it. He probably went too fast once and tired himself out before his choreographer and backup dancers and had to take a 10 minute break. He likes contemporary, breakdance, modern, and traditional. The least stiff out of the ones mentioned here.

Idol!Chigiri who is known for his really soft hair even if he has dyed it countless times.

Idol!Chigiri doesn’t really mind diets as long as they aren’t too intense and if they don’t have the foods he doesn’t like. But he does go on mild diets so he finds it okay but he does get a little uncomfortable if he’s having to actually starve for longer than he usually does. Let’s his members take bites of his food in secret if they’re on a diet.

Idol!Chigiri is the visual of the group and is famous for his hair most of the time. He’s also the lead vocalist (main and lead vocalists r different btw!)

Idol!Chigiri uses his phone and wallet more freely than Isagi but is still careful of the really crazy fans.

Idol!Chigiri is the silent protector in his group and subtly encourages his members.

Idol!Chigiri who as a trainee was really secretive and wouldn’t open up to anyone until he got really close to them. He would make his members food and help them if he couldn’t speak their language.

Idol!Chigiri loves his fans and admires their (false) loyalty towards him. He watches edits of him sometimes when he’s bored. Is absolutely flabbergasted when he sees that someone found out about something he’s never ever shared.

Idol!Chigiri who always promotes Paul Mitchell and poses with a small bottle of the product at the airport (he has a a whole suitcase filled with products whenever he goes somewhere). Recommends that brand to everyone if they ask but depending on their hair he will mention different brands. He absolutely loves that brand (me too).

Idol!Chigiri is the ambassador of Dior and Paul Mitchell

Hiori Yo

Idol!Hiori’s main genres are rnb, electronic, bedroom pop, and alternative. Has his bedroom in his studio. He has one desk for music making and one for gaming, the cost of the whole room is honestly more than what he gets paid yearly and it keeps building up cause of the stuff he buys. He has a nice voice but it depends on the pitch. He can do high notes but just not really high but he can hold the notes well.

Idol!Hiori who isn’t the best singer and dancer but his friendly personality makes up for it and that’s how he’s able to keep gaining fans.

Idol!Hiori likes hip-hop, freestyle, and lyrical. He also likes popping because it’s fun but doesn’t do it often. When he listens to songs he does little dances here and there. He’s probably one of the stiffest dancers mentioned here but he’s still working on it.

Idol!Hiori streams and lets his fans join him in games as long as they don’t try to hack him or whatever. He was nervous the first time cause someone made a comment that there was a hacker (they lied)

Idol!Hiori’s position in the group is center and sub-vocalist. Does take pride that he has those titles. Sometimes he gets the least lines.

Idol!Hiori is never seen without a Yakult, there’s always one in his hand or just nearby. Lots of Yakult merch in his room, and the walls are probably a light soft pink.

Idol!Hiori checks on his members' health especially the ones that are quieter than others. His members are always recommending that if you want a room idea you can just ask him. Also, they always mention how he gives the best company.

Idol!Hiori makes sure that when he buys something on stream or wtv he ends it or stops the screen recording. He changes his password once a month to make sure. Never got hacked during his whole career.

Idol!Hiori as a trainee was really encouraging and told others to not give up. He was usually in the corner by himself unless dancing. His members are grateful for him because if he wasn’t there then they may not be an idol now.

Idol!Hiori’s parents made him go through lots of training just to be an idol, but he’s glad he’s away from them more often. He’s also unsure if this is really what he wants to do since his parents made him do this.

Idol!Hiori loves his fans so much, he’s grateful for the support they give him. He probably admitted once that he wanted to give up and leave this career because he wasn’t sure if this is what he really wanted to do. Regardless his fans gave him the support he needed and told him that even if he wanted to give up they would still support him in whatever comes next. He got really emotional after hearing that.

Idol!Hiori is the ambassador of MSI, Jo Malone, and Yakult.

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butterflydm · 10 months

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wot reread: a memory of light (chapters 24-31)

spoilers for a memory of light, the final book.

Everything that Tuon thinks about her life really does sound like it's going to make Mat so miserable. All the obligatory pomp and circumstance, even in private (because you're never in private when you have slaves!). But, hey, he'll get rewarded with sex every time he saves Tuon's life, so who needs happiness? (/sarcasm)

Given how many truths about the Seanchan have been withheld from Mat in order to get him to this point, I wonder how many of those truths it would take for him to abandon ship?

Note: I am going to be questioning and interrogating Mat's actions, words, and behaviors a LOT going forward and not taking much at face value. And that kinda extends to people talking about him: what do they know and believe about him, etc? Whose PoV are we in when certain things are said or revealed, etc? This is mostly for two reasons: a. I am sussing out how much wiggle room there is for writing fic about Mat in this time period and b. I want to try to not make assumptions based on my first thoughts when I'm reading each PoV.

2. Beslan says that Mat has changed and "I don't know what to make of him any more." Beslan is all-in on the slavers now, which makes him a very great disappointment to me. I guess we can't be that surprised. He enabled his mom being a serial rapist, so I guess it shouldn't be a shock that he's willing to enable slavery as well. What Beslan says about Mat is... hmm. How well did Beslan ever know Mat, I guess is the question that immediately springs to mind. Beslan was the son of Mat's rapist, who allowed that his mom was maybe going too far with Mat but still was basically a momma's boy despite the rape. And the last time Mat saw Beslan, he was a revolutionary who was willing to stand up against the Seanchan even when his mother was not, so I suspect that he would also not be certain what to make of you, Beslan. Honestly, given that Beslan's last experience of Mat was "wants to escape Ebou Dar no matter what", the most surprising thing for him should be that Mat voluntarily returned to Ebou Dar.

But everything that Tuon thinks here about how Beslan and the Altaran people have been "properly tamed" does give me that gross feeling that she (and many of the Darkfriends in the series) gives me in her PoV chapters. If Mat could actually see her thought processes, all his fantasies about how she's Not Like the Other Seanchan would go up in smoke.

3. Selucia slightly shades Tuon on how she hasn't broken Mat to fully proper behavior yet (he's cursing at some news they've received) and Tuon immediately decides that she needs a new Truthspeaker so that Selucia can go back to being only her Voice (and not speak any opinions that aren't exactly your own, Tuon?).

An Empress must be "crafty", "strong", and "skilled" to sit on the Crystal Throne, Tuon thinks.

Ah, I guess that's why she died pretty quickly in Aviendha's alternate future. Tuon doesn't have any of those qualities. It is interesting to think about how Tuon pumps herself here up with an impossible goal: that she be strong enough to live forever (as the Empress is meant to do and yet how every single Empress has failed to do) so that she can bring 'order' to the world. Just as Fortuona is not living up to the fictional Tuon in Mat's head, she can't possibly live up to the Empress that she believes that she needs to be.

There really are hints, here and there, of the interesting character that Tuon could have been. She just needed so much more character work. I do think she's been more interesting under Sanderson so far, though, at least than she was in CoT & KoD.

4. At this moment in time, Tuon is regretting her marriage. Mat's fancy Seanchan uniform keeps snagging on everything that he passes and her other generals find him baffling. She married "chaos itself". This feels like another place where we're being told one thing and shown another. What has Mat actually DONE that is chaotic to Tuon's plans? He saved her life and advised that she not be stupid enough to actively try to sabotage Rand saving the world, but he didn't challenge her on anything or fight her on anything.

This really does show the all-or-nothing attitude of the Seanchan: Mat has bent so much to accommodate Tuon that he's practically unrecognizable to who he used to be but that's still not enough for her. Nothing but complete and eternal submission is enough for her. He can do everything she asks but if he doesn't have the right attitude about it, then she's still unhappy with him.

5. Oh, "the Prince of Ravens" thinks that they're joining the battle too late? MAYBE he shouldn't have deserted on the eve of the fucking Last Battle then? Sanderson suddenly inserting a feeling of urgency in Mat about getting to the Last Battle feels so ridiculous. Mat didn't give a shit about the Last Battle a couple of chapters ago. He ran away so that he could have some drinks in slaver town. The Last Battle has been happening for at least a week at this point.

Mat being someone who is creating urgency and rushing would make so much more sense if he'd gone to the Seanchan as a negotiator and not as a deserter.

We do get confirmation here that Mat is now the second-highest ranking member of the High Blood, after Tuon herself. And the mere fact that Tuon thinks here that he would "never be a rival" makes me feel like narrative irony would have insisted on him being the one who topples her from her throne.

6. This is when Tuon renames Mat as "bringer of destruction" (aka Knotai aka I am not using that name in this reread ever again). Mat deciding that he likes being dubbed a "bringer of destruction" is another thing that feels bizarrely out of character but I will note that this is all in Tuon PoV, so we don't know how Mat actually feels about the name (I'm pretty sure he doesn't start calling himself that in his head at any point). And we've seen that Tuon has a very difficult time reading Mat, so if he was giving off any tells that he was lying, she would certainly never pick up on it. She glares at him after the renaming and wills him not to argue with it, so his response might be Mat picking up on her cues and responding.

"The Pattern had placed [Mat] before her, had shoved him into her arms." It sure fucking did and it was so incredibly annoying to read.

Tuon also does (internally) note here that Rand was 100% correct about how fragile her rule here is.

Haha, after Selucia uses their handtalk to call Tuon out on the risks she's taking, Tuon thinks again that she needs to replace Selucia as a Truthspeaker so that Selucia can go back to being a good little parrot and stop having opinions (this is a mild paraphrase of her thoughts).

7. Ah, this moment is in Tuon's PoV but it actually does still manage to be pretty clear exactly how much she is disappointing Mat when she considers the idea of going back on her word and swooping down on the Aes Sedai to capture them all as damane rather than going to aid them as allies. That's the moment of Actual Fortuona failing to live up to the Fictional Tuon in Mat's head that I was remembering. Back during either TGS or ToM, Mat realizes that it was likely that Tuon didn't stay in CoT & KoD because she was being honorable and keeping her word but instead was staying because of the prophecy about him she'd gotten, but he kinda just ignored the implications of that realization.

The mere fact that Tuon considers the idea of breaking her word here would remind Mat that her word is meaningless (and Mat has developed, as we have established, a fey-like obsession with keeping his word). It is interesting how Tuon thinks of herself as the embodiment of order and yet so easily considers throwing away a treaty and going back on her word; yet she considers Mat the embodiment of chaos when he does his best to always live by his word no matter what the personal cost. Mat probably would push it away again here (she does make the right choice when it comes down to it) but it's another place where Actual Fortuona would be a disappointment when compared to Fictional Tuon in Mat's head.

Ultimately, when Tuon decides to keep her word, it isn't out of honor but due to the omens telling her to bet on Mat.

I will note at this point in time that Mat is still being informal and using "Tuon" freely.

8. We get a glimpse of how pressed things are on Lan's part of the battlefield before shifting over to Elayne's. Birgitte tries to keep Elayne in the command tent and Elayne finally snaps, telling her that if Birgitte can't follow her orders like all the other soldiers are willing to do, then she will release their bond. I'm sure Elayne gets hate for this, because she gets hate for everything, but I found it very cathartic after how much Birgitte has been getting on my nerves in this book. And Elayne's right that she's more useful out there doing things -- she is an extremely powerful channeler. It is a waste of her talents for her to sit in a tent.

9. Hmm, yeah, as Rand enters Shayol Ghul itself, he notes that time is affecting him differently. He can tell that one of the women that he's bonded to is in pain but he can't tell who it is and he worries over Elayne and Aviendha.

Though the knife worked to shield Rand from the Dark One's eyes, Moridin is still waiting for him there. I wonder how long he's just been kneeling there. So, yeah, before Rand can get to the Dark One, he has to take care of Moridin.

Anyway, we learned in Siuan's PoV just before this that Min was sent to the Aes Sedai camp with the message "The Seanchan fight the Shadow." You know, I like that message because it doesn't overpromise anything and it doesn't set up expectations that the Seanchan won't be absolute douchebags, as they certainly will be.

10. Luc Mantear and Isam Mandragoran's story as Slayer really could have been heartbreaking and fascinating if Jordan had ever actually leaned into the implications of it. They're both essentially collateral damage -- Isam was left behind when the Blight swallowed up Malkier; Luc was sent off into the Blight to 'seek glory' in order to help wedge an opening for the Mantears to be pushed off the throne of Andor. But the books never explore that.

As it is, Slayer is just... this disconnected assassin who shows up once in a blue moon, and there's not really any substance there to hook onto.

After a... really long battle involving Slayer and the red-veiled Aiel channelers, Perrin fails to kill Slayer and Slayer ends up escaping. Lanfear shows up to heal Perrin and she continues to seem vaguely irritated that she's interacting with him ("You can be such a child"). He sets the dreamspike up inside the cavern to protect Rand and asks the wolves to guard the outside of the cavern (this is all in TAR).

11. Egwene feels so gross as she heads towards the meeting that she is about to have with the Seanchan, because she knows that the Seanchan fighting means damane fighting, which means forcing slaves into battle.

Tuon sits on her mobile throne, with a train being held by eight slaves in transparent robes. Literally every time Tuon's lifestyle is described, it just sounds like something that is going to make Mat so incredibly miserable.

lol, the narrative tries to convince us that Tuon is "calculating" and "discerning" through Egwene's description of her eyes. I've been in the girl's head. I'll grant you "manipulative" and "can spot an obvious clue when it's shoved under her nose" but that's as far as I'll go. Egwene, you were absolutely right when you assumed that Tuon would be coddled and spoiled. I speak as someone who was forced through two long books of "a brat goes on a circus tour and throws several tantrums".

12. Anyway, both Egwene and Tuon feel contempt for each other -- Tuon for what Egwene inherently is as a person (a channeler) and Egwene for the person that Tuon chooses to be (a slaver).

Which we can see in the way they talk to each other -- Tuon calls Egwene an animal, while Egwene calls Tuon a criminal who would be at home with murderers and rapists. Tuon sees what Egwene is as the problem with her, while Egwene sees who Tuon is as the issue with her. These are not the same as each other.

13. So here on page 471 (hardback version), Mat has finally shown up to the Last Battle. Over halfway into the book! Literally makes me want to stab a wall that Mat spent half the book just fucking around with slavers instead of helping with the Last Battle. I assume we're supposed to feel like the Seanchan coming to help would be impossible without Mat, because he shamed Tuon into actually keeping her word, but there were better roads of getting Mat there that didn't make him a deserter and a defector. But I'm guessing making Mat those things was the point of his impossible teleportation logistics between books.

Just. Ugh.

14. The reason that Egwene realizes that Mat is here, among the collection of "frozen Blood in various poses" around Tuon, is because Tuon turns to berate him for not telling her that Egwene was once captured as damane and thus making her show her ass in public when she tried to argue that Egwene would understand how great being a slave is if only she'd tried it.

The question I have here is: are we supposed to believe Mat when he claims that he only didn't tell Tuon about Egwene having been captured as damane because he 'didn't think on it too long' that Egwene's captivity had happened. It's in Egwene's PoV so we are, once again, not in Mat's head. The main good quality that Mat has been able to hold onto when he's been around the Seanchan has been keeping his friends' secrets. tbh it seems more likely to me that he just didn't think it was Tuon's business (it would have been a pretty big betrayal of Egwene's privacy for him to confide that in Tuon, imo?). But, yeah, Tuon explicitly says here that she is going to have a "not pleasant" conversation with Mat about him holding back information on her. And it pretty clearly comes across as a threat.

Yikes.

15. Egwene does seem to believe here that Tuon has made a grave mistake by marrying Mat... but it's explicitly because Mat is ta'veren and Tuon has trapped herself into his web. And it amuses her because she assumes it can't mean anything good for Tuon or the Seanchan in the long term. (I mean, given that Mat has gotten hundreds of thousands of people killed on the Westlands side... yeah, it does seem like a lot of dead Seanchan are in the future on Tuon's side, and Mat might never even realize he was the enabling factor). So this is the one time that I'll allow for a character to be amused that Mat has married a slaver -- Egwene clearly sees this as Tuon having screwed herself over in the future without realizing it.

Though Mat does throw out a "may she live forever" (eyeroll), he is also still calling her 'Tuon', despite the threat of execution. And note that Mat is still of the opinion that "being ta'veren has never gotten me much" so he doesn't seem particularly happy about being married.

16. Yeah, Tuon also makes it very clear that the new clothes and the new name are deliberate attempts to separate Mat away from his past connections and make it clear that Tuon owns him now. "He serves the Seanchan, the Crystal Throne, and the Empress."

She is isolating him from his previous friends and making it clear that he belongs to her. Egwene is 100% right in her instincts that he needs to be saved from Tuon, even if Mat himself doesn't realize it (or, potentially, does realize it but isn't willing to admit to it).

17. So Egwene has to renegotiate with Tuon because now that Rand is gone, Tuon is forcing everyone to start from page one with her again, because she is a coddled and spoiled brat who wants to eke out more concessions if she can get them.

But the results of Tuon attempting to re-negotiate with Egwene now that Rand is off on his mission actually ends up backfiring on Tuon overall, I think! -- Egwene gets Tuon to agree to leave Tremalking alone (because they haven't found a compliant Sea Folk leader along the lines of Beslan to lend them legitimacy) and Egwene makes a spirited attempt to get Tuon to agree to allow women who have just been discovered but not yet collared the opportunity to choose to go the White Tower instead, leaning on Tuon's stated belief that marath'damane want to be slaves so it's no big deal to offer them the option of freedom.

But Tuon does balk at this idea, unfortunately, because she gets scared when Egwene mentions that all sul'dam are marath'damane.

18. Egwene, because she actually is discerning and calculating, picked up on what Tuon said about having trained damane herself and says, in front of the Blood, that as a sul'dam, Tuon is capable of channeling. Which Tuon already knows -- she learned this in KoD -- but she calls Egwene a liar because living in denial is the only way she can keep her power base and nothing matters more to Tuon than sucking up all the power in the world. It really does suck so much that we came up to the brink of Something Actually Happening with the Seanchan storyline and then backed away like cowards. There will never be any outriggers! Pull off the damn bandaid while the books are still running!

We don't get any mention of the Blood or the various damane & sul'dam who are around reacting to this bit of information either, but they do hear Egwene call ~their Empress~ out on being a liar, and call their Empire out on being a machine of cruelty that tortures women into fates worse than death. Will that matter? Who the fuck knows. Maybe one or two of the Blood here will feel a pang of conscience, as Leilwin née Egeanin did, and begin the slow and painful process of changing. Or maybe not.

And it is satisfying to get to see someone calling Tuon out on what a hypocrite she is -- she's all for preaching that other people should get put into the collar because they're just ~meant~ to be slaves but of course she wouldn't do it to herself. Of course she wouldn't. The idea terrifies her to death, I'm sure. Which also shows how deeply in denial she is when she claims that marath'damane just naturally want to be collared and anything other than that is a weird outlier. She knows damn well that it isn't true, because she doesn't long for the collar herself. But if she stuffs her fingers in her ears and just shouts that she's not marath'damane loudly enough, she can make herself believe it.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that Tuon did not go into this conversation looking to be publicly accused of being marath'damane herself, especially not in front of a crowd of Blood, so I feel like this one was a win for Egwene.

19. When things get to be really heated between Egwene & Tuon, with Egwene embracing the Power, Mat intercedes. What Mat says here is gross and demeaning; and I think we can all agree on that (a threat to take them over "over his knee" as if that would even be possible in this situation), but Egwene doesn't take it seriously for a second because she can see that Mat is trying to deflect her and Tuon away from each other and onto him (also frustrating though, because I really wanted something to Actually Happen with Tuon).

Also, we get a reminder that Tuon is a big ol' liar about not being jealous over Mat and other women, because she stares at where Mat's hand is touching Egwene's chest until he lowers his hand.

It also leads to another threat from Tuon about how she and Mat will have "many words" tonight, but they do both back down. But, wow, Tuon is so jealous over Egwene here, which is hilarious from the perspective of actually knowing anything about Egwene and Mat's friendship.

(sadly, I must take away Egwene's right to be amused at Mat's marriage at this point in the conversation, when she bizarrely attempts to commiserate ??? with Tuon over Mat's foul language)

Also, I will note that Egwene offers to help free him from the Seanchan, Mat doesn't tell her that he doesn't need to be freed, he tells her that he can handle it on his own. Slightly different things. Do you have an exit strategy, Mat?

Egwene is still determined to help Mat get free of the Seanchan somehow. AU idea where she does!

So, Mat leaves with Tuon and we know that she plans to have a 'not pleasant' conversation with him. So I will mark that in my notes to keep in mind the next time we see Mat.

20. As we've been going through the various battlefields, the 'great captains' have continued to make bone-headed mistakes. As we return to Elayne, it seems like this is coming to a head, as Tam confronts Bashere.

(and, no, she doesn't think about how Tam is Rand's dad and will be her kid's grandfather. Why would she, apparently?)

Tam accuses Bashere of not using scouts and falsifying scouting reports instead, saying that Bashere is to blame for the bad tactics that have happened in the recent battles. After considering how badly they've been trapped by the Shadowspawn, Elayne orders Bashere relieved from duty and has Talmanes take him away with the Band's Redarms.

And now Elayne is the one leading the army here, not Bashere.

21. Bryne gets one right for calling Tuon "that Imperial monster of a Seanchan leader". I have to admit, so far, there is less of the "let's hold hands with the Seanchan" vibe that I remembered and more "ugh, fuck, I guess we gotta hold our noses and deal with the Seanchan" vibe, at least in most chapters. It's really Mat's bizarro-world PoVs that tend to throw everything else off, and Mat has been kept ignorant of the Seanchan's recent actions under Tuon's guidance.

Bryne actually made Min do some real work by having her clerk for one of his people! Okay, Bryne has two rights. This is the first time Min has done any real work in what feels like forever. Being away from Rand is already doing her some good. But now the tent she was working in has been destroyed, so he puts her to work as a messenger (Min actually volunteers, which is definitely better than how she behaved when she was with Rand).

I kinda feel like my own opinion of the romances in WoT does hinge pretty strongly on "do they become less interesting characters when they are spending time with [love interest]?" but also on "what else do they have going on besides being [main character]'s love interest?".

ex. I liked Min best in TSR and once she starts really one-note obsessing over Rand in TFoH and onward, my interest in her nosedives because it feels like she has zero interests or drives outside of Rand. Get a hobby, Min! One that isn't about Rand (so the interest in 'philosophy' doesn't count). There's this incredibly depressing scene in, I think it was TFOH but it might have been the very start of LoC, where Elayne wants to talk to Min about something other than Rand and Min is just completely incapable of turning off the Rand-obsession long enough to think of a single good thing that doesn't revolve around Rand-Rand-Rand (the scene was not meant to be depressing but it definitely made me go 'yikes, Min, please get literally anything in your life that isn't about Rand').

22. So Min is off to the "Seanchan Empress" to tell her to send cavalry to the battlefield. Because Tuon is currently doing her best to hold back as many of her forces as she can and is negotiating them out piece-meal.

When she arrives at the Seanchan camp, Min notes how many forces are just lazing around doing nothing when they could be helping in the Last Battle. Min thinks for a moment that she wishes that she could have gone with Rand to Shayol Ghul but she has finally realized that she's only a liability to him in situations like that. Finally. I do note that apparently Rand had to 'forbid' her from going, though, so if he'd let her, she would have happily been a liability to him.

Anyway, Min was told by Rand to keep an eye on Fortuona, so I'll keep that in mind.

23. "Speak what criticism one would about the Seanchan -- and Min had a number of things she could add to that conversation -- they certainly were organized."

I really wish that Sanderson actually let Min think some of her specific criticisms about the Seanchan here rather than the narration veiling it. Because the way this is written ends up praising without critique, because the criticism remains politely unvoiced. One must always be polite about the slavers who want to dehumanize your friends and your lover, I guess.

Min was in Falme with Egwene! She actually saw Egwene being punished! She was even blamed for some of Egwene's punishments (which were all Renna's fault, of course, and not Min's) and she listened to Egwene scream and cry out in agony.

Let Min actually remember some of that in the text here rather than sweeping it all under the rug! She knows that the da'covale are slaves, for example, because she was in Falme. But instead of calling them slaves, she calls them "immodestly-dressed young women". Let Min actually have a thought here about how she disapproves of slavery! Put that on the record!

And Min thinking here that the Seanchan "couldn't possibly be as prickly as the Aiel". You... you literally listened to Egwene weeping in pain while she was being tortured for such crimes as "wanting to keep her own name" and "not wanting to be a slave" and "letting her friend visit her". wtf, Min.

24. Min has never seen Mat's hat before, but she thinks here that he has topped his new silken Seanchan outfit with his "familiar hat". I really do wonder if there was a draft of AMoL where Mat was in Merrilor, because then Min and Mat would have had a chance to meet back when Mat was in his old clothes and it would make sense for her to recognize his hat here. Because as it is, that's literally a nonsense thing for Min to think. The last time she saw Mat was at the end of book 2. Mat got his hat during book 4.

Min and Mat reunite like old buddies. They barely know each other. Let's tot up the times that they've met:

off-the-page in-between TGH and TDR, while Mat was dying from the dagger, in the handful of days that Mat was there before Verin took him & Elayne, Egwene, & Nynaeve off to the White Tower

That's it. That's the only entry. Mat didn't meet her in Baerlon -- Rand told him about her afterward. Apart from that, their only possible knowledge of each other comes from what Rand might have passed along. It is genuinely bizarre that they are behaving like old friends. They met once, almost two years ago, when one of them was dying. Mat has seen her having sex with Rand from time to time in his color swirl visions, but Min doesn't have access to that. They missed seeing each other in Caemlyn by four days, because Rand sends Mat off to Salidar before Min shows up with the embassy. They are the next best thing to complete strangers to each other, except that Mat has unintentionally seen Min naked several times.

It's Min and Perrin who have a friendship. It's funny, how Sanderson buffed up Perrin's friendships with Rand & Mat, but erased Perrin's friendship with Min. Perrin and Min, per canon, spent a lot of time talking to each other in between TGH & TDR (more time than either of them spent with Rand, who spent most of his time either brooding alone or arguing with Moiraine).

This is definitely "writing to the epilogue" convenience. But it could have made sense if Mat and Min had met back in the early chapters of the book while Mat was in Merrilor after he'd returned with Moiraine & Thom.

25. Mat tries to press Min for any new viewings about him. That's... interesting. Someone wants a new fate? I'm feeling curious about how Mat and Tuon's 'not pleasant' conversation went. Min deflects the conversation to viewings about the Seanchan general and I really don't care. Except to note that, sadly, Galgan probably won't try to kill Tuon because Mat is now the next one in the line of succession.

26. Why in the world would Min bow to Tuon? Seriously, girl, wtf. This is what I mean about how the narrative itself feels like it tiptoes around Tuon. Why would Min care so much about respecting Seanchan titles and nobility? She thinks here that she doesn't care about any other nobility but somehow the word 'Empress' triggers the worship reflex in her hindbrain or something? wtf. "It was only proper to show respect to Fortuona". Literally why? Why is the emphasis in Min's chapter about being polite to the slavers? Why is that the overriding vibe of this section -- Min's desire to make a good impression on the slavers? She didn't try this hard (or at all) with the Aiel. It's things like this that make me feel like Tuon must be ta'veren, because that feels like a thought that Tuon just plopped into Min's brain without permission.

Also, after Tuon enters literally just as Mat has mentioned her to Min, Mat then quotes "Say the name of Darkness, and his eye is upon you". Um. Yeah. So I feel like that 'not pleasant' conversation didn't go very well. (*whispers* he just compared his wife to the Dark One */whispers*).

He is also still using "Tuon" in casual conversation. And he doesn't get down on the floor, even though everyone else (including Min, for whatever reason) does.

27. And Mat is straight-up baiting Tuon in this conversation, or at least it feels that way (and using Min as a weapon while he does it). Yeah, I get the feeling that 'not pleasant' conversation went extremely poorly (was telling Tuon that Min is "the Dragon Reborn's woman" his way of trying to protect her from being poached by Tuon but Min didn't pick up on it? or was it his way of assuaging Tuon's raging jealousy issues by letting her know that Min is 'taken' and Mat doesn't plan on screwing her?)

I almost wonder if he's testing Tuon here -- seeing if her threats have any teeth? She told him that she could have him killed if he kept using the name 'Tuon' and he has not stopped, not even after the 'not pleasant' conversation. Kinda interesting that Mat seems considerably more combative with Tuon after their 'not pleasant' private discussion than he ever has been before. Wish we'd gotten to see that conversation (important moments, etc.).

Mat warns Min that Tuon snatches people up and doesn't let them go -- Min here thinks that Mat sounds "almost proud" but tbh I don't give Min much credit for her insight into people so I will take that with a grain of salt -- and yet Min (who can never resist blabbing about her viewings to everyone in sight) immediately spills about a viewing that someone is going to try to kill Tuon.

Literally why in the world would she bother to say anything? Why would she do this to herself? Rand said nothing about going out of her way to save the head slaver's life.

Min does have the habit of being swept up by people who have stronger personalities than she does -- Moiraine, then Siuan, then Rand, then Cadsuane, and now Tuon, I guess.

I do have to crack up at Min lying to herself and saying that she hasn't accidentally blabbed a viewing in years. Even if she doesn't remember blabbing Elayne's pregnancy to the entire royal palace of Caemlyn, she sleepily blabbed out Melaine's pregnancy without thinking about it too and we know she remembers that one because it was the whole basis for why the Wise Ones treated her as an ~honorary Wise One~ for, like, two books.

If Min didn't already have an established habit of constantly talking about her viewings, I would chalk this up to Tuon being ta'veren as well but... she does.

28. Tuon just goes up and touches Min's face without permission. Probably thinking about checking her teeth. Anyway, she pronounces Min a 'Doomseer' and Min has just screwed herself for the foreseeable future.

Tuon views Min as a "gift" that Mat has given her to "pay your penance" (presumably for not volunteering information about Egwene) so... yeah, that gives us some insight into the 'not pleasant' conversation. I wonder if Mat will think back to it at all in the next PoV we get from him. Probably not. I feel like I would remember that.

Tuon names Min as her new Truthspeaker, probably thrilled that she can now shove Selucia back into the box of not having any opinions that Tuon hasn't told her to have. Her emotional support slave was having too many independent thoughts and we can't have that.

Anyway, Min's viewings never really helped Rand, so she probably won't actually help Tuon much either, so I guess that's a relief.

But, yeah, not a fun situation for Min. Though I guess Mat now has company in his hellhole of a prison, so there's that.

...okay, now I've got "Two Lost Souls" from Damn Yankees in my head.

29. Just as Tam picked up on how Bashere's 'tactical mistakes' keep helping the Shadowspawn in the last section, Lan has picked out the same when it comes to his own 'great captain' -- two reserve forces were both sent to shore up the same hole in the lines, resulting in confusion and also the ranks being too thin in other places.

30. So, yeah, the set-up continues for Team Light to be forced to trust the General of the Slavers with the armies despite his recent horrible life choices. We note here that it has been 'weeks' for Lan now.

Lan countermands Agelmar's latest order, as he's realized how badly it would expose part of their army and compromise any potential retreat, so Lan has de facto taken over the army here, just as Elayne has over in the Cairhien/Caemlyn section of the battle.

31. Mat lets us know here Min has also been re-dressed in fancy Seanchan clothes. Apparently without any attempt to stick in her own clothes? She's an 'honored holy woman' per Tuon, so you would imagine means she has leverage to wear her own clothes if she wants. (of course, if it doesn't give her any leverage, then that would be useful information for the reader to have)

Anyway, we are back in Mat's head, for the first time since his disappointing reunion scene with Rand. We've seen him from the outside a few times since then -- in Tuon, Egwene, and finally Min's eyes.

Mat announces that he needs to go out and look at the actual battlefield. He thinks in his head that it's because the maps are "too simplistic" but I wonder if part of his motivation is taking a chance and getting some fresh air while his ~slaver bride~ is off doing "some empressly duty". I'm still curious about that 'not pleasant' conversation of 'many words' that they had after Tuon and Egwene met. He also yanks off part of his 'Seanchan uniform' here, leaving himself in his scarf, medallion, and breeches. He'd rather walk around shirtless than wear the fancy Seanchan duds, it seems.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

32. Yeah, Min is now wearing a dress, with no apparent protest. Mat notes that she's pretty and then additionally notes that he needs to be careful with smiles around women now because his wife might stab him if he smiles too much at other women. So, yeah, I'm thinking part of the 'not pleasant' conversation was Tuon making her jealousy issues very very clear to Mat. But despite Mat's protests that hooking up with Rand means that Min is "practically his sister", his narration does make it clear that he's attracted to her.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

"Mat had always considered Min on the boyish side" - you met her one time! During the foggy period of your memory when you were dying! The narration really is behaving like Perrin and Mat's friendships have been swapped around in this book -- Perrin is the one who has the stronger friendships with Rand and Elayne now; while Mat now has the stronger friendship with Min. Before this book, the opposite was true of all of those things. I guess we can assume that this is about Rand & Min screwing in the color swirls but Min would have been at least partly naked for a lot of those.

33. Anyway, Mat had his own clothes hidden away and changes into them now, when Tuon isn't here to protest, and then sneaks off to look at the battlefield before she can come back to berate him again. Lessons learned from his time with Tylin?

(Min does say here that she's tempted to strip off too, but she keeps wearing the Seanchan clothes for whatever reason)

We do also learn here the very important information that the Seanchan guards respond to bribes (Mat bribed them into keeping and hiding his clothes for him here). Though Mat also notes that it's only the free guards and not the slaves.

34. It's so sad here that Mat has to feel grateful that Tuon "understood that [Mat] needed" the foxhead medallion and returned it to him. He's grateful that he's allowed to use his own personal items and that she didn't permanently keep what she'd stolen from him.

(this life is going to make him so miserable)

...hmm. I'm going to keep an eye on the medallions. Because technically Mat has two right now (his original and a copy that Elayne made), but he hasn't mentioned the second one at all.

35. Sadly, going for Pips means that "unfortunately, someone had time to alert" Tuon that Mat was slipping away, and so she comes to confront him (so I was right about part of the reason behind him bailing on the command tent was trying to get away from Tuon).

Mat once again warns Min that it's very dangerous here: "they know how to treat a fellow, as long as they don't behead him. I'm still trying to figure out how to prevent that from happening."

Hmm, Mat gives Min the "sell" on staying with the Seanchan... he says that it would help Rand because she can attempt to mislead Tuon about her 'omens' to try to guide Tuon onto a less-awful path. I imagine that's how Mat is justifying his own choices too but we saw that when he actually had a chance to try to guide Tuon onto a better path, he froze and said nothing while Rand did all the negotiating. But Mat does make it clear here that he still disapproves of what the Seanchan are doing; he's just... sticking around and helping anyway for whatever reason.

But, yeah, "lie to Tuon to try to subtly direct her choices" being part of Mat's advice to Min is... illuminating, to be sure. Did Mat lie to/mislead Tuon during their recent 'not pleasant' private discussion?

36. Yeah, we see here very directly that Mat doesn't always mean what he says around Tuon, when he pretends to be happy that she's coming along with him to survey the battlefield while "groaning inside". This is what I was talking about back when I was questioning all of the other character's interpretations of Mat's behavior in the previous few chapters -- most of the characters in the books are not very good at reading Mat. Tuon has failed to accurately judge him on multiple occasions, Egwene will always at least partly see him as the troublemaker from her hometown, and Min barely knows him.

Also, Mat was expecting to be berated for changing his clothes but Tuon says nothing about it at this time. Hey, Min, maybe you should take the opportunity to change yours too?

It is good to see Mat attempting to push back on Tuon, even if it's on relatively minor things.

It really is the decision to make Mat a deserter that screwed his characterization over so hard in this book. If Mat had gone to Merrilor and then gone to Ebou Dar, pretty much everything would make more sense. There's only a couple of scenes so far that have 'needed' Mat to be a willing traitor in order to play out the way that they did (mostly just Egwene's shock at seeing him hanging out with the Seanchan) and almost everything else would make more sense if Mat had gone back to Ebou Dar as a negotiator on behalf of the Westlands.

37. On the minus side, we have some really weird stuff here where Mat dehumanizes one of the Seanchan generals for the crime of being a woman that he doesn't want to fuck. While Mat did start basically thinking about every woman that he met in terms of fuckability back around... A Crown of Swords, I want to say... he didn't act like 'not being fuckable' made women unpeople and he's kinda going that way here and it's super gross.

38. On her own front in the battlefield, Egwene sees a huge tactical blunder by Bryne that leaves one of their flanks wide-open to the enemy and vulnerable, and now she is also going to go question him, as it looked distinctly like he set up a trap that benefited the Shadowspawn. So that's all of the fronts except Ituralde (who is just outside of Shayol Ghul).

After questioning Agelmar, Lan suspects it is Compulsion that is behind his recent poor battle decisions, and Lan has him relieved from duty. Also, Tenobia conveniently gets killed on the battlefield and brings Faile one step closer to ruling Saldaea.

39. Back with Mat, Tuon, Min, and Selucia. Poor Selucia. She got half a book of being allowed to have her own opinions but now she's just Tuon's Voice/bodyguard again and gets to speak no words but Tuon's.

Min is obediently telling Tuon all her viewings and her interpretations of them, just like she always does when she's under the thumb of someone with a more forceful personality than her own. This is kinda why I feel like Mat's hope that she will lead Tuon onto better paths is likely not going to pan out -- because Min's viewings do not have a moral component, not that we're aware of, and she is spilling them all out indiscriminately.

And Tuon will likely continue to be her own horrible self, no matter what viewings Min has. But I guess we'll see how that relationship plays out.

Min has not only told Tuon all the viewings she had about Tuon but also her viewings about Mat, over Mat's protests. Min likes to claim that she doesn't do things like that, but wow, she does it all the time. It does feel like fandom doesn't really acknowledge that both Min & Perrin lie about themselves in their own heads just as much as Mat or Nynaeve do. Min believes that she's discreet about her viewings, when she's a blabbermouth most of the time, and Perrin believes that he thinks things through before he acts, when he's actually wildly reckless and impulsive pretty frequently.

40. It's interesting that Min and Mat greeted each other like old friends yet are now essentially working at cross-purposes -- Mat suggested to Min that ('for Rand') she mislead Tuon in order to craft a narrative that would make Tuon soften towards Aes Sedai (and also more minor things like "try to get her to stop wanting to get rid of my hat") but Min, like Galad, wants to be rigidly honest and is telling Tuon everything, not giving a care that she's telling Tuon other people's secrets (and we know she's telling real secrets, because she's now told Tuon all of Mat's old viewings that we know from before, against Mat's express wishes). So Min is essentially unintentionally teaching Mat that she is not an ally to him and that she will sell him out to Tuon if he confides in her. Which means that Mat is, once again, all alone in the middle of an enemy camp that he feels obligated to stay in (now matter how unhappy it makes him) Because Wife.

Mat and Tuon really is peak "enforced heterosexual monogamy" culture. They explicitly are married due not to their own desires but to external pressures (the prophecies) and feel obligated to stick it out even though, on Tuon's side, she feels like she has a wildly chaotic husband that she doesn't know how to control and, on Mat's side, everything about the situation is constantly making him miserable. I believe he thinks at one point (in some future chapter?) that he could be happy if it was just him and Tuon in a life far away from the Seanchan but... that really is him picturing himself and his Fictional Tuon character (not cold, not possessive, Not Like The Other Seanchan) rather than himself and Actual Fortuona. I'm sure Mat and his fake Tuon could find happiness running away from the throne, but fake Tuon doesn't exist so... yeah.

41. Mat is able to get "five minutes" by himself and rides down to talk to Perrin's slaver BFF Tylee. Much like Egwene had just realized, Mat learns here from Tylee that Bryne is making bad calls that are compromising his army.

*sigh*

Mat stuffs himself into Seanchan armor at this point. Well, he had a spine about wearing his own clothing for, like, five minutes. Maybe that's all we can hope for out of him these days. It is at least real 'on the field' armor rather than the ceremonial silk this time.

Also: Tuon's desire to constantly be keeping an eye on Mat vs Mat's desire to have some breathing room seems like a fight in their marriage that is going to reoccur a lot.

42. Anyway, Mat goes to personally take a unit out to relieve Bryne's soldiers because it looks like they've gotten very bad orders and he needs to correct them personally. I... don't have an issue with this apart from the whole "ugh, Seanchan" thing? Mat can see that the battle is going extremely poorly and wants to investigate from the inside because from what he can see, it looks like the general in charge is deliberately ordering bad tactics. That's not something that Mat can fix simply by sending contrary orders because he is not the main general of this battlefield. Bryne is. So Mat going out to take direct control of a specific part so that he can, essentially, undermine Bryne's bad orders before he goes to deal with the root of the issue makes sense because this is a time-sensitive situation.

Tylee tries to give Mat some damane slaves for the battle and he refuses.

Once again, like it did in Min's PoV, the narrative has yet another character praise the Seanchan's sense of organization while implying that the character has critiques about the Seanchan but not mentioning the specific issues that they have. Actually let Mat share his critiques about the Seanchan with the reader! Stop veiling the critiques behind "oh, I have some issues but I won't say what they are".

43. Mat is really really attracted to the enemy Sharan channeler. Until she tries to kill him but, yeah, he literally stops and stares at the channeler on the opposing side. Though that doesn't stop him from knocking her out with his spear when her weaves fail on him and he's able to get close.

*resigned sigh*

After this battle, Mat is now willing to throw damane slaves at the enemy.

Mat has also really really impressed the Ever Victorious Army. Something to keep in mind for post-canon 'Mat conducts a coup' thoughts. Between Egwene feeling like Tuon has accidentally gotten herself trapped in Mat's ta'veren web, Tuon's own "[Mat] would never be a rival" thoughts, how swiftly Mat is winning over the officers, and Mat's own words to Min about how she should craft a narrative to deceive Tuon into behaving the way she wants her to behave... there are some interesting puzzle pieces here for a post-canon "Mat deposes Tuon and takes over the Seanchan Empire" or "Mat tricks Tuon into thinking she's in charge while he's the real power in the Empire" storyline.

I really wish that Sanderson & Team Jordan hadn't made Mat a deserter at the start of the book; it really did start Mat off on such a bad foot, narratively-speaking, by weighting him so heavily on the side of the slavers without any kind of narrative justification for the choice (we still don't know how Mat got to Ebou Dar originally -- Sanderson really was like "okay, it makes no sense, so I'll just let readers fill in a reason that they can justify to themselves"). But even with that massive off-the-page weighting on the side of the slavers, Mat is listing back towards the Westlands side of things (as he has done time and time again). Over and over, Mat gets forcibly yanked over towards the Seanchan and then starts drifting away from them again (requiring another heavy-handed course-correction from the Authors).

44. Mat does change back into his "Two Rivers" coat here. ...wait, Mat's coat is a "Two Rivers" coat? When did that happen? When did Mat go back to the Two Rivers to get a coat? Or did he get it from Perrin's army? Anyway, he did change back into his own clothes after the battle.

Oh! Oh, this must be a coat that Elayne's person picked out for him (as per his request in ToM)! Elayne's person found him a Two Rivers coat? She really is magic. I love her.

Mat does realize here that the Sharan channeler that he captured is almost certainly going to end up damane. Should have just killed her.

45. Tuon is currently so pissed at Mat that she's only speaking to him through Selucia (now back in her role as Tuon's opinionless Voice). Mat notes this as a 'bad sign' but he also does keep calling her Tuon. Maybe he doesn't back down and start referring to her formally as she told him to do; maybe that was something that my memory was incorrect on, which would be nice.

"Your life is no longer your own," Tuon tells him through Selucia. I wonder if that's also part of the reason that Mat went out on the battlefield -- a way of declaring that his life is his own, even if that means potentially throwing it away.

Mat references Nynaeve here -- I'm not sure whether or not Tuon got Nynaeve's name in the conversation she had with Rand and Nynaeve back in TGS. I'll go check.

Yep, Rand says Nynaeve's name when she chastises him for trying to pretend that he doesn't care about Mat in front of Tuon. So Tuon knows that Mat is talking about a channeler here.

46. Yikes. Tuon 'gives' the Sharan channeler that Mat captured to him as his own personal damane slave. He tries to give her back to Tuon (also gross and yikes) but Tuon won't let him. Mat does refer to her as a channeler and not marath'damane but... ugh. But this is the continuation of Tuon's campaign to brainwash and integrate Mat into being fully-Seanchan, so her actions here are no surprise.

Mat is now given control of the Seanchan armies over Galgan, and they send Min back to Egwene to tell her that Bryne is helping the Shadow with how he's behaving with the army.

47. So things are incredibly dire and yet there have been no thoughts of "wow wish Mat were here to blow the Horn of Valere". It's so bizarre that everyone is just completely chill with a powerful artifact that is literally meant for the Last Battle to be just hanging out unusable!

Anyway, the Black Tower Asha'man show up here to relieve Elayne's people, who are sorely pressed.

Here's my thought: I think Sanderson was too much in love with the whole "on the very edge of being broken, the cavalry shows up" idea aka Gandalf coming to save the day at Minas Tirith. Not everything needs to be last second like that. If everything is dramatic then nothing is truly dramatic. In real life, you wouldn't wait until after the point of hope to blow the horn that brings a magic army to fight on your side. You would want to do it as soon as it looks like your own forces aren't going to be enough.

48. Min stayed dressed in all her Seanchan finery to go deliver her message to Egwene. Min's conversation with Egwene is so bizarrely tone-deaf on Min's side of things? She complains about being ~pampered~ by the Seanchan and that their rich food isn't to her taste and when Egwene ~reminds her~ that Egwene has 'enjoyed' Seanchan 'hospitality', Min is basically just "Oops, yeah, my bad, oh well, back to business."

Wow, Min's lack of empathy for the horrific trauma that she witnessed Egwene going through is kinda shocking.

For your consideration, Min in Falme:

When Min asks Egwene not to kill herself out of despair, Egwene tells her that she physically can't. That she can't use anything that she thinks of as a weapon.

She tells Min:

"A few weeks ago I considered hitting Renna over the head with that pitcher, and I could not pour wash water for three days. Once I'd thought of it that way, I not only had to stop thinking about hitting her with it, I had to convince myself I would never, under any circumstances, hit her with it before I could touch it again. She knew what had happened, told me what I had to do, and would not let me wash anywhere except with that pitcher and bowl. You are lucky it happened between your visiting days. Renna made sure I spent those days sweating from the time I woke to the time I fell asleep, exhausted. I am trying to fight them, but they are training me as surely as they’re training Pura.” She clapped a hand to her mouth, moaning through her teeth. “Her name is Ryma. I have to remember her name, not the name they've put on her. She's Ryma, and she's Yellow Ajah, and she has fought them as long and as hard as she could. It is no fault of hers that she hasn't the strength left to fight any longer. I wish I knew who the other sister is that Ryma mentioned. I wish I knew her name. Remember us both, Min. Ryma, of the Yellow Ajah, and Egwene al'Vere. Not Egwene the damane; Egwene al'Vere of Edmond's Field.' "

...

The door swung open, and Renna stepped in.

Egwene jumped to her feet and bowed sharply, as did Min. The tiny room was crowded for bowing, but Seanchan insisted on protocol before comfort.

"Your visiting day, is it?" Renna said. "I had forgotten. Well, there is training to be done even on visiting days."

...

Renna puts on the bracelet and senses that Egwene was channeling without permission:

"You have been channeling." Renna's voice was deceptively mild; there was a spark of anger in her eyes. "You know that is forbidden except when we are complete." Egwene wet her lips. "Perhaps I have been too lenient with you. Perhaps you believe that because you are valuable now, you will be allowed license. I think I made a mistake in letting you keep your old name. I had a kitten name Tuli when I was a child. From now on, your name is Tuli. You will go now, Min. Your visiting day with Tuli is ended."

Min hesitated only long enough for one anguished look at Egwene before leaving.

...

Then, in Min's PoV right after she leaves the room:

Outside in the low-ceilinged hallway, Min dug her nails into her palms at the first piercing cry from the room. She took a step towards the door before she could stop herself, and when she did stop, tears sprang up in her eyes. Light help me, all I can do is make it worse. Egwene, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Feeling worse than useless, she picked up her skirts and ran, and Egwene's screams pursued her. She could not make herself stay, and leaving made her feel a coward. Half blind with weeping, she found herself in the street before she knew it. She had intended to go back to her room, but now she could not do it. She could not stand the thought that Egwene was being hurt while she sat warm and safe under the next roof. Scrubbing the tears from her eyes, she swept her cloak around her shoulders and started down the street. Every time she cleared her eyes, new tears began trickling along her cheeks. She was not accustomed to weeping openly, but then she was not accustomed to feeling so helpless, so useless. She did not know where she was going, only that it had to be as far as she could reach from Egwene's cries.

Compare all that to Min right now: wearing Seanchan silks and whining about how their fanciest food isn't to her liking.

Anyway, she delivers her message from Mat, and Egwene says that she'll take it under consideration.

49. In Ituralde's PoV, we learn about the kinds of nightmares that Graendal has been putting in their heads, and the kinds of thoughts. Three separate times, Ituralde has almost given an order for his men to engage in a direct assault against the Shadowspawn but then been able to pull back again before he gave the Graendal-influenced order, so he's doing better than the other captains. I wonder if his experience in getting all those confusing messages from 'his king' (but actually Graendal) is helping him here. We see him fighting the urge to give one of those bad orders now and he's fighting it extremely hard and then Perrin shows up before he gives in and says it. And Ituralde is so relieved to give up his command because he can tell that something is wonky with his own thinking!

50. Egwene notices that Gawyn doesn't seem tired but he does seem 'strangely pale'. :-(

Thinking about Mat makes Egwene feel "strangely sick". That is such the mood when talking about post-WH Mat, yeah. We are twinsies in this feeling, Egwene. But after thinking it through and remembering the times when Mat has come through when needed, she decides that she is going to trust him, though it makes her feel like she's a fool for doing it. "Mat could be wrong. He was often wrong. But when he was right, he saved lives." and "[Mat] was a scoundrel and a fool but she trusted him. Light help her, but she did. She trusted him with her life."

Not sure Mat deserves that right now, tbh, but it's a sweet thought from Egwene.

And maybe he does.

I'm thinking about 'a ribbon that felt like a chain'. Thinking about Mat considering his father's advice for dealing with cheats during a trade. Thinking about Mat telling Min to pick and choose between her viewings to attempt to guide Tuon onto a better path. Thinking about Mat putting on a Two Rivers coat during the Last Battle.

Maybe he does.

I guess we'll see.

The ultimate factor, once Egwene realizes that Bryne was Compelled, is that she knows that Mat cannot be touched by saidar or saidin, so he is the only general they can trust not to be corrupted by the Forsaken.

#wot #wheel of time #wot reread #wot book spoilers #wot spoilers #wot amol spoilers #wot a memory of light spoilers #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #min farshaw #seanchan content warning

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