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may-be-rae · 1 year

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The Arcana Headcanons

M6 Giving Comfort

Asra:

Asra can tell something is wrong before you can. The way your shoulders slouch at the counter…. The way you breathe a heavy sign once a customer leaves…. He was attune to you before he shared his heart.

Asra also knows your desire to be independent. He does his best to support you without being overbearing.

It will start with small things. Things that don’t readily come to mind, but are incredibly helpful. Tidying the living space before you come home. Washing the dishes as you cook. Running the bath ahead of time. After a while, it doesn’t take long for you to clue in. They’ll offer a sheepish, guilty smile in return.

Once you’ve figured it out, he won’t be so shy. Asra will ask if you want to talk about it, whether you’d prefer comfort or advice.

In either case, they will want to hold you. If you say no, they understand. But physical touch is a love language to Asra. He isn’t good with words, not when it comes to discussing more difficult topics. They’re much more confident in their physicality - holding you, offering butterfly kisses. It’s the way he most certainly knows how to tell you he loves you no matter how you’re feeling.

Nadia:

Nadia is a child of two equal but opposite personalities. And fortunately/unfortunately those qualities transfer into her relationship with you. (There are positives and negatives to both.)

Like her mother, Nadia is a problem solver. As a Countess, it’s a trait that she has honed particularly well. She can source the best time, place, and people to assist with your problem.

But like her father, Nadia can be emotional, but this is a trait she’s struggled with in her adult life. With Lucio, Nadia was in survival mode and relied on her problem-solving instincts to get her through. Emotions wouldn’t save her at that time, and now she has trouble just being your shoulder to cry on because in her mind it’s the equivalent of letting you suffer.

Although, she understands your perspective and insight into the situation. She’s also spoken to Asra about it, who encourages her that there is a time and place for both. Like Asra, Nadia has started asking which you’d prefer.

If you prefer help, she’s relieved. She’s on it. If you prefer comfort, she’s bemused at first, but slowly grows into it. If you’re someone uncomfortable with displays of emotion, she’ll take you to her tower so you can cry privately. She’ll walk with you around the gardens to help clear your mind, or she’ll play the piano for you in the lounge to help relax you.

In time, Nadia will see your temperament improve, and she’ll feel honored to know that such simple acts from her do wonders to ease your weary heart.

Julian:

Julian is also a creature of dual personalities. One is a product of nature and the other is a product of trauma.

At the core, Julian is a doctor, a healer. His heart is always seeking to better others. However, this good nature has been used against him in the past, so now he worries that any upset is his fault. He’ll rush to fix things in fear.

With you, he’ll begin to understand differently. Still, he tends to be clingy because of his insecurities, but just give him a kiss on the forehead and ask for space. He’ll understand.

In the meantime, he’ll prepare things he knows will make you happy. A cup of your favorite drink, a bouquet of your favorite flowers…. He’ll have them waiting for you when you’re ready.

Julian will insist that you lie down, allowing your body the ability to regulate itself. Deep breaths, sips of water…. If anything, he understands the dangers of acting out of panic and pressure.

And while you rest, he’ll provide plenty of hugs, kisses, and snuggles. The man’s limbs make him a professional cuddler, albeit a bit boney hah. He also knows a lot of grounding techniques. He’ll rub his hands over your arms and massage your hands to help control your spinning mind.

Julian is also surprisingly great at giving advice. He’s been through a lot…. As much as these experiences harmed him, they’ve also armored him. If anything, he’s grateful for the immense compassion and insightful perspectives these hardships have given him if it means it can help you in a time of need.

Portia:

Portia is a mixture of hard and soft comfort techniques. She tends to have an attitude of “keep your chin up buttercup” or making light of tough situation with laughter, which can seem somewhat flippant if you’re more sensitive (nothing wrong with that!). However, it all balances out against her motherly nature.

She’s a very good listener, very understanding and nonjudgmental. You’ll never have to worry about venting to her. She’s great at separating your emotions from her own.

Like her brother, she’s also a professional cuddler. Blankets, pillows, tissues.. she’s got it covered if you need a good, solid cry. She’ll put Pepi on you, too, because she heard that kitty purrs are healing.

Once the initial outburst is finished, she’ll try to get you moving and busy so that you don’t fall into a slump. A romp around the garden, a visit Mazelinka for pirate stories, a trip to the market.

Portia has been through a lot, and it’s her sunny disposition that kept her head above water. Now that life is slower, much calmer, more peaceful… she’s more than happy to be a little sun for you in rough patches.

Muriel:

Muriel is panicked. It amazes him how someone so tiny could be packed with so much emotion.

His stomach did little flip flops when you first had your outburst. But eventually, he relaxed.

You looked so hurt and scared to him that he needed to protect you. His first instinct was to hold you, wrapping you in his embrace and lifting you into his arms. It’s somewhere he knows you’re safe.

Nature is something that calms him, so before you attempt to tell him what’s wrong, he’ll insist on a walk through the woods. He knows the earth has a way of clearing the senses, clearing minds and hearts. He would hate for you to say or do something in the heat of your emotions that you’d regret later.

Once you’ve calmed, he’ll ask what’s wrong. While he may not always have advice to give, he has a steadiness that empowers you to face your problems head on.

While you’re upset, he’ll help you in maintaining a routine so that you don’t wallow in your sorrows. He’ll cook for you, clean your space, bring water, and make sure that you don’t lose touch with yourself.

He’s also big on aromatherapy, lighting incense and placing herbs above the mantle. He’s also heard that blankets are a big aid in these moments, so he’ll bring you a few to snuggle under and send Innana to lay with you. As you rest, he’ll watch over you, run fingers through your hair, and pray to the gods that you awaken in peace.

Lucio:

You didn’t know what to expect of Lucio when you first outburst in front of him, but you most certainly weren’t prepared for how gentle he was.

Lucio has survived his mother. One would think she’d make him callous to comfort, but it’s actually made him very conscious and aware of it.

He immediately dragged you away from prying eyes. He kneeled, got down to your level, and looked you in the eyes. He’d hold you while you cry, he’d sit you on his lap as you voice your woes.

The only caveat is that Lucio’s advice tend to not be the best…. He still has a childish, immature view on the world, so his advice tend to look more of like a giant middle finger to everyone.

Still, he’s 100% on your side, even if you don’t follow his advice. Lucio is aware that he rarely solved any of his own problem in life and trusts you undoubtedly. Whatever you ask, whatever you need, he’s loyal to the end.

#the arcana #the arcana headcanons #asra the arcana #asra alzanar #nadia the arcana #nadia stratinava #julian the arcana #julian devorak #portia the arcana #portia devorak #muriel the arcana #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio the arcana #lucio morgasson

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poweroftwelve · 6 months

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Main Story: Into the Wild (Part 2)

In a deserted clearing, an old gray molly sat alone, staring up at the lone half-moon. The stars were murky as dark clouds drifted by, creating a gloomy fog of unease within her. From the shadows she could hear the faint sounds of breathing, soft and even as sleeping cats dreamed away the night without a clue as to her thoughts.

The camp was so still, that when a tortoiseshell cat did emerge from the darkness, the gray molly’s fur prickled with surprise. No words were exchanged between the two as the tortoiseshell settled beside her.

The gray cat dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she softly asked.

“Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” the tortoiseshell answered. “But she is strong; she’ll heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They’ll all recover too.”

Bluestar sighed, relief revealing itself in the way her head and shoulders fell. “We’re lucky to not have lost anyone this time. You are a gifted cleric, Spottedleaf.” Her blue eyes flicked up to the moon, straightening herself up. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to attend the half-moon meeting.”

Spottedleaf couldn’t help but purr in amusement. “It would’ve been an awkward and unusual one. I wouldn’t have been able to look at Mudfur with a straight face, now would I?”

Her attempt at a joke was met with silence from Bluestar. Spottedleaf’s face fell, the molly looking down at her paws before brushing her tail over Bluestar’s flank. “Bluestar?”

The gray molly shook her head. “I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she admitted, ears flattening. “These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

“But the year is only just beginning,” Spottedleaf pointed out, nudging her leader and offering her an assuring gaze. “There will be more kits when Greenleaf comes. There always are.”

Bluestar glanced back at her. Her dull expression seemed to brighten just faintly, and she’d sigh again. “Perhaps…” She smiled back at the tortoiseshell, thankful for her kind ear. “Training our young to become warriors takes time though.”

“I can only imagine you’re eager to make Graykit an apprentice then?” Spottedleaf purred playfully.

“Training will encourage him to listen for once, that’s for sure. He certainly didn’t get his father’s manners.” Bluestar couldn’t help but chuckle. Her ear twitched, a purr rumbling in her throat. Her weariness seemed to have eased, and she'd give a dip of her head to the cleric. “Thank you.”

Spottedleaf nodded back, before looking up at the dark sky. She tilted her head in thought, watching as another star was covered by the rolling clouds. “Are you asking StarClan for answers?”

Bluestar paused before nodding. “It is times like this that I’d be reassured by words from our ancient ancestors.” She narrowed her eyes and cast a glance at Spottedleaf. “Though I suppose you may have spoken to them had tonight not been interrupted.”

“Details, details,” Spottedleaf purred, flicking her tail dismissively before laughing. “StarClan hasn’t spoken to me in some moons, Bluestar. I wouldn’t…”

Suddenly, a shooting star blazed over the sky, Spottedleaf freezing as if time had stopped. The fur on her back bristled, and her amber eyes were wide, not daring to look away.

Bluestar’s ears pricked, but she remained silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward.

After a few moments, Spottedleaf hung her head low. Her eyes flicked back and forth, before she rapidly rose and turned to Bluestar. “It was a message-” she whispered breathlessly. “-from StarClan.” Spottedleaf’s gaze was unfocused, her pupils shaped like the full moon.

“Fire alone can save our Clan.”

“Fire?” Bluestar stared at Spottedleaf incredulously. “But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?”

“I do not know.” Spottedleaf’s voice was hollow, though as she shook her head, she blinked rapidly and seemed to regain some semblance of focus. “But… this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me.”

A twisted feeling settled in Bluestar’s belly. She looked out into the dark woods, their endless unknowns taunting her with the secrets they held each and every day. Yet as she turned to look back at Spottedleaf, she’d nod with acceptance. “You’ve never been wrong before, Spottedleaf. If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so,” she meowed.

“Fire will save our Clan.”

Allegiances

ThunderClan ShadowClan WindClan RiverClan

Next (coming soon)

#po12 #warrior cats #waca #wc #art #into the wild #writing #rewrite #redux #bluestar #spottedleaf

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stromuprisahat · 1 year

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The Darkling: “Now... you know sacrifice.”

Alina: “Beyond anything you've ever known.”

Are you fucking kidding me? You’re telling that to a guy, who survived centuries of slaughter of his people, often loved ones, and still kept going, trying to protect next generation and the one after that... after you merely finished your already dying childhood sweetheart?!

No, she has no fucking clue, what sacrifice is. Self entitled brat!

Look, I love Jessie, but the face says it all...

Alina: “And look what it did.”

The Darkling: “Indeed. Look what it did.”

Aleksander sounds almost mournful.

Alina: “Mal and I changed the world. We tore down your Shadow Fold.”

The Darkling: “You have my sympathies for what comes next, when you realize that what you've done solves nothing. The world doesn't need a Saint to protect it. It needs a monster.”

She won’t. She showed zero self-reflection so far, I’m pretty sure she’ll continue being her short-sighted, self-involved SELF. Except now more privileged as a Living Saint and Queen...

The Darkling: “And while I remain... Let me be your monster.”

Alina: “You think that after everything, I'd still stand by you?”

No! She’s constantly hurting you, why you keep coming back for more?!

And when exactly did Alina stand by Aleksander? In the middle of previous season, before she ran off with no explanation?!

The Darkling: “There is no light without darkness. Without me, you have no counter, no balance. Let me carry the hatred of this world.”

Alina: “Hatred. Because of the choices you made.”

I’m getting tired of repeating myself, but how is Grisha opression a result of the Darkling’s choices? Did he hurt someone before he was born? Is he a god?!

Plus it’s incredibly hilarious Alina “Half-Shu poor little thing, pity me for all the racism ~I~ have to face” Starkov now believes automatic hatred against you is something you cause yourself. But then again, she was planning a trip to Shu Han few episodes earlier, so the centuries-long distrust between those nations probably magically disappeared too... How incompetent writer do you need to be, if you can’t even keep track of your own themes?!

The Darkling: “Choices you too will make... in time.”

Alina: “I will never walk your path.”

No, she lacks empathy already. I doubt few decades of losing her friends will make her a better person.

The Darkling: “I know you believe that now. But soon... Soon you will have no equal. The years spent alone will grind you down, they will harden you. And who will be there to shield you from it? Who will be there to save you?”

Alina: “I will save myself.”

I know this is supposed to be another Girlboss™ moment, but he isn’t really saying “Hide behind me, I’ll protect you!”, he’s saying “What will you do, when you’re alone and friendless, who will support you, share your difficulties? Who will remind you to stay human?”.

The Darkling: “Without me, know they will come for you.”

Alina: “Let them come.”

This totally doesn’t sound like Oh-So-Merciful Sankta’s gonna be burning people alive in few years. Nope.

#Shadow and Bone #02×08: No Funerals #The Darkling #General Kirigan #Alina Starkov #Darklina #but she doesn't deserve him at all.#grishanalyticritical #V #self centred and paranoid #anti S&B writers #anti Alina Starkov #I never thought I'll say it #but I miss book!Alina.#She wasn't allowed to grow properly #but at least she had her moments.

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a-sad-machine · 1 year

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The truth (part three)

uhhhhh, hey there! I’m alive? :D

I also thinkI might change the style with making a part per region, since characters are getting added to regions retroactively and i dont wanna go and edit every region. mayhaps I’ll just do it in version installments from now on? like, with the newest characters or smth

Anyways, enjoy!

Sumeru

once again, starting with the characters who would know who you really are: Alhaitham, Aranara, Nahida, Wanderer

Of course as the archon of knowledge, Nahida would instantly know who you are! She would definitely be the one to catch on the fastest and luckily for you, since she has experience with being confined in a place for too long, she won’t tell on you! Though she’ll try to not leave you alone in these dangerous lands, either accompanying you herself or checking in through others’ minds.

Through his brief time as almost god, Wanderer will recognise that something is off with you, in a probably-is-a-god-style, almost right away. If you slip up and mention anything from his past he’ll be even more suspicious, after all those memories should be long gone, right?

Alhaitham knows. I am not sure how, he just does. He is just built different ig. But jokes aside, he is very observant and smart enough to connect the dots. Might try to ignore you, since he doesn’t want to deal with the situation, as well as his newly acquired duty as ‘acting’ grand sage

the ones that are suspicious of who your are: Cyno, Dehya, Tighnari

Both Cyno and Tighnari will both share their suspicions, but they have duties that usually don’t involve you too much. Cyno needs to hunt criminals (which you aren’t) and Tighnari is bound to his forest. Unless you’re unlucky enough to encounter criminals or eat the wrong mushroom, there is very little chance for them to find any incriminating evidence.

Dehya is a seasoned bodyguard, where she has a lot of practice reading people and her surroundings. She’ll get weird vibes from you, as if you’re constantly hiding something, but won’t push too much if she doesn’t see you as a threat.

those who are too naive to question the identity of the creator: Collei, Dunyarzad, Faruzan, Nilou

Collei, Dunyarzad and Nilou all are too optimistic to think they have been lied to about the creators identity. All three have also been through quite a lot, Collei and Dunyarzad with their Eleazar affliction, and Nilou with her struggle against the academia. They’re still very kind though, so they might be fun to be around without having to worry about revealing clues to who you are.

lastly, the ones who don’t care, or don’t seem religious: Candace, Dori, Jeht, Layla

Both Candace and Jeht are children of the desert, which can be a hard place to live in. While they don’t not believe in the creator, they have a lot of responsibilities to take care of, leaving little time to worship a god who has not helped them with their struggles of survival. They’re more likely to judge you for traveling the dangerous sands, especially if you are alone and not a seasoned traveler yet.

Dori might notice something off about you, but as long as you’ve got enough mora to buy goods from her store, she couldn’t care less about your identity. She’s also part of the blackmarket, where customers hiding their identity isn’t uncommon.

Layla is too tired to care most of the time. Unless you meet her nighttime persona the chances of even talking to her for long are decently low. She’s more worried about her studies and deadlines rather than a random traveler. Though you have to take care to not be too obvious when you have her attention, she is pretty smart after all.

(And another part done! I thought Dunyarzard and Jeht deserve to be here, since you spend so much time with em! and I know, I didn’t include Kaveh, but I haven’t done the recent event quest yet so idk what he’s like qwq )

(Next time will probably be mixed nationalities, including Kaveh, Mika, Baizhu, Yaoyao and maybe even Kirara! I’ll have to wait till enough characters are released for a while part tho)

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #sagau genshin #friendly impostor sagau #sumeru x reader #genshin sumeru

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aramblingjay · 2 years

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The paint that was left in the pot Geraskier, Geralt & Ciri, Modern AU (3K)

“Dad, do you think you could paint my nails?” Ciri asks him one afternoon, and Geralt is not too proud to say that he panics. Or: Ciri gets her nails painted, but she’s not the only one.

ao3

“Dad, do you think you could paint my nails?” Ciri asks him one afternoon, and Geralt is not too proud to say that he panics.

“What do you mean?” he asks in lieu of having to answer that. He hasn’t the faintest clue how to do nail polish; it most certainly was not covered in the Vesemir school of parenting. The only person he’s seen wear any is Yennefer, and he’s mostly convinced she just stares at her nails hard enough until they morph into the exact shape and color she wants.

“Well, the spring formal is next week, and all my friends are going to the spa today to get their nails done, but I know we can’t,” Ciri explains, and something heavy sinks in Geralt’s stomach. “And normally I’d ask mom, but since she’s away, I thought maybe you could do it.” She frowns, then, and her voice turns small. “It’s okay if not, you don’t have to or anything. Actually, it’s not even a big deal, nude nails are pretty in right now—”

That look on Ciri’s face, lost and wounded, is the surest way to spring him into action, and Geralt finds himself saying, “Of course I’ll do it,” before he can think twice about what he’s committing to.

Ciri should be able to go to the spa with her friends. She shouldn’t have to worry that it’ll cost money they don’t have to spare right now, or that there’s no one to drive her there because the car is still in the shop—but that isn’t the life they live, and Ciri has always been more perceptive than anyone her age should be.

The least Geralt can do is try to give her this one thing.

“Don’t you worry, my little lion. I have it covered,” he promises, feeling pretty good about it when she gives him a wide, brilliant smile and chatters for the next ten minutes about the exact shade of purple-blue that’ll match her dress.

With Ciri sufficiently occupied waxing lyrical about colors, Geralt pulls out his phone to sneakily search up how to paint nails for beginners. Of course, that’s when Ciri decides that she’s done enough talking and wants to put her words into action, taking him by hand and all but dragging him up the stairs to, presumably, where the nail polish awaits.

It turns out the exact shade of purple-blue she wants is not among the five-pack of basic nail polish Eskel bought Ciri for her birthday last year. Geralt eyes the colorful little jars with trepidation, surer than ever that he has no idea what he’s getting into. How does one transfer the paint from there to—he glances at Ciri’s hands, nearly squinting to see her tiny little fingernails, and cannot fathom how this can possibly work without some sort of magic.

Then Ciri picks out the bright lavender bottle and holds it out to him with a look of such hope in her eyes that the wait I don’t know about this on the tip of his tongue dies right there. He has survived boot camps the likes of which would make the military blanch, has seen any number of horrors in this world, has managed to keep all his limbs despite regularly spending time with the most terrifying person the world has ever produced (Yennefer)—he will not be defeated by one little jar of paint and ten (tiny, unbelievably tiny, were they always that tiny?) bits of keratin.

He takes the bottle from her hand, holding it up to the light. It’s actually a beautiful color, bright and lively like his little lion. If he can just figure out how to get it on her hand, he knows without a doubt that she’ll look incredible. As she deserves, for her spring formal dance.

(At least, he thinks it’s a dance. Jaskier told him it was a dance, and Jaskier tends to know about this type of thing)

“C’mon then, little lion.” He assumes this is the type of thing one does in the bathroom to avoid making a mess. “Let’s go paint your nails.”

Ciri follows behind him with a clear skip in her step, and he wonders whether she thinks he’s done this before, assumes he’ll just know how once he starts, or truly hasn’t thought that far ahead. In any case, she’s far too cheerful for someone about to have bright purple splotches all over her skin.

(Is that how nail polish is applied? You just…pour it over the skin and wipe off whatever isn’t on the nail bed? It’s the only technique that comes to his mind, although something about that doesn’t seem right. And he doesn’t want this purple substance and the chemicals it might contain to be all over Ciri’s skin, in any case)

Ciri sits on the edge of the bathtub and holds out a hand, peering at him with absolute trust in her eyes. He feels more unworthy of it in this moment than perhaps any before, but gives her the best smile he can conjure and studies the little bottle of purple like it holds the key to life itself. Right now, it all but does.

Well, first step first. Geralt twists the cap off the bottle, nose wrinkling immediately at the sharp, pungent smell. He hopes it doesn’t smell like that on the nail, too, or he might have to subtly avoid Ciri for the next several days.

Some of the mystery is revealed when he realizes the cap isn’t just a cap, but in fact contains a tiny brush on the end of it. Tiny—he sneaks another glance at Ciri’s nails, held out ready and waiting for him. Tiny enough to be fingernail-sized, in fact.

Oh, dear. He’s supposed to paint this, with that, on those?

“What’s wrong? Do you not want to anymore?” Ciri asks. She’s always been able to read him a little too well.

Geralt looks into her big, guileless eyes and sighs. You can always be honest with me, he tells her about once a week, and what kind of father would he be if he didn’t follow his own rules?

“There’s nothing I’d love more, I promise,” he says, because doing things for Ciri is what he does, and it’s the most important job he will ever have. “But to tell you the truth, I have no idea what to do.”

And that is how he stands in the bathroom doorway fifteen minutes later, watching Jaskier paint his daughter’s nails like he’s been doing this his whole life.

(Maybe he has? Geralt files that question away for later)

“Do you want any patterns on this, Ciri?” Jaskier asks her, sounding for all the world like he can make anything she wants happen. Looking at how neat and even he’s painted the purple, Geralt doesn’t even doubt it.

“Well—” Ciri hesitates, shooting him a guilty look, and Geralt understands.

“I’ll be outside,” he rumbles, wondering what kind of design she’d want to keep secret from him, but unable to deny her the privacy all the same.

He can’t deny her much of anything, really. She’s going to be a lot more dangerous once she realizes just how true that is, he’s sure of it.

They’re done in just a couple of minutes. He hears the squeak of the bathroom door open, then Jaskier telling Ciri to sit in bed and not move her hands for at least the next thirty minutes (“Yes, alright, I’ll put some music on so you don’t get bored. But don’t you even think about touching your phone, you hear me?”), the light patter of feet as Ciri heads to her bedroom, and then the steady beat that Geralt recognizes as the first song of Ciri’s current favorite album.

The volume is set low enough that all he can has to hear through the door is the low pulse of the beat, not the grating high-pitched whine of the melody, and Geralt is reminded once again of just how lucky he is to have Jaskier.

Jaskier, who can paint nails like a beautician and talks to Ciri like she’s his own and knows Geralt better than anyone ever has.

(Geralt knows, has known for quite some time now, that he will marry this man. The question is only when, and how)

Jaskier comes into the bedroom with his lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. “Nails are done. You’re going to love the design she picked out, just you wait.”

Geralt is sure that he will, if and when she decides to show him.

“She’s going to show you, don’t worry,” Jaskier says, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. One of these days, Geralt is going to figure out how Jaskier seems to read his mind about these things. “Just wants to wait until it’s all dry and done.”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, taking Jaskier’s hand and staring at the bitten-down nail beds. Jaskier has beautiful, musician’s hands, strong but nimble, clearly as adept with a brush as with a lute. He’s never seen Jaskier’s nails painted before.

“Oh yeah, coming over to my boyfriend’s house and spending time with his daughter was a real hardship.” But Jaskier squeezes his hand in acknowledgment, and Geralt knows he understands. Ciri is the most important thing in his life, and what’s important to her is important to him. Even something as seemingly insignificant as nail polish.

“I didn’t know you could paint nails,” Geralt says, because otherwise he might ask Jaskier to marry him right here and now, and he deserves a better proposal than that.

“Oh, yeah, I used to do it all the time. Stopped in uni once I really got serious about the lute—kept chipping my polish and getting upset about it. Eventually I realized I’d be saving myself a lot of unnecessary stress if I just didn’t paint them in the first place.” There’s something wistful in his voice, though, that tells Geralt maybe Jaskier misses it more than he lets on. Sure enough, he continues, “I’m glad you asked me. It was nice, to paint somebody’s nails again.”

He sounds so happy about it, this one tiny little thing, and Geralt thinks, if one small bottle of paint can bring both his daughter and his boyfriend so much joy, maybe—

“You want to do mine, too?” he asks before he��s really even thought the words through in his head.

Jaskier’s grin is blinding. “Oh my god, yes! Do you even know how incredible you would look with nail polish? I would be honored to do your nails, darling. Come, come, I’m sure one of Ciri’s colors would look amazing on you. Come on.”

Not dissimilar to Ciri, Jaskier pulls him by the hand back to the bathroom with a skip in his step, chatting the whole way. Geralt doesn’t pay attention to the actual words, knows it’s mostly filler anyway, but lets the tone and cadence and familiar melody of Jaskier’s voice wash over him. He should ask Jaskier to move in with him, he thinks suddenly—there’s no other sound in the world he wants to hear after a long day at work, except maybe Ciri’s laugh.

“What do you want, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, pushing him to sit on the tub’s edge just as Ciri did. “Bright pink, perhaps?” Jaskier holds up what is indeed a bright pink nail polish bottle, and Geralt immediately shakes his head. Jaskier huffs, though he obviously expected that answer by the way his grin only grows wider.

“Lime green?” Jaskier’s whole face is alight with teasing mirth.

Geralt rolls his eyes. If he remembers correctly, there was some sort of blue among the colors, and they’re both aware that’s what he’s going for.

Jaskier picks up the bottle of white polish and puts it to the side immediately, not even having to ask. There’s a clear one that he sets aside as well. Then he taps his finger twice on the only remaining bottle, a bright cobalt blue.

“Blue, then?” Jaskier’s tone says it’s more a rhetorical question than a genuine one, so Geralt stays quiet and watches Jaskier prepare.

He shakes the bottle up and down several times before twisting it open, just as he did with Ciri’s purple, then dabs a drop onto his left thumb, right beside the large purple splotch from testing Ciri’s color earlier.

Something about it warms Geralt’s heart in a way he can’t explain.

“Color okay?” Jaskier asks, holding out his thumb for inspection.

Geralt runs a finger down the side of Jaskier’s proffered thumb, careful not to get too close to the polish, and nods. It looks good on him. Really, really good.

Jaskier takes one of his hands. “Ready?”

Geralt hums, unable to speak.

With practiced ease, Jaskier dips the brush in the bottle, dabs away the excess paint on the rim, and brings it toward his hand.

Geralt’s throat tightens, and the ghost of a once-familiar panic wells up in his chest. The idea was a good one in theory, a great one, even, on Jaskier, but on him it’s—

He draws his hand back before he can stop himself.

It’s—there’s—he can’t—

He hopes desperately this is one of those times when Jaskier can just read his mind.

“Do you want me to start with your toes instead?” Jaskier asks softly.

Geralt lets out a shaky breath, unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. He should be better than this. What must Jaskier think, Jaskier who has never shied away from anything he wants, never thought for one moment to be anything other than himself, who lives and loves with his whole heart and paints his thumb without a second thought just to make sure the color is—

“Darling, come back to me,” Jaskier says, still in that soft voice. Geralt blinks, tells his brain to shut up, and looks at Jaskier. “There you are.” Every bit of teasing amusement is gone from Jaskier’s face, leaving behind nothing but kind, achingly kind sincerity. “I can start with your toes, if you want. Or we don’t have to do this at all. It was just a silly idea, there’s no pressure here. Nail polish isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay.”

There’s no judgment in Jaskier’s tone, in his expression, and Geralt knows that if he shakes his head now then they can be cuddling on the bed with this whole moment behind them in under a minute. Jaskier won’t bring it up again unless he does first, and it’ll be something they can laugh about together some day in be future.

But. He looks at Jaskier’s thumb again, the two purple and blue spots, and wants.

“Toes,” he says firmly.

Jaskier smiles, tiny and proud. “Alright then. Here, put your foot in my lap, that’ll be easier.”

There’s something strangely intimate about the whole thing, as Jaskier dips the brush back in the bottle, again dabs away the excess on the rim, and paints a stripe right down the center of Geralt’s left big toe. And then again, and again. He watches Jaskier’s hands instead of the color blooming on his toes—it’s easier to keep himself calm that way, to remember that this is something he’s allowed to want and allowed to have, that no matter whether it looks good or hideously out of place amidst his pale skin and monochromatic style, no one will mock him for it.

Besides, looking at Jaskier isn’t exactly a hardship. He’s clearly good at this, his fingers deft and sure, never spilling even a drop onto Geralt’s skin. His tongue pokes out adorably between his teeth as he works, too, the way it usually only does when he’s several stanzas deep into a new composition, and Geralt finds it incredibly endearing that Jaskier is taking this as seriously as he does his songwriting.

“All done,” Jaskier says sooner than he expects, moving Geralt’s feet from his lap to rest on the tiled floor.

Geralt looks down, finally, and his heart skips a beat. He can’t put a name to what he feels, looking at the little pops of color and realizing it’s him, those are his toes, delicately painted like he’s something precious. Something beautiful.

“You like?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can only nod, overwhelmed.

He likes. He really, really likes.

“I’m glad,” Jaskier says, and it’s gentle. He understands, Geralt is sure. Probably understands better than Geralt does, but as always, he’ll wait patiently for when Geralt catches up. “Alright, let me put on the top coat then.”

Geralt hasn’t the slightest idea what a top coat is or does, but watches Jaskier paint over the color with the bottle of clear polish and assumes it’s important.

“Fingers too?” Jaskier asks him when that’s done. It’s patient and level, noncommittal in a way that says as clearly as if he’d used the words, only if you want.

There’s a part of Geralt, one that’s only grown larger in the last twenty minutes, that wants to say yes, but he shakes his head. He isn’t ready for that yet, not quite.

“Thank you,” he says as Jaskier accepts that with a murmured okay and starts to put everything away. He can’t stop staring at his toes, flexing them a little to see the way the color catches the light. It’s—yeah. There’s a wetness building behind his eyes that he doesn’t understand, and something swirling in his stomach that he isn’t ready to name, but he knows that as always it’s Jaskier who brought him to this moment, led him to water like a horse and very gently suggested he take a drink.

“Of course, darling.”

It settles over him differently, today, the darling that’s been Jaskier’s favorite endearment for him ever since the beginning.

Geralt stands from the tub, walks the three steps over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall by the sink, and lets himself look.

He’s the same and he’s different.

“Jask—” he stops. Even though he knows what Jaskier will say, asking takes a different kind of strength.

Jaskier lets the silence hang for a few seconds, but when it becomes clear that Geralt won’t find the words himself, he drapes himself over Geralt’s back, arms settling over his chest, and meets Geralt’s eyes in the mirror.

“Beautiful,” he says with a kiss to the shell of Geralt’s ear. “My handsome, beautiful man.”

Geralt looks at his blue-painted toes, and smiles.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt & ciri #*fic #*writing

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silentcrowsilentravens · 2 years

Text

An alternative version to Mirander's section of this post with a happier ending.

Mother Miranda’s s/o surviving a near-death experience.

(Gender neutral).

Warnings: blood and referenced violence.

Masterlists here!

The quiet in the village is unsettling. It beckons you towards a welcoming grave, but you refuse to acknowledge its call. You continue to cling to consciousness with every ounce of strength you have left.

Red is blossoming across your top.

Your ears are still ringing from the gunshot.

The culprit has run off with your Lei, which you had given him when he demanded it!

Moving hurts.

Breathing hurts.

There isn’t much you can do aside from weakly call out, hoping someone will wander close enough to hear you.

Miranda is struggling to focus. She stares at the papers in front of her, their words not sticking and her thoughts drowned out by the ticking of the damned clock.

…You’ve been gone for a while now. It never takes you this long to finish a single errand.

More minutes pass by.

Did something happen to you?

The cold bite of the snow has long since rendered the backs of your legs numb. You haven't got a clue how long you've been sitting against this wall. You've been too busy drifting in and out of consciousness to keep track of time.

"Can …ou… ear… me?"

Barely. Just barely, your ears pick up a voice. You can't make out a word. Can’t place it. Can’t process it.

A shadow falls over you.

"...ry to sa… om… ing?"

What?

"...an y… hea… me?"

You try to speak, but you can't. All that comes out is a groan.

Are you being moved? The pain is somehow getting worse.

"Mother Miranda?"

Not now. She doesn't have time for this.

"Mother Miranda!" A man rushes over, dropping to his knees and practically kissing the ground, "I apologize for bothering you, but it's urgent! I have brought a dying person into my home!"

Miranda pauses.

"I don't know what to do… Please, could you be so gracious as to help?"

"This individual," she says, "what are they wearing?"

The man blinks at her, then hastily describes the exact outfit you left in.

Without another word, without wasting another second, Miranda enters the man's house.

"In the den!" he says, trailing behind her. "To the right!"

You're laid across a battered couch. There's been a clear attempt to staunch your bleeding. You seem practically lifeless.

Not again.

Miranda scoops you up and gets you back home, where you can be properly treated.

She works as fast as she can to save you.

She can't lose you too. She can't.

Things aren't looking good.

Not again.

…

Cool fingers brush against your cheek.

“...Darling?”

The dim room seems far too bright. Your eyes struggle to focus.

Your surroundings are familiar.

The figure hovering over you is even more so.

Pale blonde hair.

Light eyes.

Full lips, ever so slightly downturned.

“Hi, pretty bird…” you greet hoarsely.

Miranda lets out a sigh, somewhere between relieved and half-heartedly annoyed at the nickname.

"M'sorry. Never ended up getting what you asked me to."

"Forget about that." Miranda did. She was too busy worrying about you. "Tell me who did this."

"I don't know his name."

"Then give me a description so that I can find him and make him regret ever laying a finger on you."

Your Miranda…

She is hardly ever one to let things go. Even if you fail to provide an answer, you don’t doubt that she’ll find a way to track him down anyway. Might as well not draw out the process. You give her as many details as you can.

She hums, then leans down to press a kiss upon your forehead. "Rest. I shall be back soon."

#x reader #gender neutral insert #resident evil x reader #resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #mother miranda #resident evil village

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yoditopascal · 11 months

Text

Heat of the Moment (Part Four)

summary: ‘Adopted daughter to police chief Jim Hopper, Shea has a hard enough time fitting in at Hawkins high, throw in monsters, meddling kids, and alternate dimensions into the mix and she’s not sure how she’ll survive.’

content warning: some angst, character deaths, period-typical racism, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence, possible smut later on??? (honestly we’ll see), cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug use, this is a reader insert but I hate using y/n so your nickname is ‘Shea’

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

Vecna's Curse

Unfortunately for the group Steve and Robin still had to work so they collectively decided, meaning fought over with rock paper scissors, to wait till their shift was over to go to Rick’s place

“What’s the deal with you and Eddie by the way?” Dustin asked as they munched on some fries in the parking lot on the roof of Shea’s car. It was a little past 6pm and they were still waiting on Robin and Steve to get off work so they decided to grab a snack to pass the time. Max was sitting on the hood with her headphones over her ears blasting Kate Bush as they conversed.

“What do you mean?”

“ I mean I’ve barely seen you guys even interact with each other let alone hang out and now he’s all asking about you at lunch and stuff?” Dustin said as he dipped his fries into a huge glob of ketchup and shoved them in his mouth, waiting for Shea’s response

“He was asking about me?” She could feel her cheeks heat up a bit as she answered his question with a question.

“Yeah like a lot, it’s pretty gross” Dustin scoffed as he scrunched up his face at her

“We’re just friends” she retorted a little too quickly for Dustin’s liking but the teen decided to leave well enough alone and went back to his fries

Finally, off of work, it was well past 10 pm when the five of them piled up into Shea’s car and headed over to the Lipton residence on Holland road.

The street ahead was pitch black save for the few lights that shown through the trees from their headlights. Pulling into the dark driveway Dustin was the first to bounce out of the car with his flashlight and race up to the front door ringing the doorbell over and over again waiting impatiently as no one answered

“Guys I don’t think he’s here,” Steve said walking up behind Dustin, he put a hand on his shoulder and tried to steer him towards the car but was shrugged off.

“Eddie! It’s Dustin! We just wanna talk!”

Stepping outta the car with their own flashlights Max Robin and Shea walked around the seemingly empty house, peeking into the windows with their lights as they walked before coming back to the front door where Dustin continued to beat on.

“We just wanna help!” He pleaded as he kept up his tirade on the front door

“Reefer Rick!” Dustin tried one last time

“Dude! Don’t shout that!” Robin shushed him

“There’s no one here man!” Steve shouted tired of Dustin and his pounding already, he was seriously starting to get a headache now with all this Eddie business.

“Hey guys?” Max called from a little ways off from the group.

Turning their attention to her they realized she was shining her light at the boathouse off to the side of the home that had a light on for some reason.

The group slowly approached the boathouse, shining their lights into the windows as they neared, trying to get a decent look inside. When they couldn’t see past the dust and cobwebs that cover them Steve pushed the girls back behind him as he and Dustin entered into the unlocked boathouse first.

It was dark and damp inside the boathouse with nautical equipment decorating the floor and walls

“Hello? Robin called “Anyone home?”

No one answered as the group continued to look around, searching for any type of clue that Eddie might have been there.

A big thud cause everyone to jump as they all turned their flashlights towards the sound and found Steve poking at the large tarp that covered the boat in the center with an oar.

“What are you doing?” Dustin asked, scared half to death

“He might be in there,” Steve said as he continued to poke and prod at the tarp

“So why are you beating it?!” Shea whisper shouted not wanting to scare whoever could possibly be under the tarp off

“It could not be him!” Steve whisper shouted back

“Dude just take the tarp off!” Dustin whispered as he walked up to the other side Steve watching him continue to poke the tarp tiredly.

“If you’re so brave you take the tarp off!”

Just as Shea was about to make another remark the tarp went flying as Eddie jumped to his feet from underneath. Broken bottle in hand he backed Steve up into the wall with the glass at his throat.

“Wait wait wait!” Steve cried his hands in the air in surrender.

“Whoa, Eddie stop!” Dustin cried his hands up in defense from behind Shea. She had instinctively placed herself between him and Eddie before she realized who it was.

“Eddie! It’s me! It’s Dustin!” Dustin tried to reason. “This is Steve!” He said realizing that Eddie probably had no idea who Steve was.

“Steve’s not gonna hurt you, Eddie! Tell him, Steve!”

“Right, yep I’m cool man,” Steve said as he swallowed thickly

“Eddie why don’t you drop the bottle and we can talk about this ok?” Shea said finally drawing his attention away from Steve for a split second as he just realized she was there.

“W-what are you guys doing here?” He asked as his voice trembled, his grip on the bottle tightening as Steve flinched.

“We’re looking for you!” Dustin cried again stepping around Shea to get closer to his friend

“We’re here to help Eddie!” Shea said, putting her hand on Dustin's shoulder to stop him.

“These are our friends,” Dustin said pointing to Robin and Max who stood stock still behind them.

“You know Robin from band, the is my friend Max the one who never wants to play dnd”

“You know me, Eddie,” Shea said approaching him with her hands out, she gently placed a hand on his holding the broken beer bottle “Please Eddie it’s ok”

“I swear on my mother! We’re on your side! Right guys?”

“Yes we swear!”

“Y-yeah on Dustin’s mother!”

“Eddie” Shea called one last time, her grip on his hand tightened softly enough to let him know she wanted him to let go but not hard enough to hurt him. Looking into her eyes he searched for any hint that this was a trick, any hint that the minute he let Steve go she’d turn him over to the cops but the longer he looked into her eyes the more he realized she was being genuine.

With a shaky sigh, Eddie pushed himself off Steve and dropped the bottle

“Oh thank Christ you’re ok!” Shea cried as she went to pull him into a tight hug once he dropped the bottle. Eddie flinched at the contact at first, still terrified after everything he’s been through but eventually, he slowly returned the hug before he slouched down to his knees on the floor with Shea seated beside him.

“We wanna know what happened,” Dustin says as he kneels down in front of Eddie

“You won’t believe me” he sniffled

“Try us” Max said causing Eddie to look up at her before he sighed.

Rubbing his face with his hand Eddie spent the next few minutes trying his best to describe exactly what had happened at his place as Shea gently held his hand in hers, rubbing it with her thumbs trying to soothe him as he spoke.

“Her body just like lifted into the air and uh, she just hung there and her bones god her bones just started to snap!” He cried rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“H-her eyes it’s like there was s-something in her head pulling them.” He sniffed, refusing to meet any of the party’s eyes.

“I-I didn’t know what to do so I- I ran”

“I tried to wake her but I-it was like she was in a trance or something”

“Or under a spell,” Dustin added

“A curse…” Eddie added on further completely mystified at the idea that this was all really happening

“Vecna’s curse…” Dustin said somberly as if just realizing something.

“Fuck you guys think I’m crazy.” Eddie sighed as he came to the end of his explanation shaking his head as he looked back down at the floor.

“You’re not crazy Eddie, far from it” Shea tried to reason with him but Eddie just snatched his hand from hers and shook his head again.

“Don’t bullshit me, man! I know how this sounds.” He screamed visibly shaking now. He knew how this sounded to any sane person, hell if he had heard something like this he’d personally be high tailing it outta there ready to send the guy on a one-way trip to Pennhurst.

“We’re not! We believe you!” Dustin reiterated as he tried to calm his friend. He reached out to touch his hand but Eddie flinched away, saddening the teen as he did so.

“Look what I’m about to tell you might be a little …difficult to take in.” Eddie looked at Dustin like he was crazy but slowly nodded his head anyways.

“You know how people say Hawkins is cursed?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not..way off”

The group all takes a seat surrounding Eddie as they begin to explain to him about El and the upside down and everything that’s been going on in Hawkins since the beginning.

It was nearing 1 am when the group decided it was time they left so that their parents didn’t go out looking for any of them. Shea was skeptical about leaving Eddie behind again, offering to let him stay at her place once again, but with the cops now involved everyone thought it best to let him stay where he was.

“Don’t worry Hops I’ll be ok” he said holding her hands as the rest of the group began leaving the boathouse. Trying to reassure both her and himself.

“Are you sure? I can stay with you” she asked as her thumb rubbed over his pig ring. She looked down t the ground before looking back up at his face searching his eyes but he looked away from her putting his other hand over hers before letting her go.

“Nah you have work in the morning I’ll be fine” Shea looked back at him one last time before she walked out the door, Eddie watching her through one of the boathouse windows. He watched her as she went to open the back door but was stopped by Steve.

“Can we talk for a minute?” Steve asks pulling Shea to the side, closing the car door behind them

“What’s up, Harrington?” She sighed, she was still pretty irritated with him and didn’t really want to hear what he had to say.

“When Eddie had that bottle at my neck…for a split second my whole life flashed before my eyes and I thought I was gonna die with you still mad at me over something stupid.” He sighed

“Look Shea I’m really sorry ok? I was outta line-“

“No I uh I get it Steve,” she said pushing her hair from her face. “the whole Billy thing I get it you’re just being…well you” She sighed again, really what more could she expect from Steve Harrington?

“You’re like the brother I never knew I needed.”

“Someone’s gotta look out for you shithead” he chuckled as he grabbed her shoulder reassuringly and pulled her under his arm in a side hug

“So we’re still cool?” He asked.

“Like the other side of the pillow Harrington”

She says pulling him into a tight hug.

From the window of the boathouse Eddie could see her wrap her arms around Harrington and he could feel a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach watching them.

tag list: @imatrisk @spoonflix @elitesanjisimp @sadbitchfangirl

#heat of the moment masterlist #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x black reader #eddie munson x black!reader #heat of the moment

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 1 year

Note

You know the part where bb is helping H shave and she’s scared she’ll hurt him and says something like what if you bleed or sm and he simply says You lick it off like a vampire, what if after she knows about all the vampire stuff she’s reminds him of it and he’s like yeah I’ve given you a lot of hints but you were too blinded by my dick.. I can fully see her be ready to fight but also wanting to hear about all the other hints that she’s so obviously missed.

Pls she’d be so pissed that she missed it

“I was playing Blue’s Clues, but you were too busy sitting on my dick to notice.”

“That’s not fair! It’s not like it’s common knowledge that vampires exist!”

“I have a locked storage room you’ve never been in.”

“I was respecting your privacy!”

“All those times I opened the car door for you and got to the other side faster than humanly possible?”

“You said you did track when you were younger!”

“My preference for extra rare meat.”

“Weird, but passable.”

“I’m freezing cold to the touch.”

“You said you were anemic.”

“I literally don’t have a heartbeat.”

“Okay, well, no one actively listens to people’s heartbeats so how was I supposed to notice?”

“Your grandmother’s iron necklace burned me.”

“You said you cramped.”

“That comment I made when you were helping me shave and said you were scared to cut me? ‘Lick it off like a vampire.’ And that time you said, ‘bite me’ and I responded with, ‘don’t I always?’ When I told you I could be a very compelling person.”

“I thought they were just jokes!”

“It’s a miracle you survived on your own in the city for 2 months. You’re so gullible, it’s actually cute.”

#ysijwa!ask

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lavenderjewels · 5 months

Text

Read the unofficial translated JJK 244 chapter because im procrastinating on homework, so thoughts below

Liked this chapter! It was wordy and explained some of the things we already knew or are kind of moot points, but I appreciate a chapter of characters interacting and being smart (ish) about what to do with sukuna and kenjaku. And the characters looked SO cute this chapter

Miwa’s comically big eyes are hilarious

Kamo is out of the picture, which makes sense. I’m not sure who else will be involved or leave. Despite what Kusakabe said about sending Miwa to her death alone if she goes first, her vow is limited to katanas, so I can see her using another weapon and joining the fight. Love kamo, but out of all the Kyoto kids, he’s always been the one I can 100% see leaving for family reasons, but I can see Miwa staying as a person who “thinks she doesn’t care about dying” or on the bench. Tbh I would rather have her deal with the aftermath of whatever Kenjaku had a backup plan for, since her revenge failed. It would be neat since she brought that up again this chapter. Do I know how she could help? No, but im not the writer so who cares

I do think everyone has been constantly underestimating Kenjaku at every turn in this series. Sukuna is such a presence and Kenjaku flies under the radar, so they make their death and the possible merger seem too simple

For the others, I can see Momo maybe leaving too, but if Miwa stays, I don’t think she’ll leave and she can be good for scouting like Mei Mei. Mei Mei is absolutely staying, same with Ui Ui, Choso, Shoko, Maki, Ino (imo). Not sure about Inumaki since I don’t know if he already did something with Yuuta. There’s no way panda could survive, but idk if he’d leave. I would say Hana would help, but somehow I feel like Angel could stop her, since she was the one that said Hana can’t fight. I don’t think they’ll leave unless Sukuna is dead (Angel) and Megumi gets help/dies (Hana) either way. NO clue about Kusakabe or Utahime joining any fight

Strange that I couldn’t find Utahime among people in this crowd too. Is this taking place around the start of the Gojo fight because it seems like it, so maybe she was preparing for that with Gakuganji and Gojo.

I’m still so stuck on the fact that Todo is completely gone for zero apparent reason. He doesn’t even use his technique on special grades, so even though he wouldn’t be much help here, he’s still incredibly strong and with his personality, its weird he’s not butting into these conversations. I just want to know the excuse that gege ends up giving for this. If it’s because he’s now besties with Nobara and they’re training together, all will be forgiven ✨

OKAY SO. Kamo and Choso training yuuji! Good chance that this is going with the implication that yuuji ate his brothers and got some blood manipulation from it. I already thought this was the likely case, although I also think Yuuji has a thing with souls (whether that’s related to that scene that made it seem like he switched bodies with kusakabe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯).

Choso’s face when Yuuji said he was a bad teacher was adorable. One of the issues with these flashbacks after a time skip is that I wish we had more of these natural character moments, but it’s instead all plot-relevant to the scene it’s flashing forward to.

I’ve talked about this before, but I like the idea that if yuuji is getting a power up, then it’s as a result of his treatment as a vessel/cage that he can then turn on the people that have mistreated him. Hope im phrasing this right, but that would be more meaningful than suddenly becoming as strong as sukuna with his powers.

Continuing with that, I don’t think Yuuji just becoming Gojo’s successor in matching in strength like Yuuta is the way this is going, or would be a good way to go. I like the idea that he has to be smart about this fight and it’ll likely involve something with the soul. Having overwhelming power does get boring sometimes and it can lead to fights like the Sukuna and Gojo having to work around explaining how an overpowered character loses a battle of strength. This fight already has more strategy and stakes, which is a plus

Even outside of that, pure strength is not everything and Gojo has always represented that. While his desire to raise allies and those with potential to surpass him is nice, that’s not some perfect solution and doesn’t really change things. It’s very in character for Gojo, but I hope this series does more than just ending it with the villains gone and all the main characters in power and overpowered, while nothing actually gets addressed (if this makes sense lol). It kind of reminds me of when Gojo told Gakuganji things would be better if he ran the circle of higher ups, like nice sentiment but a small and ineffective bandaid onto these bigger problems. It’s why I like Yuki a little more of Maki’s destruction of her clan. I’m just rambling at this point, but yeah im just interested in seeing how this story resolves its themes—with the younger generation and whatnot—and if it’ll lean into tragedy or hope (or will be more generic “yay defeated the villains so who cares about everything else!” Ending).

However, power ups can coincide with or represent character development, like with Gojo and Maki’s enlightenment. It’s just not necessary to be a good character and I’ll always be a fan of how “weak” Yuuji has been in comparison over this series no matter where his character ends up.

Good on Yuuji for being the one to introduce the retrial!! And I just love Higuruma and watching him go on these lawyer tangents while Yuuji and Miwa and listening, but confused.

Sukuna being stuck in court on trial for the devastation he’s brought is genuinely one of the funniest sights to see in all of JJK. And in his original form

I need this trial to lead into sukuna backstory and Heian era flashbacks. Only asking gege for this and nobara,, please

#idk how I wrote so much. the power of procrastinating #jjk leaks #jjk 244 #jjk spoilers #I’ll reread the official when it comes out since this was a chapter of explanations

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rubythecrimsonwriter · 9 months

Text

ATC rewrite part 1 outline

The vote was 6-2 in favor of sharing, not counting my vote, so it's under a readmore for those who want to wait until I've finished the first chapter.

My outlines vary from story to story and they're usually quite odd, and take more of a condensed story format than a traditional outline with the bullet points and such. This truly is an outline. It reads like a story. I've embellished on parts that I currently have, glossed over the parts that I don't but know they need to be there.

For those who are new, or followed me from Flipping Legacies and never realized I wrote for other fandoms: Percy Jackson was my first fandom. I started All Together, Cousins in 2013, wrote about 80K words for it in two years, got burned out big time for Percy Jackson stuff. Technically speaking I updated it in 2018, but I'd completely lost the plot of it and relied on subplots and characters to keep it moving and it just. Wasn't fun. And around the time I started Flipping Legacies (in 2020) I'd also taken a look at ATC and kind of. Winced. You can tell a 15 year old wrote it. Happy ten year anniversary, old friend, the fic that haunts me in the night--I'm finally back.

I love the premise of it, but it's kind of like a 1940s house. The walls are cracking, the wiring needs to be updated, the plumbing needs to not be lead. It needs some work. A lot of work. And here's the start of it.

🗲

Thalia’s ten and Jason’s two when she snatches him out of Hera’s grasp, threatens a goddess with grievous bodily harm and bloody revenge schemes and runs like the proverbial bat out of hell. She tires quickly. It’s winter. They’re two Big Three demigods. Cops are not kind to homeless people, shelters are not kind to kids, and the system is even crueler.

Luke Castellan is a blessing, and she thanks Hermes every damn day for him. He’s great at getting out of tight spots, talented with a sword, gentle with her brother, and willing to fight her over what’s best.

He’s been on his own for three years now. He knows what he’s doing a lot better than Thalia does, in terms of actual survival. They bunk down in one of his old hiding spots and gear up and she’s so exhausted that she falls asleep almost immediately, Jason sprawled across her chest.

Never again. She’ll never again let Hera get that close. The sight of her brother in that woman’s arms will haunt her for the rest of her life.

She urges Luke to move faster, the next day, to get them farther away from the Wolf House, and they have a screaming match about I want to be as far away from this place as possible and Let’s not fucking pass out about it, that does nobody any good! and also What if she tries to take him again and Well they’re gods, it’s not like physical distance means anything to them.

Jason isn’t happy about the loud noise of a fourteen year old boy and a daughter of thunder going at it. That’s finally what gets them to shut up. Every demigod she’s ever met has backed down immediately after watching her zap her surroundings when she gets frustrated.

Luke has rubber soles, a steel spine, and a golden heart. How lucky is she, that he’s the full range of conductivity?

The positive and the ground, and together they can move mountains—or make sure that one little boy is safe and happy as is possible for a son of Jupiter.

🗲

Thalia’s twelve and Jason’s just turned four when Luke goes into a cursed mansion and never comes out again.

She straps Jason to her chest and circles the burned out husk of the mansion for any sign, any clue, any remnant of her friend and partner in raising both Jason and hell. She searches the house, then starts working her way out steadily until its more than a mile from the mansion in all directions and she has to admit defeat.

Luke is gone. Luke is dead. He wanted to see his future and Thalia wishes futilely that she had argued more with him about it.

She clings to Jason and weeps bitter tears. Then she pulls herself together and marches on. Anywhere but here. Tennessee, she’s heard, is hot and muggy this time of year, but Thalia feels like she’ll never be warm again.

Meanwhile, Luke has the shield of aegis, a lot more issues with the gods, a golf club, and a blonde little girl terrified of spiders.

🗲

Thalia’s just turned thirteen and Jason’s still four when she snaps her gum obnoxiously and says to the cashier who asked her why she’s not in school, “I’m seventeen, I have a half day before I go to work, and he’s four, dipshit. Now pack it up, I haven’t got all day.”

Her heart thuds in her ears, but Disinterested Teenager is the name of the game, and she’s the godsdamn master of it. Thick eyeliner, chunky mascara, and fake piercings do the rest to convince them. They’ve played this game a thousand times.

Three Big Three kids in a corner store is too much temptation for the monsters, though, and that’s how she meets Sally Fucking Jackson, who’s clear-sighted in every sense of the word.

🗲

Sally is a badass—not a word that Thalia applies to just anyone. Thalia also can’t stand to be around her for too long, because the woman has sacrificed everything to try and raise her son safely.

Seeing herself reflected—mother and son, sister and brother, who would kill or die or be abused to keep him safe and happy and well—is an ache like the cold. And she wishes Beryl had tried.

Is it a crime, to wish that she’d had herself or a Sally to protect her? Thalia thinks not, but it hurts much worse than stealing. She giggles at Jason and Percy arguing over cookies, swiftly removes Jason from Percy when it becomes clear that two small, angry Big Three children wreak havoc on indoor plumbing and HVAC systems, and high tails it out of there with Jason in tow when Sally offers them a place to stay.

Luke survived two years with her and Jason. Sally has her own son to think about living for.

Her eyes burn. She takes a deep breath and marches on.

🗲

Thalia’s fifteen and Jason’s seven and Thalia needs all her fingers to count how many issues she’s got going on currently.

It’s the middle of summer and it’s hotter than Hades’s asscrack, so she thought, “oh hey, it’s not like we’re not already nomadic, let’s go north for the summer and see Yellowstone and such.”

Yellowstone was great. Grizzly bears hate everything pretty equally, but avoid Thalia and Jason like the plague. That means that grizzly bears will happily maul a monster and leave them be. Thalia would like to stay here forever, please and thank you.

But then there was the fucking Fury that chased them to (not quite) hell and back, and Thalia packed them up and ran so far that they wound up in the mountains before they stopped for breath, and then hung out with the Hyperborean giants for a while. Hot Furies and freezing Hyperborean giants don’t mix well, apparently. And then Thalia figured, well, if she was already on the mountains, might as well see what the West Coast has to offer them.

The Fury caught up to them right as they were crossing the Nevada/California border, and Thalia just wants to say that it’s completely ridiculous how hot Nevada is. No place needs to be that hot during the day and that cold at night. A week later and they’ve run so far west that Thalia can taste the salt from the ocean in the air.

They’re out of places for them to run.

Thalia has silver plated hunting knives, handles wrapped with shredded old tires and fabric cushioning the edges. She’s blasted the Fury back with lightning so many times her hair is permanently standing on end and her fingers tingle.

There’s a girl in a purple shirt on the edges of the fight. Her mouth is dropped open like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

Thalia has a few other things to worry about.

Then the girl comes back with more people in purple shirts and—and they’re armed. Armed with things that can actually hurt a monster.

The Fury shrieks and dives at them and the girl shouts, “Turtle formation!” and shields close around them on all sides.

What Thalia wouldn’t give for a shield. Or a proper weapon.

The Fury rakes its claws across the shields, clambers all over them like a really big, really weird looking lizard, and then almost gets skewered by a sword that pokes itself between a minuscule crack between the shields.

Thalia braces herself between Jason and the Fury, waiting for it to realize that there’s easier prey. Jason, weaponless, hugs her from behind and buries his face in her back.

She breathes deeply. She shivers in spite of the hot air—

A cold wind from the east. The Fury rises, sees them in the open, launches—

There’s a tendril that feels like lightning, a hot line of power. Her gut clenches. Jason shudders so hard he almost yanks her off her feet. The sky goes from blue to black and raging in an instant, and the thunderbolt that comes from the sky is as thick around as Thalia is, blinding and deafening everyone in the vicinity. The Fury vanishes in the lightning’s blaze, naught but golden dust and ash on the ground.

Thalia almost passes out. Her ears are ringing and she can barely see.

The girl in the purple shirt is very tall, Thalia thinks, before she realizes her knees have buckled under her and that the girl is probably a normal height. She’s saying something that Thalia can’t hear, but she can hear Jason yelling something indistinctly. She gropes around behind her, grabbing him.

“He’s my brother,” she says, loudly enough that she feels her own chest rumble. She might be too loud, but she’s guessing otherwise with how useless her own ears are. “He’s annoying but he’s my brother, don’t kill him.”

Jason socks her in the shoulder, so at least someone can hear something.

The girl says something, looking at Thalia. She thinks that the word take was somewhere in there, but reading lips has never been her forte. “You’re not taking him,” she says loudly. “I threatened to destroy Olympus the last time someone tried taking him from me, and I’m still not joking about that.”

“You did what,” was clearly audible, so that must have been screamed in her ear.

“Oh yes,” Thalia says with probably more satisfaction than is wise, considering Jason shaking her and the girl in the purple shirt looking at her with wide eyes. Her vision swims, but it’s been five years and the vicious satisfaction has not yet dimmed. “Dearly beloathed stepmother tried stealing you from mom. I fried her ass, grabbed you, told her if she tried that again I’d do my damnedest to bring Olympus to its knees, and ran. Haven’t seen her in five years.”

The girl, wide-eyed, brings both index fingers together parallel, and clearly says, “Both.”

Oh. Taking them both. That was fine. Nothing short of Tartarus could hold them captive together.

“That’s fine,” Thalia agrees, and immediately passes the fuck out.

🗲

Thalia wakes up with Jason on her right, looking like he’d been slapped with a live flounder while she was out, a blond man with a circular shield in front of them, and a pounding headache.

“Thals,” Jason whispers. “Can you hear me yet?”

She nods, moving her hand enough that he can feel it.

“Is there a monster that imitates dead people?”

What.

The blond in front of them—shielding them, in the most literal sense of the word—glances back just long enough to check on them and it’s long enough to see his profile and what the fuck.

“Luke?” she breathes, propping herself up on an elbow.

“What in the gods be damned Hades are you doing in California?” Luke hisses. “This place is like monster central, don’t you know better?”

“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice in the matter,” Thalia says dryly. “What are you doing alive?”

He glances back at them again, a crooked grin on his face. “You know me,” he says. “Always escaping by the skin of my teeth. Can we have this conversation later, without weird, culty demigods trying to grab you guys?”

Thalia looks up at the swirling clouds above them. She hates to admit it, but— “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Oh for—“ Luke exclaims. “Jason, buddy, hold this.” He unlatches the shield from his arm and passes it off to her brother. “You can terrify us with it later, until then, just keep pointing it at the purple people.” Then he reaches down and scoops her up with a huff of air. “You need to eat more,” Luke tells her as an aside. “Jason, north and east. I’ll follow.”

“Sorry I just spent the last two weeks fighting off a fucking Fury,” Thalia says sarcastically. “I shall endeavor to take a break and eat a hamburger every six to eight hours as my body demands—except wait, no, I can’t, because I have a literal demon from hell that wants to kill me because I had the audacity to be born.”

“You couldn’t have fried it before today?” Luke asks.

“You think I didn’t fry it like fifty times?” Thalia says. “You know, I know we’ve been apart for a couple of years because I thought you were dead, but I didn’t realize my temper was forgettable.”

Jason’s giggling in front of them.

“It’s really not,” Luke says, grinning. He looks back, even though Thalia can clearly see the purple people, as he called them, not following them. He sobers. “I looked for you.”

“I looked for your body,” Thalia says.

“I’m sorry.”

“Be sorrier.”

“Hey, who’s carrying who?”

“I fried a Fury. When you fry a Fury and don’t pass out, then you can talk.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. He sounds unimpressed, but she looks, and there’s both amusement and awe in his eyes. “I’ll take that under consideration. But really. I’m sorry. I knew that when I couldn’t find you, you’d think I was dead and I didn’t do more to let you know otherwise.”

Thalia wrestles with her temper and her hurt. “So why didn’t you?”

Luke shakes his head. “The explosion? Was my fault. It was the only way I could see myself getting out alive.”

Thalia remembers the old house suddenly exploding, going up like someone lit an entire matchbox on fire with Greek fire. There’s a certain shade of lime green that she hates to this day, and it’s entirely because of that.

“I got literally blown out of the house, managed to land in a dumpster and not on the metal roof next to it,” Luke continues. “Badly injured, vaguely flash fried, I’d broken my leg on the way out. I laid in the dumpster with some ambrosia trying get myself to heal for at least a day.”

Yikes. Big Yikes.

“By the time I managed to hobble out of the dumpster, our camp was gone. I went to the city to get some mortal bandages, trying not to burn myself out on ambrosia, and I went down an alleyway. There was a weird noise, and I wanted to investigate before I tried bunking down there for the night, and the next thing I know, there’s this little girl trying to take my kneecaps out with a hammer.”

Luke shakes his head, grinning to himself. “Her name’s Annabeth, she’s a daughter of Athena. She’s eight.”

What were the odds? Probably basically zero.

“What?” Thalia says.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Nuts, right? Pretty sure either Hermes or Athena—or both—were keeping her safe. I convinced her I wasn’t a monster and got her to travel with me. She’s strong, so it was tough while I healed.”

“And then, like six months later, Clarisse found us,” Luke says. “Daughter of Ares, also really strong. The three of us racked up almost as many as the three of us did.”

Thalia winces.

Luke goes quiet. “There’s a camp, in New York,” he says slowly, “specifically built to handle and protect demigods.”

Thalia lifts her head.

“They send out satyrs to try and find demigods before—well, before we get overrun by monsters. And the three of us, roaming around the New England area with a horde of monsters on our tails? It was enough to attract some attention, especially when we were in New York City. Clarisse...she didn’t make it. But Annabeth did.”

Thalia couldn’t breathe.

“She’s safe, back at camp.”

“What are you not saying?” Thalia demanded. “That’d be the first thing out of your mouth. Why would we not be safe?”

“There’s a pact that your dad made, way back after World War II,” Luke says. “No more kids from the Big Three. The crack that you made, about having the audacity of being born? He broke his oath. But he’s immortal, so you pay the price.”

Luke twitches a bit, so Thalia holds her breath until she doesn’t have enough air to be mad.

“The campers there haven’t seen a child of the Big Three ever. Chiron, the centaur who runs the place, hasn’t seen a child of the Big Three since World War II. You guys die too fast. And, even worse, there’s a prophecy about one turning sixteen and potentially destroying the world.”

“Luke,” Thalia says, very calmly. “I need you to put me down.”

Luke sets her on the ground with gratifying speed.

Thalia draws her hunting blades and stabbed them into the ground and made ladders of electricity between them to try and not send off stray pieces of lightning to everyone else around her.

Thalia rests her head against the humming pommels. “Two years ago, Jason and I were in a corner store in New York when monsters attacked.”

Luke stills.

“I’d kicked butt not an hour prior, but it turns out that three Big Three kids is too tantalizing a prospect.”

Luke gasps. “How—“

“Poseidon had a son with a badass woman,” Thalia laughs hollowly. “His taste in women is impeccable, I’ll give him that. Percy’s eight. Him and Jason almost blew out the plumbing in the building arguing over a cookie, so I knew we couldn’t stay.”

“You—I’ve never heard you describe someone as badass, much less a mortal,” Luke says.

Thalia—sighs. “Yeah. She’s sacrificed damn near everything to keep him safe. I can respect that.”

She hauls in a deep breath and forces herself standing. She sways, her vision swims a little, but worlds better than earlier. She pulls her knives out of the ground, cleans off the dirt, and sheathes them. Luke stands behind her, to the left, arms hovering.

Gods, she’s missed him.

“I’ve missed you,” she says. Like a phantom limb.

“I’m so glad you’re still okay,” Luke says.

🗲

Luke goes back to Camp Half-Blood, quest unfulfilled, and brings Annabeth out of the borders. Chiron and Grover come with them, and it’s a very nervous daughter and son of the sky god that they meet.

“Annabeth, Clarisse, Grover, the first bunch I ran herd on,” Luke says fondly, ruffling Jason’s hair. He pats the tree next to him. “Thalia, Jason, this is Clarisse, Annabeth, Grover, and Chiron.”

Annabeth scowls at Jason first, then Thalia. “I’m coming with you,” she announces.

Grover let out a quiet sound of horror. Which, fair. Cute kid, but Thalia had enough work with Jason, and she refuses to endanger a third strong demigod again.

“Um, no,” Luke says firmly, but gently. “You’re not coming with us.”

“You’re not coming with Jason and I, either,” Thalia says, cutting that off at the trunk.

Luke whirls around. “I just—“

“We had to watch you die once already,” Thalia says icily. Annabeth goes white. “Forgive me for not wanting to repeat the experience, with no guarantee that you’d appear out of nowhere three years later.” She tucks her brother closer to her. She softens, just a bit. “We’ll visit,” she promises.

“You would not stay?” Chiron asks.

Thalia glances at the demigods on the other side of the barrier. “Stay in one place that’s constantly watched by the gods. We’d be dead on the inside of a month. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.”

She sees the brief look of confusion on Chiron’s face and immediately glares at Luke. “You didn’t tell them?”

“It’s none of their business if you’re not going to stay anyway,” Luke says practically. “Annie knows. Clarisse didn’t. I’m pretty sure all they can smell is that you’re strong demigods, not your parentage.”

Thalia eyes them dubiously. “Thalia, daughter of Zeus,” she introduces herself shortly. “And my full-blooded brother, Jason. I’m fifteen and I threatened Hera with the end of Olympus five years ago if she tried taking him from me. I suddenly see why she took my threat seriously.”

Grover chokes on a laugh. Annabeth kicks him in the shin and scrutinizes Thalia. “The gods are better than the other options,” she says seriously. “But kicking them probably wouldn’t hurt. Much.”

Thalia grins at her. She looks at Luke. “You’re right, I like her.”

“So I can come with you,” Annabeth says confidently.

“No,” Thalia says. “But, even if me kicking them doesn’t work next year, I have a mission for you.”

Luke frowns at her in askance.

“In like, four to seven years, Beth, this will be very important, so listen carefully,” Thalia says slowly. “There will be a boy who comes to camp, probably beat to Hades and back and probably grieving. I need you to befriend him.”

Annabeth looks puzzled. Chiron looks politely confused. Grover looks utterly befuddled. Luke looks like she’d slapped him with a hagfish and then offered him some sunflowers: astonished, disgusted, and delighted, all at the same time. Jason starts laughing.

“Thals,” Luke says, obviously trying not to laugh.

Annabeth looks at Luke and then back at Thalia. “It would be a prank on them?”

“It would be a kick in the face,” Thalia corrects. “He’s nice. Perhaps a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he respects the women in his life.”

She considers this. “Four to seven years? I’d be twelve to fifteen?”

Thalia nods.

“Okay,” Annabeth decides. “If I don’t like him I can kick him though, right?”

“He’d probably deserve it,” Thalia agrees. “But don’t do it if he doesn’t deserve it.”

🗲

Thalia’s fifteen and Jason’s eight and they’re in Tennessee when an old dude named Fred approaches them. “That wasn’t very nice to set them up like that. Funny, though.”

Thalia glances to the side and sees the golden sunshine yellow of his iris. “They have a habit of setting us up to fulfill their rivalries. I’m just breaking the cycle.”

Jason peers around her from the other side to see who she’s talking to. He seems puzzled at who the stranger is, but cautiously says, “Hey, cousin.”

A hilariously safe bet.

Apollo seems to thinks so, too, because he guffaws once before he says hi back.

“But seriously, the kid’s got enough problems, you want to add to his list?” Apollo says.

“Luke was the best thing that ever happened to me, short of Jason,” Thalia says. “Someone who will argue with him rather than agreeing to everything will do them both a world of good.” She pauses. “I’m not the child of the prophecy. Am I.”

It’s not a question.

“You could be,” Apollo says finally. “Basically any time after you turn sixteen. But while some Old things are stirring, none of them are close to waking. There’s nothing happening that would aid you in Olympus’s fall, and nothing that would topple it that you’d be able to preserve.”

He pauses. “Between you and me?”

“And Jason,” Thalia says.

“And Jason,” Apollo agrees. “Prophecies can be fulfilled in a lot of odd ways. Ideas, you know, last beyond a mortal lifetime. Maybe you preemptively introducing that troublemaking pair will destroy an idea that Olympus holds sacred. Some things need to be changed, otherwise it will spell our end.”

Thalia glances at him and quirks a sarcastic smile. “Good thing I’m dyslexic.”

“Yes,” Apollo agrees, completely serious in the face of her joke. “Good thing that you are.”

She covers Jason’s eyes as Apollo goes supernova and they’re left alone in Nashville.

🗲

Jason’s eight and today is Thalia’s birthday, and Sally has taken the four of them out to a restaurant to celebrate when everything…

Well.

Thalia would say when everything goes to shit but it’s really when they reached the proverbial fork in the road. Or perhaps, when everything changes.

It starts with the restaurant’s door chiming open, with a woman’s gracious voice waving off the waitstaff saying, “My party is already here, thank you.” And she walks closer to them, a brown woman in a white business suit with a shirt that shimmers blue and green and purple. Her brown heels clack on the stone pavers that make up the floor.

She stops at their table and slides into the booth next to Thalia.

Across from her, Sally picks up her steak knife in a move that’s undeniably a threat. Thalia fucking loves her.

“Hera,” Thalia says evenly, making a show of going back to her menu. “I know immortals have a screwy sense of time, but I do believe you’ve managed to pick the worst possible time to have a confrontation. Congratulations. That takes some true talent.”

Hera reaches out and snags Sally’s menu that Sally is completely ignoring in favor of glaring metaphorical daggers at the goddess while threatening her with a steak knife. Thalia absently sends a prayer to both Apollo and Hermes. They both cover such a wide variety pack of stuff that one of them should cover badass but also kind and occasionally stupid mortals.

“On the contrary,” Hera says. “I believe this is the perfect time. We are constrained by polite society, so we must at least appear to get along.”

Thalia lowers the menu to look at Hera, and then swing her gaze at Sally. Hera lowers her stolen menu at the long look, and then sees the attempted threat. “Ah. Well. Some of us are constrained by polite society. I see that others don’t apply.”

Thalia takes a deep breath. It feels like it goes deeper than usual, somehow, like her guts have made way for her lungs. And, like magic, Thalia’s water tips over without anyone touching it and spills all over Hera.

Thalia hasn’t got a drop on her.

That—it felt like she did that, not Percy. Percy looks almost as startled as Thalia feels, safely sandwiched in between Sally, the table, and the wall. Hera makes a disgusted noise, taps her fingers along the menu, and the water vanishes. Thalia reaches out and rights the cup slowly.

“Lady, you’re probably the only one in polite society,” Thalia says bluntly. “Say your piece and get out.”

“Very well,” Hera says. “When I tried to take Jason six years ago, you told me that you would destroy Olympus if I succeeded to get him back. Does that still hold?”

“Yes,” Thalia snarls. Her fingers clench the menu in her hands and it feels like she’s holding onto a live wire now.

“Is that the only reason why you would even try?” Hera presses.

“Don’t fuck with me, Hera,” Thalia says. Her voice slides into a lower register that’s meant to be heard over a horde of monsters, but she still only speaks just above a whisper. “I have only ever wanted to be left alone by you people. Leave me and mine be and we won’t have an issue.”

“You and yours being?”

“The people at this table and Luke and his second family—Annabeth, Clarisse, Grover,” Thalia says. “Is that your game? You want to see who you can fuck over without me triggering the prophecy?”

Hera goes silent and Thalia knows she’s hit the nail on the head.

“You listen well, Hera, goddess of marriage,” Thalia says. “If I found out one of my people died because you’re so short sighted and possessive of a husband that has never and will never respect you, I will bring the prophecy down on all our heads, chop you into a gazillion pieces as Zeus did to Kronos, and toss you into Tartarus myself and let you rot with grandfather. If you insist on sharing his mental issues, you can share an unliving space with him as well.”

Hera’s jaw is clenched and her lips pursed together.

“How about,” Thalia continues, “you learn about this novel thing called communication, and possibly divorce. It’s the twenty first century, step mother, aunt, cunt, whatever you’d like me to call you. Women have rights, women have therapists, and women have divorce lawyers. Zeus was around for my childhood, I actually know the decrepit prick. I can’t imagine being around him for three thousand years and not straight up murdering him. If you have an issue with me besides me being born—which, I’ll remind you, I actually had no say in—not kidnapping my brother is a great way to start a conversation.”

Jason chokes on a laugh about reminding the goddess of marriage that she has no say in herself being born. Thalia silently tells him to shut the fuck up before Hera remembers his existence.

“The gods are not allowed—“

“Then it’s a great thing that you’ve never had demigod kids, so you can safely interact with demigods that are not your kids. Which is all of them.”

Thalia pauses. “Goodbye. I’m celebrating surviving to sixteen. You are not invited.” She waved down a server. “Could I get another water? I was really thirsty,” she says guilelessly.

Sally visibly swallows a laugh as Hera rises. Definitely not running from being threatened with more ice water on her suit. Nope. Definitely not.

“Your disrespect,” Hera says severely, “is only matched by your loyalty.”

And then she vanishes.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Thalia says brightly. “I want lad naa.”

Sally sets down the knife carefully and then rests her head on the table.

🗲

(the mental image is too funny: a pristine business woman, a teenager with the nineties grunge aesthetic, two eight year old boys, and a mom in mom clothing sit down in a Siam restaurant.)

🗲

It’s when Thalia delivers them all safely back to the Jacksons’ apartment that she asks Percy quietly, “The water spilling. Was that—?”

“It wasn’t me,” Percy says uncertainly. “I dunno. It didn’t feel like me.”

“It felt like I did it,” Thalia says. “But that’s not my power.”

“Maybe the air pushed it over,” Jason says.

Thalia pauses. The air is their domain. She doesn’t remember any weird gusts of wind, but she was also very focused on not frying someone and also making sure Hera didn’t do something stupid, like try kidnapping Jason. Again.

“Maybe,” she says. But she doubts it.

🗲

Thalia’s seventeen and Jason is nine when they see the Jacksons again, a whole year and a half later. They celebrate Percy’s tenth birthday in a cabin on Montauk, and while Thalia’s supervising the boys playing in the surf, she can hear...something. In the cabin.

Sally is taking a well-deserved nap, or she’s supposed to be. Instead, she sits on the bed and bows her head over a head of dark, curly hair, attached to a tanned man kneeling in front of her.

Thalia shuts the door again just as quickly and guns it.

Later, she thinks, and wonders—that’s real devotion she saw there. That was I missed you and come with me? and he is beautiful. She naps under the sea of stars, one boy under each arm, and she can rest easy knowing that neither can be stolen away without her knowing immediately.

There’s a shush of displaced sand, and Percy shifts under her arm, and she cracks an eye open. She assumes its Sally, but its Poseidon, who rests a large hand on Percy’s forehead and looks awed and wistful.

He sees that she’s awake, a split second after she’s seen the heartache and longing on his face, and smiles at her ruefully. Thank you, he mouths, and dissolves into a salty sea breeze.

🗲

There’s an entire pack of hellhounds to deal with in the morning. Thalia picks Jason up with one arm and Percy with the other and hurls them both into the shack calling itself a cabin with Sally.

There’s a lot of yelling about her decision, but Percy has never been trained, Sally is a mortal, and Jason is nine. She can do this.

She can do this, right?

She draws her hunting knives and her power up from her gut and they crackle with lightning immediately.

Thalia gives them the run around, around and around and around the beach and over and behind the shack and into the surf. She’s dusted four already, starting to drag a little with the many scrapes and scratches and near misses that she’s acquired, and regrets taking off her leather jacket. She stabs another and somersaults off a dissolving back into the surf.

She hoists herself to her feet, ankle deep in the lapping waves. She sets her jaw, takes a deep breath, and braces herself. Another three. She can do three hellhounds. She’s done three hellhounds before.

Thalia almost has her feet knocked out from under her by the three-foot-high waves. The air has become dim and gray, and smells of ozone. She risks a glance away from the hellhounds to the sky and—

That’s a hurricane.

That’s impossible. Sally checked the forecast before they left for Montauk, there wasn’t a hurricane within a week’s hurricane travel time, and no potentials out in the Atlantic near New York, either.

Did she—?

Thalia checks in with herself and no, she’s not nearly as tired as she would be to make an entire hurricane so she couldn’t have done it but Percy?

Percy’s ten, and in danger, and aware of who he is, and the son of the Stormbringer, and with a distressed son of the sky. They could have done it.

Maybe. Does Jason even know what a hurricane is? Thalia’s steered them away from the eastern and southern coasts during summer and fall for a reason.

The hellhounds attack, and there’s no more time to think about it.

Thalia whirls out of the way of the first, stabbing her knife into its flank on the way by, blasts the second back with a string of lightning, and would have been eaten by the third if a rouge wave hadn’t scooped her up bodily and flung her clear.

Water doesn’t behave like that, Thalia thinks, crashing back into the surf. She sucks in a lungful of seawater, coughs it back up, and staggers to her feet. She goes down on one knee and braces herself when she sees the charging hellhound and lets it impale itself on her knife. It bursts into dust and whirls away on the rising winds.

She rolls to the left, out of the surf, to escape the other two bearing down on her. She jumps, and the wind gives her a boost, and she flips neatly over the first hellhound and stabs downward at the second hellhound’s skull with the full force of her entire self falling through the air and almost beheads the monster. She lands, tucking the knives out to the side and somersaults on the landing through the monster dust and pops back to her feet to see the final hellhound has managed to turn on a dime and is going to flatten her.

It does. One paw lands on her chest, the size of a dinner plate, and bowls her back into the sand. The breath wuffs out of her, and she scrabbles to bring to bear her knives—

The world goes white.

She’s—alive?

Yes. She’s in the water. The white is hundreds of thousands of bubbles in the wave that just tried to crush both her and the hellhound both. She can see the black mass, now, that she assumes is the hellhound, writhing in the waters about four yards off to her left.

Follow the bubbles. The surface is only a few feet above her head, thank you, Poseidon, and she swims up and gasps for air and tries to look around. The sound is choppy, gray and violent with the sudden hurricane whipping everything into a froth.

She’s hundreds of yards from shore.

Thalia swears loudly enough that she’s sure the boys can hear her from here. Lightning flashes overhead to punctuate it.

What happened? Was there a storm surge and then a riptide? She couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, if she was out at all!

Teeth sink into her leg and she’s dragged down again.

The hellhound is terrifyingly adept at swimming in the water. Thalia is a good enough swimmer to keep her head above water and get back to dry land, and not much else. Practicing surviving the water more than was absolutely necessary seemed foolish, given that one uncle already hated her guts. She was not about to try to piss off the other one, as well. She’d only let Jason play in the surf if Percy was also there.

Thalia was not above holding his son metaphorically hostage if it meant Poseidon would play nice with her brother.

It makes passes at Thalia in the water, darting in to claw or bite at her and darting away before Thalia can get a good hit in. She’s slow in the water, from both the resistance of the water and from the lack of air.

Out, out, I need to get OUT OF HERE—

There’s something wrong at the surface.

It looks wild from down below, but Thalia needs air and she’s not aware of any monsters that like hanging out in the air in a hurricane, so she swims for the surface.

Oh look, she deadpans to herself. A waterspout. Just what I need.

Hurricanes spawn tornadoes frequently, this should not be a shock. But she needed a way out, and a waterspout would, in fact, get her out of the water, and also probably slice her to pieces.

Hmm.

She dives back under the waves, gets whirled around a couple times by a wave cycle, and finally spots the hellhound. It sees her about the same time.

Thalia, thinking, what the HELL am I doing? swims towards the waterspout. She swims as fast as she can towards the waterspout that’s probably only thirty feet away, but feels like a mile.

The hellhound is on her before she can believe it, and she grabs it by the chest fur, ducking under the dangerous teeth, hauls herself close, and swings around, hoping that her own momentum would do what she hoped. It did, it reversed them, so that the hellhound was closer to the surface than she was, and then Thalia braced both feet against its chest and blasted it back with a plume of bubbles.

My superpower, Thalia thinks, amused, bubbles.

Straight into the vortex it goes, and up, and up—

Thalia surfaces ten feet away, swimming backwards, and watches the hellhound get sucked more than thirty feet up before it dissolves into golden dust. She breathes out a sigh of relief. The waterspout dissolves just as quickly as it formed.

Can’t believe that worked, she thinks, and starts swimming to shore.

There’s a lot of yelling. And nobody can agree on who made the hurricane, or the waterspout, or the weird waves, but they’re all tired as Hades.

🗲

Thalia is eighteen and Jason is eleven and the world almost ended. It’s June 24th, mere days before Jason turns twelve, three days after Percy pulled some seriously stupid stunts for a month and then vanished again, and Thalia found out that he, Annabeth, and Grover found Zeus’s zappy wand and returned it in the nick of time before all out war broke out.

She and Jason storm Camp Half-Blood. There’s a lot of yelling involved, and some blood, and some swords stuck in places they should not be stuck. Luke pulls her off to the side and she has both hands wrapped around the edges of his breastplate because otherwise they’ll shake and she’s whispering, “What the fuck, Luke. He’s twelve. Why—How—?” over and over again into his collarbone.

“Thals,” he says, chuckling, wrapping her in a hug. “Those three are going to take over the world, and the world will be gladder for it.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” she says.

“I think world domination would be a self-directed and mostly accidental task, actually,” Luke says thoughtfully, and its such a ludicrous statement that Thalia falls into hysterical laughter.