grimmisms
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maybe i’ll see you again if there is another life. and if there isn’t, it’s been heaven knowing you.
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Shimada Sojiro's passing changed a great many things. Family ties had already been mere threads before the event, but as a new young master inherits the family business, the world changes. The youngest of the Shimada sons sees this, and he sways with the wind where others threaten to break.
Not many look upon this with kind eyes.
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- Part 1 of A Hundred Bad Days
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He knew his luck slipped when he felt the first hiccup of a breath, knew that was the match that ignited the awful fit that was to come.
He didn't have these often, but they're more frequent now than they ever have been. Dips his chin, covers his mouth, and fights to keep his cough quiet, fights to keep himself from bolting out of the camp and drawing unnecessary attention.
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Eternalism can be tricky, can't it? And what if the world was a little big stranger, a bit less understandable in all its vast complexities? The Void, Duviri, all of it nonsense in the grand scheme of the universe, the swirling, endless nothing that makes up the lives of all those residing amongst the stars. Roathe stands a man who wears his past like a shield of crimson, protecting himself from the weight of accountability while swathing several lifetimes of trauma. It is through that pain that he seeks power, but unknowingly seeks a balm to soothe what aches.
And what if he were to find not just one hand reaching out for his own, there in the darkness of La Cathedral? What if two Drifters sought to take him into their loving embrace, to teach him something of being wanted, of being coveted, of being adored?
Bookmarked by grimmisms
28 Jul 2026
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[Spoilers for the Roathe romance]
“I gather that I’ve never taken you to my bed,” he says, certain it is true. Her spreading blush, adding the first hint of color to her grey demeanor, is fascinating — the Orokin in their shades of blue never blushed at all after centuries of apathy.
“There is more to a relationship than sex, Roathe.”
Now it is his turn to splutter, in disbelief. “Relationship? You mean to tell me that we were involved? Absurd. I might have believed time travel, or that you popped through reality like a bubble, but a relationship? Unthinkable.”
She stares at him knowingly. “When two people interact over time, it is called a relationship.”
He frowns, but feels the corners of his lips pulling up against his will. “Well, aren’t we irritating?”
Bookmarked by grimmisms
28 Apr 2026
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He sees the golden blood before he sees the body.
In a scene too reminiscent of that day, he follows the trail of blood. From the muddy banks of the darkened sea through fields of wheat, his feet lead him to tattered remains of what looks like a young child.
Despite the months of his persistent, single-minded pursuit of that monster that tore his home apart, he stops at the sight of the body.
An emaciated frame, dirt-streaked hair, and bony limbs bent in unnatural ways. It’s clear that the child had crawled a long way before succumbing to their wounds.
It is a relief, almost, that the child does not bear a resemblance to her, save for the gold streaming from their injuries.
A young Phainon, post the fall of his homeland, finds an even younger Mydei washed ashore.
Bookmarked by grimmisms
28 Nov 2025
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Mydeimos’s smile is sharp as he shrugs. “What’s your name again?”
“Phainon of—” Phainon cuts himself off, looking away. It doesn’t matter where he’s from. Not anymore. “Phainon.”
“Phainon of Nowhere,” Mydeimos says, and those words disembowel Phainon, cutting into his belly and slicing clean across it. “Come to bed with me. We have a show to put on.”
In the midst of an ongoing war between Okhema and Castrum Kremnos, Mydei's mother gifts him Phainon, an Okheman bed slave he neither wants nor needs. But there is more at stake for both Mydei and Phainon: between Gorgo's ploys, Eurypon's plans, and the advancing black tide, they are pulled between a growing desire for each other and the very fate of their world.
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Bookmarked by grimmisms
08 Aug 2025
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That had never been part of his plan. Leaving Vash, hair blackened and his body and mind flayed by Knives’ own hands, in the care of strangers—as Millions Knives himself slunk off into the desert sands to die. His body had started to disintegrate before they even touched down on the sands outside the church, shedding pieces of decaying matter and stardust as he staggered towards his brother’s salvation. The energy it had taken to rebuild himself from bones would not last into the night, and Millions Knives did not want Vash to watch as he crumbled in agonizing slow motion.
So, Knives leaves. He slips out the back door while the father and child of Mesa Probe Church tend to an unconscious Vash, on silent, padding feet scattering energy in his wake. An apple tree sprouts from one shallow footprint; against his better judgment, Knives grants the seedling a burst of his own fading power as his cloak slides from his shoulders. It would be put to better use, he thinks, given to something that intended to grow rather than rot.
The child tries to call for Vash when Knives turns his back on the tree.
—And then Millions Knives walks into the dune sea of No Man’s Land, and he does not die.
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Bookmarked by grimmisms
18 Feb 2024