#she told you she was a prophet

[eimearkuopio]

You live in a big fancy manor house owned by a rich man who runs a lot of the village. Never mind how he acquired that wealth, or whether he is a just lord. That part of the story doesn't matter right now.

He left his servants and his children in charge while he stepped out for a bit. The children decided it would be fun to throw a rager, and went around inviting everyone in the village. Some people wanted to join in. Some people felt like they had to because the local lord's children were insisting. Some people got straight-up kidnapped out their own fucking homes and dragged to some stupid party they didn't even want to go to.

And some people really shouldn't have been invited in the first place, but that's what happens when you decide to "get wild".

Things got out of hand. You got your first taste of freedom, and it was sweet until it turned bitter.

Luckily for you, I live in the next town over, and one of my kids ended up at your party. She had the common sense to get in touch, in spite of all the older kids yelling at her and telling her it was a bad idea and you would all get in trouble.

And now, I'm here.

Think of me as your slightly weird aunt. Your dad doesn't approve. We have different parenting styles, and sometimes I'm more liberal, and sometimes He is, but we both love your whole generation of tiny dumbasses.

Admittedly, I love my tiny dumbass more than I love His tiny dumbasses, but I do still love you.

You've trashed the place. Maybe you didn't think that would happen. Maybe you thought the House Rules would keep the party from devolving into chaos.

Step one is getting rid of the ones who shouldn't be here. Anyone who wants to leave, LET THEM. It's not their job to clean up your mess. Some of them have homes to go to! Anyone who wants to help out, you owe them one. You're scared of how they might leverage it? Too bad, shouldn't have thrown a rager. Anyone you think it might be a good idea to get rid of anyway... Make your own call and accept the consequences, or feel free to ask me. I might not get it right, but I have better odds than most of you kids. (The kid who called me is sticking around. You owe her big time, but you don't need to be worried that she'll be in trouble when it's time for her to come home. If she hadn't managed to overcome the terror you instilled in her, she might actually have tried to torch the place, and that would have been worse. She did fine.)

Step two is cleanup and repairs. Anything absolutely trashed beyond repair should be recorded and remembered. If it's something that can be replaced, you're going to need to figure out how. In this parable, children should do more of the clean-up than servants. Servants will guide and instruct, and will probably help out because that's part of their job, but they didn't make this mess and I will not be happy if they are left to clean it up. Maybe think of it as the shepherds being given carte blanche to supervise the wise men. My kid is a good kid, but she's still a kid. Ask her, and if she's not sure, she'll try to find me.

I'll wander around and keep an eye on things. This is your house, not mine, so I don't know the specifics; but I actually run my own household instead of leaving it all to the servants, so I can probably offer some helpful tips.

I don't know when He'll be home. I don't know how bad it will be when He gets here; I've seen some pretty messed up shit, but He has definitely mellowed with age. But I would strongly recommend you stop wasting any more time and GET TO WORK.

[unspokenstydia]

LYDIA MARTIN And I've got a lot to pine about. I've got a lot to live without.

You don’t care about getting hurt. But you know how I’ll feel? I’ll be devastated. And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind. You see, death doesn’t happen to you, Lydia. / Unbelievable…you have no idea what you are, do you? The wailing woman.

[heavenbarnes]

“the wilderness chose him as a sacrifice!” he wasn’t a sacrifice he was a fucking child.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Why did God harden the Pharaoh’s? I’m in a Bible as Lit class and someone brought up “wouldn’t that be against free will,” and why did God let the Israelites stay it in slavery for so long. Why is God different in the Old Testament to the New Testament? I hope this doesn’t bother you, with all these questions

Okay, so there are several different questions here and I'm going to try to address them all. I'm sure I'll miss something somewhere, so other more knowledgeable friends feel free to add on. Follow-ups are also very much welcome.

First off, Bible as literature class! Yikes. I took a Bible as lit class for my English minor years ago and my experience was pretty much wall-to-wall frustration. It was mostly an exercise in coming up with the most transgressive reads on Scripture possible and that really upset me.

I hope that your experience is better than mine. However, assuming that the class is at a secular university, I'd still encourage you to be intentional about talking the things you cover in class over with knowledgeable Christians in your life. I certainly benefitted a lot from doing so, both in the sense that I got to vent a whole bunch and in that I got help contextualizing the secular perspectives within Christian scholarship.

That out of the way: The God of the Bible is the same in both the Old and New Testaments.

I do understand where you’re coming from. It’s not uncommon for people to find God kind of inscrutable in the OT when they're more used to reading the NT. I actually think that's a failure on the part of the contemporary church in the West; large swaths of the OT tend to be understudied among lay-Christians.

Systematic theology can help a lot here. I'm just going to hit a few really broad highlights, but I really can't recommend Wayne Grudem highly enough if you're interested in more in-depth reading. Lots of people start with Bible Doctrine, but my family happened to have a copy of his enormous Systematic Theology tome in the basement when I was in high school and I got a lot out of just poking through that a little at a time too. A few quick bullets though:

Across all the Biblical texts, God is love. He glories in kindness to his people, whether it's in the covenant with Abraham, the Exodus, the faithful ministry of the prophets, Christ's ministry/death/resurrection, or the promised coming of his kingdom.

God is holy; he gives the Law to the Israelites so that they can approach his holiness without fearing for their lives and he sent Jesus so that we can do the same. Both Isaiah and Peter react with fear and awe in the face of God's holiness.

God is just. By virtue of his holiness, he cannot allow sin to go unpunished. As modern westerners, we often chafe against this but has any of us experienced justice that was actually pure? Justice is a form of faithfulness, and the same God who sent his people into exile poured out his wrath on his own son in our place. He has promised that one day, every evil will face his perfect justice.

God is faithful. He keeps his Covenant with Abraham even unto the cross. In the OT he is faithful husband to an adulterous people. In the NT he tells us that when we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.

Lots of other characteristics but this answer is going to be long enough as it is. The only way to get a real sense for the continuity within the Bible is to read the whole Bible with an eye towards the continuity.

The reason that God is more approachable in the NT than the Old is that he became human. In the Incarnation, all of that holiness and justice and faithfulness and love that was God came to earth in our perfect likeness so that he could live beside us and die for us. God is certainly easier to approach in light of Christ's work, but he is utterly the same as he ever was. Read the Transfiguration and tell me that isn’t the God of Mount Sinai. Read John 1 and tell me it doesn’t remind you of the end of Job. Read the Gospels, Hebrews, and Revelation and play spot-the-OT-parallel. It's beautiful.

Why did God leave his people in slavery for so long? You could ask the same question about the Babylonian captivity and even about why Jesus waits to return and finally defeat Death. Why does he wait? Why let his people suffer?

Well. God is sovereign and he only permits evil to the extent that it ultimately accomplishes the very opposite of what it intends. Because the Israelites were slaves in Egypt, the Exodus was able to occur. The Exodus glorified God in extraordinary fashion, both among his own people and to the peoples of the ancient world. It was also a necessary type and precursor to Jesus's work on the cross. I don't think it's an overstatement to say that redemptive history rests on God's work in the Exodus, which is itself contingent on a period of slavery in Egypt.

“How long, O Lord” and “Come Lord Jesus” are the same sentiment in different words. We are still in exile, even now. We are chronologically exiled from the place where we belong, the New Jerusalem, and we mourn because we live in a fallen world in which sin and death can still hurt us. We can ask, just as the Prophets once asked, why God waits to vanquish the Enemy, extract suffering from the world, and restore our years that the locusts have eaten. And in each case (the slaves in Egypt, the Babylonian captivity, and the period of waiting for Jesus to return), the answer is that God does not fix it yet because He is doing something bigger!

Regarding Pharaoh's heart: this is basically a question of human nature. The easiest way that I can articulate it off the top of my head is using Augustine's fourfold state of man:

Prior to the fall, man was able either to sin or not to sin (posse peccare, posse non peccare)

The natural state of man after the fall is one in which he is unable not to sin (non posse non peccare). This was Pharaoh's state.

Following the work of Christ, regenerate man is able not to sin (posse non peccare)

In eternity, glorified man will be unable to sin (non posse peccare)

When we talk about man's will, we must acknowledge that our wills are subject to our nature. In other words, Pharaoh was a natural, fallen man. His nature was inherently sinful and his heart inherently hard.

What we've got here is sort of a "Jacob I have loved but Esau I have hated" situation. Pharaoh, in his natural state, had a hard heart and a natural enmity with God. God did not intervene to give him a heart of flesh. My people I have loved, but Pharaoh I have hated.

Not a perfect parallel, but I think it serves its purpose. The point is that God's sovereignty isn't in conflict with man's will, since our wills are a function of our natures. Man behaves however his nature inclines him to behave at any given time. We call this free will; however, God is entirely sovereign over all of it.

This is definitely a long, messy answer, but like I said, feel free to continue the conversation. I've got some biochem to work on, but I'm always happy to talk theology :)

[nea-dot-im]

I don't always shave my legs and put on makeup, but when I do, I remember why I don't always shave my legs and put on makeup.

[woozapooza]

Does anyone else frequently dream (I mean literal dreams, I mean when you're asleep) about imaginary stage shows based on real TV shows? This has been a pretty common recurring theme in my dreams for many years. Usually it's a musical, though sometimes it's a straight play. Usually I dream that the TV show existed first and then got to turned into a stage show, though on a few occasions I've dreamed that the play came first and then got to turned into a TV show. I've had at least four, maybe five separate dreams about a Black Sails musical. Last night I dreamed about a Mad Men musical, and I've never even watched Mad Men.

[kavehayati]

I’m a descendant of the prophet (kind of) and all I have to show for it is my obsession with an anime blond guy …

[redeemingvillains]

the new girl - mattheo riddle

summary: despite their best and most ardent efforts, each of the slytherin boys gets rejected by you, and can't figure out why, not knowing that one of them holds a secret that explains it all.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: suggestive content, probably 18+ish, please read responsibly my dears.

The boys watched eagerly across the Great Hall as Enzo leaned over the table to get your attention. You looked up at him, and smiled instantly, a blush rising to your cheeks at whatever he’d said.

“Yes, mate” Blaise whispered in encouragement.

You ducked your head and curled a piece of hair behind your ear, averting your eyes demurely as he continued and Draco realized he’d stopped breathing altogether, the anticipation nearly crushing him as he moved to grasp Theo’s arm in excitement.

Finally, your eyes met Enzo’s and as you started to reply the boys’ gaze was glued to your perfect lips, wishing they could hear what you were saying as they all physically leaned forward, like it would make any difference at this distance.

Enzo rubbed the back of his head abashedly, nodding and smiling before he turned to walk back to the Slytherin table. He took several steps in his swaggering gait but his pout betrayed him as he caught their eye and shook his head subtly and they let out a collective gasp.

“Fuck!” Theo said rather loudly, garnering the attention of a few third years nearby.

“Damn it all” Draco agreed as Blaise threw down the Daily Prophet that he’d held clenched in his fist.

Enzo approached the table and slumped down onto the bench.

“She said… no” he muttered, like he was in a trance, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth before he shook his head. “It’s official, then, she’s impenetrable, if she’s not going to go out with me then the rest of the school is fucked.”

“Mate, who the fuck says no to all four of us?” Blaise pondered as he looked between Enzo, Draco and Theo who were all equally gobsmacked.

One of them getting rejected happened occasionally, rarely, but all four of them? It was an impossibility they’d never considered as they looked back at you like you were a unicorn. And gods if that didn’t take them down another notch because just the sight of you quickened their heartbeats; you were the new girl and you were hot, unbelievably hot. The type of girl any of them would have on their arm in an instant.

They had just started to ponder the depths of their failure when Mattheo sauntered into the Great Hall, ambling to their table and picking at the platters of food in front of him nonchalantly, totally unaware of the cataclysmic breakdown that was occurring amongst his friends.

“Well look who decided to show up” Draco sneered, shooting Mattheo a gaze with narrowed eyes. “And where’ve you been?” he asked.

“I slept in” Mattheo snapped back with an annoyed look on his face, “S’that alright with you, mother? Christ.”

“Mate you’ve been totally MIA lately—” Blaise started before he was promptly interrupted by Enzo who was still in the heady fog of rejection as he stared at you.

“—Maybe she swings the other way?” he said. “Doesn’t even fancy a lad. That would make sense” he urged, hope rising in his voice as he glanced to his friends for reassurance.

“No, my cousin heard from his neighbor that she dated Viktor Krum” Draco said, proudly spilling tea that had eyebrows shooting up around the table.

“I heard she’s part Veela” Theo said quietly and Enzo nodded his head in agreement.

“Didn’t she come from Beauxbatons?” Blaise asked.

“Diggory told me that Potter asked her out and she said no to him too, if that’s any consolation” Theo added.

“Barely” Draco muttered darkly.

Mattheo looked around at them, perplexed until he muttered with a mouth full of food “What’reyou onabout?”

Enzo nodded his head in your direction, “YN” he said, like it was obvious. “Literally where have you been? She’s all anyone can talk about.”

Mattheo sat up a little straighter and swallowed his food so quickly he almost choked.

“What about her?” he asked.

“She’s a fucking enigma” Enzo said frustratedly. “She said no to every single one of us” he huffed.

“—What if it’s a test to see who will ask twice?” Theo asked, nearly moving to his feet to try.

“Wait, wait” Mattheo said, stopping him, his voice rising in a way that garnered their attention. “You all fucking asked her out?” his voice was a low growl that was lost in the midst of their frantic banter.

“Have you seen her?” Blaise said, grabbing Mattheo’s arm and pulling him closer to him as he gestured to you. “Fucking look at her! Merlin’s beard. I would take a bludger straight to the head for just a taste of that.”

Mattheo pushed Blaise off of him as his hands curled into fists, but his reaction was ignored as he watched them ogle you, each of them nearly drooling now at the way you were softly biting your bottom lip, twirling a piece of your hair and reading the book in front of you.

“Can we just … not?” Mattheo said, exasperated, in an effort to divert their attention from you.

“Shut up, Mattheo” Enzo snapped, his eyes never leaving you.

“How about you shut the fuck up Berkshire - just because you found one girl in the whole school who won’t suck your dick” Mattheo argued.

“What’s gotten into you?” Draco replied, his face scrunched in annoyance as he finally looked away from you to Mattheo.

“Don’t be a fucking prick just because she said no to you too” Enzo mocked. “Join the fucking party mate.”

Mattheo straightened up at the comment, shifting a bit in his seat, but remained silent.

A moment.

Two.

And the quiet is what finally got their attention. Enzo turned around slowly, his gaze peeling away from you as Draco, Theo and Blaise followed suit.

Enzo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in.

“Riddle?” he said questioningly, accusingly.

Mattheo fidgeted again. “What?” he spat back, eyes narrowed.

“You did ask her, didn’t you?” Enzo pressed.

Mattheo thought back to the night he bumped into you in the library. It was well past midnight and he was making every effort to learn an entire semester’s worth of astronomy for his exam the next day. You had nearly collided with each other around a bookcase and as he helped you pick up the tomes that had tumbled from your hands he’d been startled by how beautiful you were, how sweet you were to him, how fucking good you smelled, like amber and vanilla, how he immediately wanted to know if your lips tasted the same way.

Within 43 minutes he knew that they didn’t. They tasted like cocoa butter, they were smooth and soft and he knew that he’d probably be thinking about the way you kissed him for the rest of his life. He also knew that you wanted to keep your tryst a secret… for now.

Mattheo came back to the present and bobbed his head from side to side noncommittally. Did I ask her out? he thought.

“Ehh” he replied. He didn’t remember a lot of talking from that night.

“Did she say YES?” Theo asked incredulously, as he leaned in.

Mattheo thought about the heat of your skin on his, the way it burned hot as he pressed you against the wall in the small broom closet this morning, hiking up your skirt. He thought about how utterly fucking perfect you felt and the way you gasped, the way he caught your mouth with his own to keep you quiet, because you wanted to keep things a secret… for now.

But for the life of him he couldn’t keep the shit eating grin off his face at the memory of it all as he shrugged.

The boys erupted.

“NO FUCKING WAY!”

“LEGENNNNNDDD!”

Theo had launched across the table and grabbed Mattheo excitedly by the front of his robes even as Mattheo laughed and swatted him away.

“Fucking Riddle” Draco said, a proud smile on his face as he shook his head.

“Well?” said Enzo as they settled back down and leaned in conspiratorially. “C’mon then, aren’t you going to tell us about it?”

“I’m dying here” Theo agreed.

“Please” said Blaise.

Mattheo smirked. “Yeah, alright, I’ll tell you” he said, motioning for them to get closer.

They leaned in.

“I’ll tell you that if any of you fucking pricks looks at her the way you were this morning, if you try to make another move on her or if you keep spewing worthless fucking rumors about her I will take deep pleasure in fucking you up in ways magic hasn’t figured out how to fix yet. Yeah?”

Each of their gazes flickered to the darkness in Mattheo’s eyes, and then slowly, quietly, they pulled back to their seats, resuming their breakfast.  

ˋ°•*⁀➷ part two

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites

[cregansdingdong]

imagine cregan and y/n breaking the bed one night just because of his sheer strength and muscle whilst pounding her, ik the conversation with the winterfell wood crafter would be awks as hell afterwards whilst asking for it to be repaired 😇😇

IM HAVING A PROPHETIC VISION, ANON.

At this point, Cregan and his boo thang are just going to have to become familiar with the man. There is no other option, because your choices are either to have this embarrassing conversation a multitude of times with multiple woodcrafters or just one. Because if y'all think this is a one-time thing, you are terribly mistaken.

Cregan is a very passionate person in bed, regardless if he's on top or not. He wants to make sure the two of you are satiated—that does mean the bed will snap like a twig under a boot i dont make the rules i just work here. Personally, I find the actual deliverance of the bedframe to be the most mortifying. Firstly, that big ass broken bed has to be dismantled and removed, if it's not fixable, which takes manpower, and then the new one brought into the Great Keep and put together. Otherwise, the woodcrafter is going to have to make a house call and show up with his tools and planks, walking toward your marital chambers which is embarrassing too :)

ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. (thoughts ver.)

NSFW stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

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That familiar groan under his weight should've been the first warning sign, but Cregan was too distracted to notice. He was lapping at her pretty cunt, tongue delving as deep as he could go and as thorough as he could be without the motions being too unsteady. Alright maybe he did notice initially, but the thought was very quickly shoved to the back of his mind—especially when his pretty wife was trying to rock herself onto his nose, letting out the most quiet of whimpers muffled by their sheets. His ears were focused on her and her only.

With her pearl rubbing against his bridge and his cock feeling so strained in his trousers, no one could really blame him for forgetting about the delicate state of the bed in an instant. Last time they’d gotten particularly frantic in their lovemaking, there had been a low snap somewhere beneath the mattress, a taunt that he was probably too hefty to be moving so much. But winter was coming, a man’s gotta eat…in more ways than one.

By the time he’d recalled they should begin to take it easy on the bed, he was already balls deep behind her, hands gripping the flesh of her ass like a lifeline. He was suffocating in the best way, cock nestled inside, fogging his brain with nothing but instinct. And then she started begging. By then, well, he decided they needed a new bed anyway—six moons wasn’t too bad. Lasted longer than the previous replacement. Three harsh, unrelenting spanks bloom red on her backside as she squeezes around him, sending his blood pumping to the beat of an imaginary war drum. It would be a miracle from the Gods if she wasn’t pregnant by mid-summer. Cregan just couldn’t help himself.

Rutting against her like a man starved, the right side of the bed almost completely collapses, caving in and nearly throwing him off balance. His wife gasped, pleasure momentarily halted as she looked back at him. “Again? Seriously? I told you to write to him last time, did you?” The answer was no, no he did not. “It might have…slipped…my mind.” He murmured, trying to ignore the throbbing in his full balls. They had a silent conversation of glares and a sheepish grin. Then she concedes. “...We might as well finish then. I doubt it can get any worse.”

It could, actually. And it did. He came hard some twenty minutes later, pounding their hips together with a steady desperation. The dip of the broken side was a little annoying, but manageable. Without the support, the right beams of the canopy end up falling right down. No one was harmed, of course. It was only drapes. Cregan found it almost comical but his wife did not. It was going to be a long letter.

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[historiaxvanserra]

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: With rising tensions across the sea causing unrest in the capital, the two warring factions of the Night Court must come to terms.

Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through sacred oaths. For better or worse.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked, he had once called me. If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. When I was a girl my father had told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless, blue-green depths of the sea. 

To be beautiful and cruel, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a feverish summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. 

The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer. 

The God of plagues and prophecy.

Death had first come to me in a dream. Haunting and prophetic. Shrouded in seraphic blue light. 

Heat swells beneath the surface of the hydrangea clouds and the dark waters of the Sidra turn violent. Ivory seafoam coils and contorts violently like the tendrils of some grotesque sea-snake. I think of an old story my father had told me once. A human princess from the continent. She had been beautiful once. Until some dark, deathless God had lay claim to her. A monstrous thing. Rising from the depths of her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crested over the port of this wretched city. 

The crack of forked, white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla nestles into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and she exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm. 

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My lips graze her dappled coat along her muzzle and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses. 

“Gentle, girl.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately as I tie the reins to the crumbling statue of some prince long dead. 

“I’ll be back soon.” I promise. My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. 

When I was a girl, my father had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. 

At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm. 

Scylla watches warily as my figure disappears into the darkness of the lower city. I still hear her in the distance long after I am gone. Cloistered in the darkness of the city’s narrow alleys I remove the onyx veil that shrouds my features. I bury it in the folds of the plain, grey cloak I had stolen from Leda. 

I weave through the long, winding streets. I observe the world in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeates the suffocating darkness that saturates the lower city. I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors, coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the slums. Throngs of beggar children chase the merchant's carts as they roll through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark. 

As I pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs. 

It is then, as the city bells toll their mournful song, that I reach my destination. 

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city. Its neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold. 

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls sing sultry harmonies like siren songs, as they fill up the cups of patrons with sticky, honeyed mead. The high-arching melody of lyres and harps cut through the cacophony of carnal sounds; the officious laughter of Darkbringers, the vulgar curses and honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants. 

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. Its dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars. 

“What a pretty creature you are, Mistress.” A beautiful wraith compliments, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes. With tender touches and whispers the wraith works the buttons of my robes until I am left in the thin champagne shift I had worn beneath my cloak. 

She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren. 

Dangerous and inviting. 

“Whatever you desire, be it wine or women, I will procure for you tonight,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm. 

“Please - keep it -- I’ve no use for such things anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away from me. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.” The cruel laugh of a Darkbringer draws my interest as they sit around an emerald table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others have abandoned their stifling robes in lieu of casual black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know what they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money. 

A reminder of their lethal potential. 

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone. 

Then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed. 

“The commander of the city watch says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that the Lord Protector plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord himself,”

“ if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.” 

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel morelike.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that, boys, we’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously and at once, three heads incline in my direction. There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city. The females of this forsaken city are bound to the Moonstone Palace. Forced to our knees in deference to our male oppressors. The only women that still dwell in the lower city are whores and exiles. Of which I am neither. 

Something dark and terrible roils in the pit of my stomach as the male approaches. I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin roughly between his fingers. 

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. I had been a babe when they found me. The cursed daughter to a cruel lord and some terrified nymph. 

My mother died giving me life and left me at the ruined Temple of Beara, the Mistress of Storms, deep in the foothills of the mountain. In the hopes that the Priestesses would shelter me from the cruelty of this court. After the temple fell I was brought before the Lords of Night and given to the Temple of Astarion on account of my rare and ancient gift. 

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding. 

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I chastise, sliding my hand beneath the folds of my cloak. The lust that pools in his eyes is a dreadful thing. Lecherous and heinous. Though I take comfort in the knowledge that my true identity is concealed. 

As the Pythia of the Night Court a dark veil typically obscures my features from the view of men; save from my eyes, which are heavily darkened with kohl and pigments of sapphire and amethyst that hail from the mines of Illyria. The veil protects me as much as it oppresses me. For if male like this knew of the power I possess, they would seek to control it, to covet that power until I were a vessel of their ill intent. That is why I was given to the Temple as a child. Why my estranged father and the Steward of the Night Court seek to make me their weapon. I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists here, in the rotting depths of Hewn City.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh. 

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers. 

“This is not the place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand,  “luckily for you I am feeling quite merciful.” 

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” I warn. The three Darkbringers laugh cruelly. I turn to leave when a firm hand closes around my wrist and twists me so I am held in the Darkbringers bruising embrace. His lips drag a tortuous line along the side of my jaw. 

“Now, now little bird,” He coos mockingly against the shell of my ear as I struggle violently against him, “flighty little thing.” 

Bile rises in my throat as the Darkbringer’s companions laugh and fingers dig into the knife at my thigh, unsheathing it in a moment and pressing it against the male's pale throat. Unshed tears line my eyes like flecks of silver starlight as his hands still on my waist. 

“That is what you call mercy?” I laugh bitterly at the man, his eyes hardening as the Illyrian steel blade glints in the dim light. 

“Let go of her, Aeres.” The eldest of the three orders and the Darkbringer unhands me at once.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” The elder male nods towards the rear exit beyond the bar. 

On uncertain feet I Traverse the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twist and contort like columns of technicolor seafoam. The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains. 

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake. 

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. 

Primal and carnal. 

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns. 

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain. The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire. 

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.” 

“An audience?” I ask. 

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. The music is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure. 

“Oh.” The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Priestess?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens. 

“I’m no priestess.” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern. 

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secret's safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. 

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns. 

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.” 

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.” The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain. 

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city. 

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment. 

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are of my personal guard; formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper. 

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here. 

As we all must. 

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. If they were to discover me they would be duty bound to drag me back to the Moonstone Palace and throw me down atop the emerald dias for Keir and my father to punish as they see fit. 

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies. 

“That one’s usual girl looks like you--” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire rather forlorn for a male in the middle of a brothel.  

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar. 

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.” 

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm. 

“Thank you.” I say. She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. 

As I ascend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh once more. 

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in a shroud of blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The antique furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads. 

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming florals shrouds me in its winter kiss. 

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” 

[gremlingottoosilly]

loser! könig with bimbo reader who likes so indulge in his interests.. maybe she wants to ride him while watching/facing tv while he tells all the little facts in her ear?

Nothing gets this man harder than having his precious bimbo girlfriend bouncing on his cock while he is infodumping her about something that he likes. And he likes a lot of things! From war history - just ask this man about first World War or whatever Ottoman empire was doing in he region a couple hundreds years ago, and you will have your answer. He is like a child, sometimes, even in such perverted setting - your pussy is leaking on his pants as you ride him and he doesn't even falter as he stumbles across his words while saying some dates and names. He never had anyone to listen to him so intently - he could literally just recite a TV guide to you, and you'd still be your adorable, dazzled self, surprised at every word he is saying like it's the gospel. He knows you don't know a lot of things - dumb thing, you barely finished high school and slept your way through some mediocre college but it's okay, he is your prophet now. If you have a question, he has extensive knowledge to answer it. And if you want to listen about his hobbies or interests, he will gladly pull out his phone with tons of pictures and examples. Konig knows you're too fucked out of your mind every time his cock gently massages your cervix or slams on your gummy inner walls to actually listen to him, but he doesn't mind. Even when you forget everything he told you while he is playing with your clit, he isn't afraid of repeating it to you -- his precious girl deserve to be knowledgable, after all. Such a good, pretty girl, and just for him.

[bambiilooza]

what my little sister calls some of the epic characters :D

i've mentioned my sister has listened to most of the songs and seen animatics for some of them. (she is three so, there are some that are too scary to show her ofc)

odysseus - captain (self explanatory)

zeus - zeus ✅ (she does call him 'dad zeus' sometimes)

eurylochus - yuri (nice! she used to call him dad too)

polites - polites ✅(also used to call him dad. all the male characters are dad apparently)

athena - athena ✅ (but in we'd be fine she's 'sad mom')

polyphemus - poly (she used to call him monster)

aeolus - blue aeola (the winions are winions ✅)

posiedon - angry grandpa (he's her favourite. she does also call him poseidon. she knows what his name is but, he is angry grandpa)

circe - circe ✅ (she's also her favourite)

hermes -hermey (she once asked him 'why are you laughing like that')

anticlea - sad mom (no sad mom)

tirisias - prophet (she called him reese once and never again but, i can't stop calling him reese now)

penelope - penelope! (if there is any name in epic that will be drilled in ur heard, it's penelope 🎵)

telemachus - temachus (she can say telemachus, she's just lazy)

apollo - apollo ✅ (she saw a drawing i did of him and asked me where his pants went)

hephaestus - hefufuf (obvious reason)

aphrodite - dite (i guess that's a nickname idk)

ares - ares ✅(sometimes he's referred to as angry ares and i love the use of alliteration. it's very clever and thought provoking)

hera - hera ✅ (she likes hera's part a lot)

her favourite songs are ruthlessness and puppeteer.

also, she wore a blanket on her head the other day and told me she's the prophet

[alexanderwales]

The high-level prophecy interpreters all worked for the government or major corporations. They were the ones with the money, and the ones most likely to be the subject of a prophecy. Sometimes you'd have a multi-billionaire hire on a prophecy interpreter, but usually they just had one on retainer. The same went for celebrities who were famous enough to attract significant prophecies.

But at the lower level, there were prophecy interpreters who opened up their own firms, usually just one or two if they weren't in a major city. That was me: I had gotten in prophecy interpretation in college and ended up majoring in it after the Kepler Incident. I had my name on bus stops and billboards, and a single secretary in my employ who thankfully handled most of the phone calls.

In the field we sometimes divide the business up into three sectors based on timing. There's "prophecy impact", which is when we do a consultation right after the prophecy has been made, or at least sometime before it rears its head. Some prophecies are decades in the making, but people want to be told what to do about them. I hate that part of the job, personally, because there's not a whole lot to do, depending on the language. Plus the conversations are pretty repetitive: a guy hears a pretty clear-cut prophecy that he's going to die falling out of a plane, and he's begging for some way out, as though there's something I can do about it, as though I can tell him that prophecies are lairs sometimes. Prophecies are liars, but they're clever liars, hiding meanings inside words, only clear after they've passed. You can't escape prophecy, and at least half of "prophecy impact" clients explaining that fact to them.

The second sector is "prophetic immanence", when the client has a prophecy that they think is coming true. Sometimes this can be because there's a trigger phrase in the prophecy, a conditional that appears to have been met. One of the dirty secrets of the industry is that nine times out of the ten, people are mistaken: the nature of prophecy is such that you can't often pinpoint when the prophecy is nigh. In my opinion, you can judge a prophecy interpreter by how upfront they are about this. The weasels will milk their clients dry by pretending that every moment is a crisis moment.

It's the last sector that I find the most satisfaction from, which is why it's a disappointment that it's the least in demand. This is post facto prophecy interpretation. You're not trying to prevent anything, you're not formulating a reaction, you're just trying to figure out what happened and how it all fit together. These are clients that are in the aftermath of prophecy, or what they're pretty sure is the aftermath, and a lot of the time, they just want someone to talk to more than they want my specific expertise.

My client that day was an artist, a rising star who had a few very successful gallery showings. It had been prophesied that her older brother would accidentally kill her father, but it had been her instead. This wasn't a recent trauma, but the wound was clearly still there, so I tried to navigate it as carefully as I could.

"One of the things that makes prophecy tricky is ambiguity," I said gently. "There are some, outliers, that depend on pretty tortured readings. But in this case, I think it's just an alternate meaning. From what you gave me, the prophecy was specifically 'the child who first draws breath', and that's in reference to your career as an artist."

"That's stupid," she said. "He's two years older than me, would he really never have doodled a person drawing? Just a few lines indicating that something is coming out of their mouth?" Her hands were folded in her lap. They were curiously still, for someone who used her hands for a living, but maybe artists were like that, preserving the tools of their trade.

"It's stupid," I agreed. "But I do think it's entirely possible that his drawings didn't include anyone breathing, and that yours did."

"How can we know for sure?" she asked.

"We can't," I replied. "Though if we take for granted that the prophecy was fulfilled, and that you were the one to fulfill it, then we have to search for answers within the realm of what we know. And if you're not satisfied with that answer, then I need to spend some time searching for alternate meanings, to find some interpretation that lands better."

"I could understand it if I had some obsession with drawing breath," she said. "If I had done a series of paintings of visible breath escaping from a person's body, then that would make sense. But it's not that, it's the first to draw breath, and that's just ... I mean, doodles we did when we were children. It means nothing. We have no way to mark that. It wasn't pivotal."

I shrugged. "It is what it is." I use that phrase a lot. "There's a selection effect with prophecies. The ones we hear about are hugely ironic, they show the hand of fate, they warp and twist people. But many of them are just," I shrugged again. "Things that happened."

"My brother moved away," she said. "My father had kind of accepted it, probably from the moment we were born, or before that. He'd made peace with it, hadn't tried to fight it. But it was a hard thing to learn for my brother, and he'd just left to go to school a thousand miles away, and coming home was always stressful for him, because maybe this was when it was going to happen."

I nodded. "I can see where that would be difficult. How did he handle it?"

"Poorly," she sighed. "Dad was a good guy. My brother lost all that time, and it had always been a source of tension between them, not the death, but their perspective, you know? Dad preached acceptance, my brother wanted to avoid it, and so when my brother went out west, dad was disappointed. He said it was like losing his son, and that he'd have rather died than have that happen. So not only did my brother not have a close relationship with my dad because of the prophecy, it turns out that dad was right all along. It would have been better for everyone not to fight it."

"Maybe," I said. "In the business we don't counsel people not to fight prophecies. Sometimes it's the right thing to do."

"Well, sorry for wasting your time," she said. "Though I guess I'm paying by the hour, and I'm not going to apologize for something I paid for. So I'd like my apology back, please."

I smiled at her. "Certainly."

She stood up to go, and I marked the time so I could bill her later, but she paused for a moment. I put in the time all the same; so far as I was concerned, we were off the clock.

"Do you have any unresolved prophecies that you know of?" she asked.

"That's sort of a personal question," I said. "But I get it a lot, and if it might help you, I can share: I'm going to be eaten by an alligator."

"You're ... what?" she asked.

"An alligator?" I asked. "They live in swamps."

"And how are you going to be eaten by one?" she asked.

"Well, I don't know," I replied. "There's a chance I've dodged it already, or ... dodged it in the way that you can sometimes dodge an obvious reading." I held up my hand and showed her my pinky, or rather, my lack of pinky. "I went down to Florida, had my finger amputated, then fed it to three baby alligators under the supervision of a zoo keeper."

She stared at me. "And that works?" she finally asked.

"We'll see," I replied. "In general, yes, it's an approach with relatively good outcomes. A self-fulfilling prophecy. It's a peace of mind thing."

"But ... your finger?" she asked. She was looking at it. I sometimes thought that going with a toe would be better, or a chunk of flesh from somewhere else, but I had heard that losing a toe could interfere with balance. I had never regretted that it was a pinky finger.

"If I didn't avert the prophecy, I want to be the kind of guy who says 'oh, well that's funny'," I replied. "I think ... whatever helps you, you know? And now I don't need to stay up at night wondering how the hell it's going to happen. See, your father had it right, I think. You have to find a way to make peace with it. And this was what it took for me to make peace with mine. Though I have to admit that I'm not a fan of zoos, and I don't take vacations south of the Mason Dixon, so maybe I'm not as much at peace as I would like myself to believe."

"Huh," she said. She looked away from the missing finger and to my eyes. "Thank you for sharing that."

"It's okay if you think it's kooky," I replied.

"No," she said. "I was just ... thinking that if my brother had something like that, he might have had more time with dad before he passed."

I nodded. "You can share that story, if you think it will help. Sometimes it does."

When she left I went back to my computer, cruising the local news sites to see whether there had been any updates. I hadn't given her the best advice. My mind had been elsewhere.

A local guy had been busted for breeding reptiles without a license. I was sure it was nothing, but they hadn't said what specific reptiles it had been. It was probably nothing. I mean, a full-grown alligator escaping from custody, finding me, and managing to eat me was a little too much for me to believe.

But fate is a funny thing sometimes, and I was going to keep my eyes open.

[natalievoncatte]

“Open your eyes and look at what you did.”

Lena was tired. Fixing the world was heavy work, especially when it involved cracking the secrets of the ultimate weapon of a dead empire. Myriad was tucked away safely in her lab behind shielding and laser grids and the most advanced security systems in the world, but was most of all protected by Kara’s reputation. Supergirl couldn’t just smash her way into a building and steal something, especially not now, with so much public scrutiny against her.

Lena was expecting a night at home. Not to relax -she hasn’t relaxed until her brother’s wormy lips, turning blue in death, spilled those four little words and cracked her heart in half, broke it into so many pieces that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men and not even Supergirl could put it together again. What was left of her capacity for that kind of love was gone now. Lex had started the process of ripping it out.

Lena has finished it, casting the bloody shreds on the icy floor of a mausoleum in the arctic, not turning back even once to see.

She knew the DEO was watching her every move, waiting for her to make a mistake that she could seize on. She knew they were itching to take her out. Kara would probably lead the charge herself. She’d crow about how she didn’t want to do this and didn’t want to hurt Lena and then she’d perp walk her like a villain of the week.

It wasn’t remorse that swirled in her stomach. It wasn’t regret that iced her veins. It wasn’t sorrow that made her eyes burn, and it wasn’t doubt that made the clicks of her heels echo in her empty lifeless penthouse.

She did not feel any of those things. Soon, no one ever would again. A world without lies, without strife, without pain. Those twisting, burning emotions would be gone. For everyone.

For her.

Lena froze when she heard the soft click of a hammer being thumbed back on a pistol.

“Turn around.”

Lena tensed. Alex. She should have expected this- Alex didn’t care about the rules when it came to her sister.

Slowly, Lena turned. Alex was right behind her, gun in one hand, phone in the other. She started to play a video on the screen. Lena recognized it at once as the Fortress of Solitude.

“Why?” Alex choked out. “Why did it have to be you?”

Lena pressed her eyes shut, scrambling for something to say. There was a real chance that this confrontation ended with her in a pool of blood on the floor.

“Open your eyes, you bitch! Open your eyes and look at what you did!”

Lena opened them and was confronted with what she had refused to see before, what she had turned from before portalling out. Like a biblical prophet she knew that if she but turned back for a last look she’d have been undone.

Alex recorded Kara locked in the cage as she approached, calling her sister’s name. Kara didn’t respond. She simply lay curled on the floor, faint green scratches scored in her exposed skin. As Alex drew nearer, Lena could hear Kara making a peculiar sound- a rhythmic, trilling thrum, a deep basso rumble as if she were… purring.

And sobbing.

Lena tried to look away but Alex’s expression tightened. Lena forced herself to stare into the screen- the picture blurred as Alex must have been fumbling with the Kryptonian controls. Finally, the crystal cage retracted.

“Kara,” Alex was saying. “Kara, oh my god, where’s Lena? Is she alright?”

Lena flinched. Alex’s jaw tightened as their eye briefly met.

Kara’s face was a mask of pain and grief, clouded with an agony deeper than any physical hurt.

“It was Lena.”

“What?”

“It was Lena. She took Myriad from the armory and she… she was so mad, Alex. It was like she h-hated me. She was lying the whole time after I told her who I was, she already knew and she was so mad. Alex I think she hates me now.”

Kara began to sob and make that damned purring sound at the same time.

“Don’t hurt her,” Kara whimpered, “don’t hurt her, Alex. She’s good, I promise she’s good she just needs our help.”

Alex turned off the video and pressed the muzzle of her gun to Lena’s forehead.

Lena closed her eyes.

“I have every reason to,” Alex began.

“Do it,” Lena hissed. “It’s what we both want, just fucking do it. She’ll get over it.”

“No,” Alex choked out, her voice drowning in emotion. “No she won’t, ever. She has an eidetic memory. If I blow your fucking head off like I should, her last memory of you will be that, what you did to her in her most sacred place, forever.”

“Good,” Lena snapped, opening her eyes. “Good. Then she’ll know how I feel.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Like she tore my heart out. I believed in her. I gave myself to her in a way I never have for anyone else. I let her in after I swore on my mother’s grave I’d never let anyone else hurt me like… like someone else did. She hammered her way into my life with her kindness and her concern and her comfort and it was all a FUCKING LIE, Alex!”

Lena sucked in a hitching breath and went on, forcing herself to go on as she blinked to force the tears from her eyes.

“It was all a lie. I’m just a Luthor to her, to you, to all of you. I sat in that apartment on game nights and movie nights and you all knew. You all knew, and you mocked me. So many cryptic comments and weird little jokes and now I know why. I let myself believe it. I let myself believe she wanted me. She kept trying to tell me something over and over and she kept backing away from it and…”

Lena froze.

The gun fell away, and Alex just stared at her.

“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God,” Alex gasped.

“No,” Lena protested, “no it’s not that!”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Holy fuck, how did I not see this before? You bought a billion dollar publishing company on a whim for her. The flowers, the way you looked at me before she told you I’m her sister. Jesus. Jesus Christ, Lena. You God damn drama queen.”

“I’m a drama queen? You pointed a gun at my head!”

Alex racked the slide back, and turned the weapon so Lena could see the follower of the empty magazine had locked it open. It was unloaded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lena screeched.

“I came here to tell you to give me Myriad back and stay the hell away from my sister,” said Alex.

“You pointed a real gun at my head! I don’t care if it was unloaded, the first rule of gun safety is…”

“You thought it was something else,” said Alex.

“God damn it,” Lena began, but Alex cut her off.

“You thought she was working up to tell you something else. You thought she was going to confess her love, didn’t you?”

Lena went completely still.

She had know it, of course. She had known it the way that she knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west, the way way she knew the stars would shine and the tide would beat against the shore. She had known it in the hollows of her bones, in places she forgot she could feel.

She had not known she knew it.

Lex’s words buffeted her from memory and she felt a knew shattering, even deeper this time.

“I fucked up,” someone said, only it was Lena, her own voice echoing from somewhere far distant. She was only dimly aware of the painful jolt in her tailbone as she slid down the cabinet behind her and her ass landed on the hardwood floor.

“When Lex told me, he proved it. He proved it. I didn’t want to see it but he proved it to me. I’m not what she wants. She’ll never want me like I want her.”

Alex looked down at her and Lena watched her expression shift, dancing through a dozen different emotions.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You have anything to drink here? Something good, I don’t want to pussy around with box wine. This is a whiskey occasion.”

Perplexed, Lena simply said, “Side cupboard, there’s a bottle of single malt and some tumblers.”

Alex didn’t bother with the glasses. She took out the bottle and uncapped it, whistling softly before she took a long pull straight from the bottle.

“Smooth,” she said, not even wincing. “Shit, this bottle probably costs a month of my rent.”

“It was my dad’s favorite,” Lena muttered. “My first drink was that scotch. He gave me a little sip when I was twelve. Lillian screeched at him for it.”

“She would, she’s a thundering bitch,” said Alex.

Alex sat down and passed Lena the bottle. She took a drink and passed it back, and they sat there in silence for a while, passing drinks back and forth.

“See I’m not a shrink or anything,” said Alex, “but if I had to analyze this situation I think what I see is you hurting Kara hoping that she’ll hurt you back and validate your feelings so you can stop feeling sad about her.”

“Fuck you,” Lena muttered.

“Not my type. Besides, bro code. My sister has dibs.”

Lena almost spat out a mouthful of scotch. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know when she’s doing the zoom zoom thing, she has a comms piece in her ear. I listen in on what she’s doing,” Alex began to imitate Kara in a grating falsetto. “Lena you have to jump!”

“What?”

“Remember that time she was going to let the entire city’s water supply be poisoned to save you?”

Lena took another pull before passing the bottle back.

“Yeah,” said Lena, not caring that her Irish accent was slipping out.

“Or that time she flew you to the DEO after Edge poisoned you?”

“She saves people all the time,” Lena protested.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t bridal carry them to safety and moon over them like a lovesick teenager and do the whole brushing their hair back thing. She says something corny and flies off. Unless it’s you. The whole world goes on pause when it’s you.”

“It can’t be.”

Alex took a way too long drink and looked at her.

“Did it never occur to you that she might have two secrets? That the one might compel her to keep the other?”

Lena rubbed at her eyes. The whisky was weighing heavily on her, and before she knew it, she was sobbing.

To her utter shock, Alex rubbed her back.

“Here’s what we do. You and me go get Myriad,”

“I’m too drunk to drive.”

“Then call your chauffeur, you spoiled rich brat,” Alex snapped, “and we go get Myriad and we go back to the DEO. You apologize and you and Kara talk this out, and you remember that if you ever physically harm my sister again I actually will shoot you.”

“Also,” said Lena. “You and I. You and I will go get Myriad, not you and me.”

Lena yanked the bottle back and finished it.

“Okay. Okay fine, let’s-“

There was a double thud as boot heels hit the balcony, a sound Lena had long grown used to. She and Alex both watched as Kara slid the balcony door open and swept into the penthouse, cape flaring majestically behind her.

God she was so pretty, and so handsome. She was like a brave knight in some fairytale, head bowed and jaw set like she was marching to a battle she wasn’t sure she could win.

Lena’s chest ached.

“We need to talk,” Kara intoned. “I’m not going to hurt you anymore, but I can’t let you do something you’ll regret forever. I…”

She trailed off as she saw a very drunk Alex sitting next to a very drunk Lena Luthor, the pair sitting against Lena’s kitchen cabinets and dishwasher, respectively, having clearly finished off the empty bottle of scotch that sat between them.

“What the hell?” said Kara.

“Did she just cuss?” said Alex.

“She did,” said Lena.

“What is this? What are you two doing? Alex, is that your gun?”

“Yeah,” said Alex. “I’m gonna get an Uber so you two can talk this out.”

“What?” Kara said, utterly baffled.

As she stood, Lena drew her legs up and hugged her knees. She looked away at first, then looked up and made herself meet Kara’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

With a tenderness that belied her strength, Kara gently raised Lena to her feet. She’d kicked off her heels and Kara loomed over her, soft hands that could crush steel resting gently on her arms. Lena couldn’t bear the weight of her concern. Seeing the worry in Kara’s eyes, the unconditional compassion, hurt her as much as staring into the sun.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” said Kara. “I’m the one who should apologize. You were right, Lena. I forced myself into your life and pushed past all your barriers but I never lowered mine. I tried to live in your heart but made you live like a guest in mine. You deserve better.”

“I don’t want better,” Lena whispered. “I want you.”

Kara went very still.

“You want me?”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Kara.”

Kara took a half step forward and pulled Lena into an embrace, guiding her into a hug. As those arms like stone walls curled around her and the cape sheltered her against Kara’s unnatural, fever-hot warmth, Lena choked back a hitching sob. It almost felt like it would be okay.

“It’s alright,” Kara whispered. “It’ll be okay. We can come back from this.”

“How? I hurt you, Kara.”

“I forgive you.”

“You can’t just-“

“Shhh,” Kara nuzzled against the crown of Lena’s head. “I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

[kamaluhkhan]

anti-curse

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of apollo!reader

summary: whether he knew it or not, percy jackson made the world a better, brighter place — and you intend to protect him, no matter what path the fates leads you down. fuck prophetic dreams. the future wasn't written in stone.

warnings/disclaimers: mentions of typical demigod things (battles, weapons, etc.); this is set during the heroes of olympus series so roughly follows that plot + features the seven demigods; mainly inspired by book!percy (dark hair, sea green eyes) bc that's the one i fell in love w growing up; characters are aged up from the book (reader + percy are meant to be 21-22 y/o) bc i imagine there was more time between prophecies/series....anyways, please enjoy <3

when you first met percy jackson, he almost shot you through the chest with an arrow.

given that apollo is your godly parent, you often found yourself at the archery field, which happened to be one of the first stops on percy’s tour of camp half-blood. after that first mishap, your other half-siblings were, understandably, too scared to let percy try again — frankly chiron seemed a bit hesitant as well — and you could sense that percy felt disheartened. so, you flashed the boy a reassuring smile before giving him a few pointers and a second chance. when he smiled back at you, you felt a fluttering in your stomach that told you percy jackson would be more than a little important in your life.

archery still wasn't percy's strong suit, but your gut feeling turned out to be true. you and percy had dealt with a lot since then — a handful of quests, several prophecies, more than a few near-death experiences, a titan war, and, maybe worst of all, high school. you couldn't imagine getting through any of it without him by your side, and you knew the feeling was mutual.

so, you were entirely anticipating that percy would be hurt by your announcement during dinner. 

“no way that’s happening.” percy laughs, as if he can’t believe you’d suggest something as ridiculous as not having him accompany you on your quest. he remains unfazed, takes a sip of his electric blue coke before gesturing to the empty seat next to him. “come on, sunshine. have something to eat.”

the nickname sends your heart into a frenzy as you sit next to him. you and percy had never been anything other than friends, but sometimes....sometimes you look at his dangerous ocean eyes and wind-swept dark hair and it makes you blush. sometimes you consider the way his laughter fills you with warmth and his smile holds a thousand memories, the way he teases and winks at you and you decide that he makes your world so much brighter. sometimes you remember how sarcastic and thoughtful and loyal and reckless he is, his heart of gold and unpredictability of the sea. and you start to think that maybe possibly you'd fallen in love with your best friend.

that was not the issue at hand, though. you summon your favourite food and drink, but don't particularly feel like having either. percy returns to his conversation with hazel about how the two of you would drive up to montauk after you finally got your license, any time either of you needed to escape your reality, even just for a night. you'd sit on the beach, stargazing and roasting stale marshmallows and wishing to stay there forever. hazel seems to think that sounds like a nice escape, and percy promises that once the eight of you fulfill this prophecy, you'll all go to the beach house together, which makes hazel break out into a grin.

you can't help but smile at percy who loves his friends, who has loved you for so long. that feeling is quickly replaced by a pang in your chest that reminds you what's at stake. from the corner of your eye, you notice annabeth across from you, who looks at you like you’re a puzzle she can’t quite solve. you're trying to hide it, but if anyone can read you better than percy, it's annabeth. she knows something is weighing on your mind. you briefly lock eyes with jason, who you had gone to earlier for help, from the other side of the room, where he sits between piper and frank. 

if you weren’t so distracted, you would have been able to enjoy dinner. the eight of you — all demigods of the current great prophecy — hadn’t been all together in a while, and it was nice to share a meal aboard the argo ii despite the reality of why you’d all been traveling together. leo had equipped the ship with magic plates and cups, and with the lively jokes and stories filling the air, you could almost imagine it was an ordinary summer evening at camp. you could almost forget that tomorrow, you had to go on a quest to rescue apollo and artemis from python, a monster so powerful your father barely defeated him thousands of years ago. you could almost ignore the impending war with gaea and the giants, and the doomed fate of the world if you were to fail. the one thing you could no longer ignore, however, is the gut feeling you have about the fate of the boy sitting next to you if your quest is to unfold the way you had first planned it. 

you clear your throat, an attempt to interrupt the group's conversations. 

“i was serious earlier,” you declare. “you’re not coming with me, percy. jason is.”

the smile percy had on his face fades. his eyes are filled with concern and disbelief, as he glances at you. “i – i don’t understand.”

"percy,” jason jumps in carefully, aware that he’s treading through dangerous waters like you had warned him. “y/n and i were strategizing earlier and it seems to make the most sense, given our powers combined." 

percy shakes his head. “but — but you can’t just make last minute changes. we’ve already got everything set. right, valdez?”

leo shrugs, swallowing a mouthful of chicken before responding. “i don’t know, man. i’m no expert in quests, but it seems like i’m not the one who should be deciding this.” leo looks at you, and you nod gratefully.

you've been on edge since last night, and to calm your nerves you fiddle with the gold chain around your neck. it was a gift from your father: a necklace with a music note charm that can transform into an electric guitar or a bow and quiver. thankfully, you hadn't had to need both at the same time.

“it's up to me. and i want leo and jason to come with me.”

“then i’ll come too,” percy's voice remains calm, but insistant.

“isn’t there that thing about quests usually being done in threes?”

“that is true, piper,” percy agrees. he tilts his head towards you, like he's calling on you to remember. "exceptions have been made, though. like that one time with zoe." that had been years ago, when demigods from camp half-blood and hunters of artemis joined forces. five had been sent out on a quest, but only three came back. you shiver at the thought.

"or my quest through the labyrinth," annabeth recalls.

"but won't that also change our other plans, though?" hazel asks.

"not necessarily," you pipe in, your voice more assertive. "if jason and percy just switch. no harm done."

"we're not interchangeable," percy grumbles.

"hera sure seemed to think so!" leo searches the room for positive responses to his joke, but the most he gets is a half-hearted laugh from frank. "too soon?"

you take a deep breath. "it's not a big deal, really."

"it kind of is," percy counters. "you've never gone on a quest without me."

"you've gone on quests without me," you point out.

"that's...that's different."

"why? because i'm so weak that i need the son of the sea god to protect me at all times?"

you're giving percy the coldest stare you ever have. he hesitates to hold your gaze.

"you know that's not what i meant," he sighs.

"then what did you mean?"

percy looks at you, his eyes and tone softer. “look, sunshine, let's just stick with the plan, alright? we can just —”

“gods, you never listen, do you?" you finally snap. "you're not coming! i don’t want you there, percy!”

percy stares at you, stunned. you look around the table, and everyone looks back at you, wide-eyed. they weren’t used to this side of you, your sudden outburst not fitting in with your usually sunny disposition. 

“well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” leo jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, with less than ideal results.

“you saw something in your dreams, didn’t you?” annabeth realizes. 

her conclusion makes you freeze.

demigod dreams are always significant, carrying vivid images of monsters, messages from friends or enemies. some children of apollo like you had visions of the future — pseudo prophecies that are supposedly set to unfold given the path you’re on. technically, you weren’t supposed to share your visions, something about messing with fate or destiny, but that didn’t mean you had to accept the way things were. 

what you saw in your dreams last night, what might happen to percy, made your blood run cold.

you would defy all the laws of the universe and divine rules if it meant you could protect him. so fuck the path the fates are attempting to lead you down, and fuck prophetic dreams. you refuse to let percy die. no matter how frustrated you’re acting towards him in this moment, you know he would still do the same for you.

you figure that the future isn't written in stone, right?

either way, you're willing to challenge destiny for percy jackson.

without answering annabeth, you get up from the table and take a deep breath, carefully avoiding percy’s gaze. 

“i go with leo and jason, or i go alone.” your voice is steady, fighting the heavy beating of your heart and tears caught in your throat. “either way, i leave in the morning.” you exit the mess hall before anyone — before percy — can protest.

[atlabeth]

time’s blur - ialwbty au

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader but this primarily features percy jackson & sister!reader

summary: somehow, someway, you come back.

a/n: wow it has been a while hasn't it!! 148 days to be exact!! im always thinking about these two in the corner of my mind and ive been wanting to write this au since i got an ask about it, originally i was going to do it all as a big long one shot but i just want to get something out lol. and this will give me more freedom to do wte i want with this au instead of just having one big one shot and leaving it. anyways enjoy there is actually some fluff for once but still some emotional damage and there is more to come!! also reader is 19 and percy is 15

wc: 3.5k

warning(s): hurricane dies but she has come back!! told through percy's pov. angst, hurt/comfort, signature percy jackson guilt, but some fluffy sibling moments<3

Percy doesn’t end up in the infirmary at 2:29 in the morning out of instinct, foresight, or any kind of divine ‘chosen one’ intervention. 

He ends up in the infirmary at 2:29 in the morning because some Apollo kid was hooking up with an Ares kid on the beach, and they found you. 

They found you, not Percy. He didn’t even have a clue until he woke up to Chiron in his cabin.

Percy had had his fair share of rude awakenings over the years, usually because of horrific demigod prophetic dreams, but the expression on Chiron’s face immediately alerted Percy that something was wrong, even through his groggy haze. 

“Chiron?” he rasps, and he sits up as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He has to make sure he’s not still dreaming. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, Percy,” he says. “But I need you to come with me.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is everyone okay? Is camp okay? Is there an invasion?” 

“Nothing so ghastly,” Chiron says. Though his tone is a bit lighter, it still doesn’t ease Percy’s concerns. “But it does concern you.” 

“Great,” Percy mumbles, and he pulls himself out of bed. Normally he would have the foresight to change, but a part of him is still worried that Christmas has come early and Kronos has already invaded the city. 

So he follows Chiron—with all the sneaking around he’s done since getting to camp, it’s strange to be out this late and not have to worry about being eaten alive—clad in flannel pajama pants, a Yankee’s tee, and Converse he didn’t get the chance to fully lace up. 

“You’d tell me if something was wrong,” Percy says, glancing up at him. “Right?” 

“Of course,” he nods. “I wouldn’t classify this as something going wrong. Just… rather shocking.” 

“Great,” he repeats. “Are you going to tell me?” 

Chiron is silent for a moment, and Percy frowns. “Now I’m really worried.” 

“I suppose it’s best to rip the bandage off,” Chiron says. He stops right outside the Big House and lets out a sigh. “An hour ago, a girl was found on the beach. She looked as if she’d been washed ashore.” 

Percy’s frown deepens. “What? Gods— is she okay?” 

“Yes,” Chiron says. “I checked her over for injuries, but she only had some minor bruises. No water in her lungs, somehow.” 

“That’s crazy,” he says. “How could someone even wash up here? Even with demigods— don’t we have protections against that?” 

“All of this makes me believe there was some… divine intervention,” Chiron says slowly. “Especially with who she is.” 

Percy crosses his arms. “You’re making this sound like a huge deal. Who is she?”

“Percy,” Chiron says, soft but firm, “it’s your sister. Somehow, she’s come back to life.” 

And for a second, all he can do is stare. 

“What?” 

“I could never forget her face,” he says. “Or the presence of a child of Poseidon.” 

Percy shakes his head. “No, Chiron— if this is a joke, it’s not funny.” He huffs a mirthless laugh and looks down at his hands. “And if this is a shitty dream, then it’s really shitty.” 

“Perseus, this is real,” he states. 

He’s still shaking his head. “How can it be real? She’s dead— she’s been dead for years.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Mr. D has already gone back to Olympus to figure it out. But if I had to guess, your father decided to meddle.”

He wants to call it a lie. Honestly, he wants to punch Chiron for getting his hopes up about something like this. But deep down, Percy knows he’s telling the truth. 

“Can I see her?” he asks. “Is— is she okay? Does she know who she is?”

“In time,” Chiron says. “I cannot be sure, but it doesn’t look like she remembers anything from her life.” 

Percy shakes his head again. It doesn’t feel real. He’s imagined what it would feel like to meet you since the moment Luke told him about you, but he knew it could never happen. 

But now, all that stands between Percy and his sister is a few doors. 

“I want to see her,” he says.

“Of course,” Chiron nods. “I just need to make sure it won’t mess with her further. This isn’t like Thalia coming back with the fleece—though I have suspicions, I can’t be sure how this happened. It could be a very delicate matter.” 

“As long as it doesn’t hurt her more.” 

Chiron nods again and he opens the door to the Big House. He follows him up to his office door, then stops when Chiron gestures at the couch. 

“I just need to discuss a few more things with her.” 

Percy nods wordlessly and sits down, then Chiron disappears into his office. 

A million things are running through Percy’s mind, namely guilt. 

Shouldn’t he have been the one to find you? 

Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it’s you. 

You’re his sister. He’s always had a connection to you, even when you were gone—gods, the night after he found out you existed you appeared in his dreams. Percy’s spent almost every moment since he found out about you wishing you were still here, that he could meet you, and when it finally does happen—somehow, because he still doesn’t understand what the fuck went on for this to happen—he’s not even the one to find you? He’s just asleep like every other night?

He huffs a sigh as he hunches over, his forearms on his knees. His leg bounces up and down at a rapid pace, moving his entire body with it, but this is one time he can’t lay his ADHD to rest. He’s more surprised he isn’t up pacing the entire room for the hundredth time. 

If Percy feels like this, he can’t even imagine how you must feel. To come back for seemingly no reason with no memories, after four years in Elysium. 

Luke said you’d been killed by a monster. You were buried like any other person. 

You were gone.

But you just… came back.  

He lets out another harried sigh and falls back against the couch. He’s exhausted, but there’s no chance of him being able to go back to sleep. Not with you around. 

Suddenly, the door opens, and Percy instantly darts up from his seat. You walk out with Chiron and it’s almost surreal.

You look like all the pictures, all his dreams, just older—more mature. He wants to cry and scream and hug you all at once. 

Your eyes widen slightly, and you glance at Chiron for a moment before you focus back on Percy.

“Uh— sorry,” he says, wincing a bit. He doesn’t know how to act around you, not when he knows you but you don’t know him. “I waited for you. I thought it would be good to have someone on the other side.” 

“That’s really nice,” you murmur. “I… I see why. Word on the street is that you’re my brother.” 

Percy nods way too many times. “Yeah. Uh— yeah. We’re both children of—” 

He pauses, his gaze moving past you to Chiron. He has to have explained all this to you, right? 

“Poseidon,” you finish, and you let out a slightly shaky laugh. “Chiron laid out all the basics.” 

“This has all got to be really confusing,” he says. “I remember how lost I was when I first got to camp, and I didn’t even…” 

“Die?” you ask wryly. He nods again. He really can’t finish any sentence around you—he’s so worried of saying the wrong thing and accidentally hurting you. Percy doesn’t know how any of this works.

“It’s strange,” you admit. “I… I lived this whole life before this, and I don’t even remember any of it.”

Percy’s heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain everything to you when you start remembering. 

When you start remembering Luke. 

“Really?” he asks. “There’s nothing?”

You shake your head. “I have my name, but that’s all. And…”

Percy frowns. “What?”

You pause for a moment before you shake your head again. “Nothing. This is just…”

“Weird?” 

You nod with a slight laugh. “Yeah. To say the least.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the first person to come back to life,” Percy says. “Uh, a girl named Thalia used to be a tree before she was turned back into a human.”

You frown. “Wow.”

“We can get to all of that some other day,” Chiron thankfully interrupts. “Percy, will you take her back to your cabin?”

“You’re sure we won’t get eaten by the harpies?” Percy asks. “Aello is out for my blood.”

“I promise,” Chiron says. He glances at you, your frown noticeably deeper, and he looks back at Percy. “Perhaps we should, ah, hold off on this sort of discussion. Until tomorrow, at least.”

“Of course,” Percy says. “Sorry. You must be exhausted.” 

“A little,” you admit. “Apparently coming back to life takes it out of you.” 

“Come back here first thing in the morning,” Chiron says. “We have… quite a bit to talk about.” 

“That’s an understatement,” you murmur. 

Percy smiles a bit, and he gestures with his head for you to follow him. You do, and Chiron goes back into his office. He nabs a bag of ambrosia squares from an empty bedside as the two of you go through the infirmary just to be safe, and when he glances back at you he sees you frowning. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Does anything hurt?” 

“You’re a Yankees fan?” you say instead. 

Percy blinks, then he realizes you’re looking at his shirt. “Uh— yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m from New York, and my mom loves them, so…” he tugs at his shirt. “I know you like the Red Sox. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “We can’t all be perfect.” 

Percy can’t help but smile. You died and came back to life, and you remember nothing but your name and your love for the Boston Red Sox. 

“That means you keep up with baseball, right?” 

“When I can,” he says. “We don’t really have technology out here.” 

“Have the Red Sox won a world series since I’ve been gone?” 

“They won last year, actually.”

Your eyes widen and you instantly grin. “Really?”

He nods. “They beat the Cardinals.”

“That— that’s huge!” you exclaim. “Oh my god, they broke the curse and I didn’t get to see it? This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“You know you died, right?”

“And look how well that worked out for me.” You shake your head. “I need to go to the library or something and find some footage.”

“As much as I would love to do that,” Percy says, “we have a few other things we have to focus on.”

You huff and shake your head. “Fine. But as soon as we figure all this out, I’m figuring out some way to see those games.” 

Percy chuckles. “I don’t think anyone’ll deny you that.” 

“Good.” 

Silence settles over the two of you as you walk back to the Poseidon cabin, and Percy just feels awkward. 

He always thought about what he would say to you if he finally got to see you again, and now you’re alive somehow and right next to him and he has no idea what to do. 

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Percy finally decides on. “Chiron said you just washed up on shore.” 

“I feel surprisingly okay,” you say. “All I remember is waking up at the bottom of the lake. I thought I was going to drown, so I kicked my way up, and then got to shore.” You shake your head. “Somehow, I didn’t drown. My clothes weren’t even wet. I’ve got to be the luckiest person out there.” 

“You’re a child of Poseidon,” he says. “We can breathe underwater so we can’t drown, and our clothes don’t get wet unless we want them to.” 

“Like I said,” you incline your head, “luckiest person out there.” 

“I just don’t get why you’re back,” Percy says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are. I just don’t understand how, or why— or why now.” 

You open your mouth to say something, but you’re not able to get any words out before a yawn interrupts it. 

“Maybe that’s a tomorrow problem,” you say. 

“I think you’re right,” Percy says. He opens the door to the camp store and you follow him inside, but you frown. 

“What is this?” 

“The camp store,” he says. “You don’t really have anything, so I wanted to get you some things.” 

You just stare as he starts taking things. “You’re just… stealing?” 

“Just a couple toiletries and some clothing,” he says. “They won’t miss it.” He stashes it all in a Camp Halfblood tote bag and holds it out to you, and though you’re a bit hesitant, you still take it. 

“Thanks,” you say. “We won’t get in trouble?” 

“I think everyone will cut you some slack for a while,” Percy says. “A guy did this for me my first day and it helps—makes you feel more at home.” 

You hum, and this time you open the door for Percy. “Nice guy.” 

Percy swallows the sudden lump in his throat, trying to ignore the chill that trickles down his spine as he realizes the implications of his words. 

“Yeah,” Percy mutters. “He was.” 

Eventually, the two of you get back to the Poseidon cabin. He opens the door for you and you slowly walk inside. 

Again, it’s strange that you’re here. It’s like if a piece of his history textbook suddenly came to life and started walking around—he’s heard so much about you, imagined what he thought would be an impossible meeting so many times, but now that it’s actually happening he doesn’t know what to do. 

And it hits even more as you walk over to a picture of yourself hanging on the wall, surrounded by a myriad of others. 

It’s one of many of you and Luke, him holding you close with an arm slung around your shoulder as you beam at the camera with the brightest smile imaginable. Before Luke got his scar, before you died, before he went off the deep end. 

“I put a couple of your pictures up,” Percy rushes to explain, his throat feeling scratchy, “and a few of your old things. As— as a way to remember you.”

“I love it,” you say, and the tension dissolves in his shoulders when he sees your smile. It really is so much brighter in person. “I— I can’t believe I don’t remember any of this.”

“We’ll figure out a way to get it back,” Percy says. “I promise.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say idly as you continue to take all the pictures in. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to see all these memories of a past life you have no recollection of. 

“I don’t,” he says. “We’re gonna figure it out.”

You’re silent for a while as you keep looking at them. Then you take one of the pictures off the wall, the one of you and Luke at a baseball game. 

“Luke,” you murmur, as if you don’t realize you’re saying it out loud. You blink, then you turn to Percy. “His name is Luke, isn’t it?”

He nods, almost in disbelief. You don’t remember a damn thing about your old life but you know Luke’s name.

How is Percy supposed to tell you what he did? 

You laugh softly as you trail your nail over the edge. “We must’ve been pretty close if I got him to go to a Red Sox game.” You look over at Percy. “Does he go here too?”

After a moment, Percy shakes his head. “He— uh, he used to.”

“Makes sense,” you murmur, and you put the picture back on the wall. “I got the easy way out. Everyone else had to deal with the fallout.”

Percy frowns. “You were killed by a monster. I don’t think anyone considers that the easy way out.” 

“It kinda was,” you say with a shrug. “I— I don’t remember much about it, but Chiron said I was in Elysium. There aren’t any monsters down there, and there certainly aren’t any responsibilities.”

“Well,” Percy sits down on his bed, “I’m glad you’re here. You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined meeting you.” 

You chuckle. “I didn’t know I was so popular.” 

“I’m serious,” he says. “Poseidon is one of the Big Three, and they made an oath not to have kids. I was the only Big Three kid in general when I got to camp—when I found out about you, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to have a sister to talk about all of this with.” 

Your eyes soften, and you lean against his bed frame. “I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry about?” 

“I— I don’t know,” you say with a slight laugh. “I just feel bad that I couldn’t be there for you.” 

“You’re already doing a pretty good job at being a big sister,” Percy says wryly. 

“Thanks,” you say. “You’re doing a pretty good job at being a younger brother.” 

Percy laughs and smiles, and you smile too. He’s beginning to understand what Luke always said, about your presence embodying warmth. He’s only been around you for a few minutes and he already feels better. 

“I’ve never had a brother before this,” you say. “So there might be a couple speed bumps.” 

“We’ll get through them together,” Percy says. “Besides, I… I kind of always considered you my sister. Ever since I found out about you, even though you were…” 

“Dead?” you guess, and he winces. You chuckle a bit. “It’s still weird for me, too. Can’t imagine what it must be like for all of you.” 

“Weird,” he says without really thinking. “Really weird. But I’m thankful that you’re back.” 

You smile. “So am I, Percy.” 

You let out another yawn, and you sit down on the bed across from him. “God, what time is it?” 

Percy glances at the clock in the corner. “3:34.” 

You whistle. “I really chose a great time to come back, huh?” 

He chuckles, and he kicks off his shoes as gets up to turn the lights off. “I think some sleep would do us both some good.” 

You nod and do the same. As you lay back, one hand behind your head, you continue to look around the cabin. 

“Are these your band posters?” 

He shakes his head as he sits back down. “They’re yours, actually, but you’ve got good taste. I love Pearl Jam.” 

“I used to have good taste, you mean,” you say wryly. 

“Hey,” he says. “I meant what I told you. We’re gonna get your memories back.” 

“How are you so sure?” 

“I’ve done a lot of impossible things,” Percy says. “And so have you, from what I’ve heard. It’s kind of the Poseidon kid way, honestly.” 

“You’ll have to teach me some things, then.” 

“And when you get your memory back, you’ll have to do the same,” he says. 

You smile and nod. “Deal.” 

Percy smiles too, and he lays down. “You really should try and get some sleep. Chiron wasn’t joking when he said we have a lot to talk about.” He huffs a slight laugh. “Whatever the reason is for you coming back, I guarantee there’s gonna be some people upstairs that are mad about it.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “Upstairs?” 

“Olympus,” he says. “The gods don’t really like things happening out of their control.” 

You hum, and for a moment there’s nothing but silence and the sound of both your breathing. It’s a little strange having someone else here other than Tyson, but he’s thankful for it. 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” you ask. There’s an edge of fear in your voice, and Percy frowns. 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Nothing is going to happen,” he repeats. “I’m not going to let anything happen. The gods have already messed with your life enough—they don’t get to do it again.” 

Percy half-expects to hear the sound of thunder echoing across camp, but the silence continues. Maybe Zeus isn’t listening in on him for once, or maybe he just expects the disrespect at this point. 

“I really am the luckiest person,” you say. “I’ve got someone like you looking out for me.” 

“You were looking out for me when you were gone,” he says. “You might not remember, but I could feel it. So I’m just repaying the favor.” 

Again, silence. It’s temporarily interrupted by the sound of sheets shifting, then you speak. 

“I’m really glad I got to meet you, Percy,” you murmur. 

He can’t help but smile, and he tries to ignore the tears beginning to spring in his eyes. He has no idea why you’re back—no idea what this could mean. Maybe your dad did bring you back, maybe it’s a bizarre case like Thalia, maybe you play a part in something that they don’t even know about yet and it's nothing but bad news.

But for once in his life, Percy’s not going to question it. 

You’re alive and you’re here. 

For now, that’s all he needs. 

“Me too,” he whispers.