#someone go give all the demigods some free therapy because like?

[localfraudster]

Dropping this idea here:

You know how alabaster convinced most his siblings to fight but they all died. Imagine if they died protecting him or purposely injuring him so he wouldn't have to fight whilst he was tried to protect them but he slightly hesitated so they ended up dying. Oh yeah imagine the rest of his siblings putting the blame on him. That would hurt.

Now he's alone fighting off Lamia for months on end and the first person he'd put his life on the line for died right after helping him because he hesitated. Imagine the denial that Claymore was stuck as a mistform. And imagine if his mistcard ended up being destroyed by some god or immortal being.

He's alone. Again.

[gin-and-total-annihilation]

more spop not!fic that actually turns into fic bc i am trash

I will preface this entirely-too-long post by saying I’ve read very, very little spop fanfic, and the few I’ve read since s5 dropped are all Catradora oneshots that are, um, a little hyperfocused. (Read: Y’all really have some Ideas about how a sword lesbian and a cat lesbian have The Sex, don’tcha.) So it’s entirely probably that the scenario I’m imagining here has been done before, possibly a lot, and likely better than how I’ve imagined it. This is me, 15 minutes late with Starbucks.

But can you imagine how hard it would be for Catra to integrate into the Princess Alliance? I mean, the show depicts the BFS adopting her pretty much immediately with, like, zero hesitations over their past history with her (a few sarcastic one-liners tossed here and there don’t count as processing, imho). But the kingdom at large? Not to mention the other kingdoms? Catra was the face of the invasion for such a long time. She had a specific angle to take out She-Ra, the ubiquitously-loved and lauded hero of Etheria. Yes, she helped save the planet/universe from Horde Prime, but once the banners and balloons come down, there’s still a reckoning to be had.

Mermista alternately pokes fun at Catra for being afraid of water, and takes any opportunity to “accidentally” splash her

Netossa brings a squirt bottle to any meeting where Catra is invited, and offers at some point to make Adora a magic leash for her

Frosta doesn’t particularly say or do anything, but she makes extra sure to exude icy menace in Catra’s direction. Okay, one time she maybe accidentally zings Catra during iceball, but everyone else thought it was funny!

Out of respect for Scorpia’s friendship with Catra, Perfuma doesn’t stoop to playing pranks, but she does pointedly remark on how muddled Catra’s chi is, a lot. Sometimes in the middle of a meeting, if Catra is arguing with someone, Perfuma will airily announce to the whole room that negative energy is starting to interfere with their goals again, and it looks like she’ll have to sage the meeting room again. After which Catra usually just gives up and sulks in silence

Micah is fairly neutral on the subject of Catra, considering she’s part of his daughter’s “best friend squad” and is also dating She-Ra, Princess of Power, demigod of the wind and sea, vanquisher of Horde Prime, hero of Etheria. But he does get moody sometimes looking at the mural of Angella, and a couple of times he’ll go Dad Mode and tell Glimmer she reminds him of her mother, but then he’ll glance at Catra and change the subject.

And like, Catra gets it, okay? She fucked up. She was the bad guy. And these people are princesses. If there’s anything Catra knows is true, it’s that princesses are champions at Not Letting It Go. So she mostly just lets it roll off her shoulders. (Okay, yes, sometimes she goads them, and yes, she should keep her mouth shut more instead of trading barbs, but what do you want from her? Being catty is her thing.) After all, she got her happily ever after. She got Adora. And that’s really all that she cares about. So a couple of whiny, poofy, pastel-wearing bimbos wanna take cheap shots at her? Ha. Catra wrote the book on petty. She grew up in the Horde. Let ‘em do their worst. 

Except Adora gets Big Mad about it.

I imagine Adora not only notices how the other princesses act around Catra, she sees Catra doing her best to ignore it. Melog is a pretty good indicator of Catra’s temper, and so it’s clear that the hazing irritates the shit out of Catra, but true to her word, she’s been working on her anger, so aside from sarcasm the worst anyone gets out of a her is a scowl, a flicking tail and ears, and Melog’s brief display of red-tinged spines and growling. 

So Adora is proud, seriously! Catra has come a long way from where she was in the Horde. But Adora, the OG “Punch Your Feelings Out Guy”, wants to remind the other princesses that Catra’s not the only one who changed sides.

Naturally, she does this by losing her temper and shouting them down during another all-princess meeting where everyone is subtly picking on Catra.

“What is your problem? Catra’s on our side now! Why are you all still acting like this?”

Mermista, never one to back down from a verbal slap-fest, gamely engages. “Um, not everyone thinks that just because Catra made, like, one good choice, she gets a free pass on all her other ones.”

“Forgiveness is a process, Adora,” says Perfuma primly, ignoring the glare Adora sends her way. “You can’t expect everyone to accept Catra immediately. We need time to work through our negative associations with Catra so that we can begin the healing process.”

Catra rolls her eyes, but Adora throws her hands in the air. “Immediately? It’s been months! And you’re not working through anything! You’re bullying her!”

At this point, Catra is almost offended at all this implies. “Uh, excuse me, no one bullies me, okay. I can take anything they throw at me.”

“Ha, that’s funny,” says Netossa sweetly. “Because that’s not what you say anytime I have this in my hand!” She brandishes the squirt bottle, and Catra’s ears flatten but she keeps herself from flinching.

Adora slaps the table. “See! Bullying!”

“Adora, calm down,” says Glimmer, sighing with a hand over her eyes. At her side, Bow splays both hands in a gesture that simultaneously tries to placate everyone.

“Okay, look, everyone,” he says. “A couple of jokes are one thing, but Adora’s got a point. It’s going a little too far.”

“Oh? Was it also going a little too far when Catra wrecked my castle and destroyed Princess Prom?” says Frosta, crossing her arms.

“Or when she decimated the Whispering Woods?” adds Perfuma.

“Or when she attacked my kingdom?” Mermista, chin on fist, rolls her eyes. “And, you know, stole it for a while.”

“Or when she sent Entrapta to Beast Island?” Perfuma turns to put a hand on Entrapta’s shoulder, but Entrapta’s eyes have gone starry.

“Oooh, I liked Beast Island! The tech there was superb! Maybe I can go back with all the resources at my disposal, now that I’m not an exiled prisoner anymore, and see if I can finally succeed in reversing the polarity of the--”

“See,” says Perfuma hastily, “she was exiled and a prisoner! With no, um, resources!”

“Look, Adora, it’s great that you and Catra are happy together,” says Frosta, with the deadpan expression of a fourteen-year-old who does not mean a single thing she says. “But I still don’t like her.”

“My heart breaks,” mutters Catra, but Adora leans over the table, eyes closing in a bid for patience.

“I’m not asking anyone to like her. I’m just saying, stop bullying her.”

“Uh, again, I’m not--”

Adora spears Catra with a single look, and Catra subsides, a little stunned at the turbulence in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“It’s mean,” Adora goes on, “and it’s pointless, since Catra is on our side now. I know there’s history there, but we are in the process of rebuilding Etheria and creating an example to show the other worlds we’re trying to reach. So just--chill, okay?”

A moment of silence greets this declaration. Then Frosta looks away with a snort.

“I’ll show her some chill,” she mutters.

Catra desperately wants to roll her eyes. “Give it a rest, kid.”

Frosta shoots to her feet, a layer of ice sheeting the table under her hands. “Don’t talk down to me, Horde scum!”

Melog leaps onto the table, its mane blazing so deep a red it’s nearly black. Chaos erupts as various shouts of “Melog, no!” and “Watch out!” tangle in the air. Catra rises from her seat, alarmed that Frosta is about to ice-punch her alien cat, when thunder cracks and a deep, throaty voice shouts, “Enough!”

She-Ra stands in battle stance, glowering at the room’s occupants, light pouring off her. The sword is held in a neutral rest position in her hand, though every inch of her (and there’s a lot of them) seems to be vibrating with energy.

Catra clears her throat as Melog instantly goes liquid-blue and pounces to She-Ra’s side, curling around and around her legs with undisguised adoration.

Melog, it seems, has no concept of chill.

The princesses all resume their seats, staring at the beast they’d been seconds from attacking as it practically rolls on the ground at She-Ra’s feet. Their eyes go from She-Ra to Melog to Catra, who expertly pretends to be unaffected and unblushing.

“Catra is not a threat,” says She-Ra in that voice, and Melog agrees blissfully, rubbing its head against her hip. Catra opens her mouth to protest, but sighs and shuts up. No point in protesting that you’re a badass when your psychic mood-ring therapy cat goes belly-up anytime your hot warrior girlfriend looks at you.

“Catra deserves another chance. She’s already proven herself by helping us defeat Prime.” She-Ra lays a single hand on Melog’s head. Catra wants to bury her face in her hands at the sound the alien cat makes.

“But how can we trust her when she used to fight for the Horde!” protests Frosta.

“So did I,” says She-Ra quietly, and it’s like all the air gets sucked out the room.

“So did Entrapta and Scorpia--” Perfuma’s eyes drop to the table at this. “--and you, Mermista--” Mermista sighs, but doesn’t argue. “and Spinnerella--” Even though She-Ra’s voice is gentle, Spinnerella’s eyes still well with tears, and Netossa tries to glare while she comforts her wife, but even she looks guilty. “--and King Micah, and Shadow Weaver--” Even though Glimmer wasn’t one of the princesses giving Catra shit, she still winces and leans closer to Bow. “And we gave every single one of them a second chance before the war was even ended. What makes Catra different from them?”

“She wasn’t mind-controlled!” argues Frosta.

“Yes, she was!” shoots back She-Ra, and Catra can’t help the flinch, the instinct to reach back and rub her neck. Her hair is just starting to be long enough to cover the faint scar of the implant.

“Okay, for like, a second, but even before Horde Prime, Catra was--”

“Catra and I were both abused and manipulated by Shadow Weaver.” There’s a thread of pain in She-Ra’s voice now. “From the time we were infants. We never stood a chance against her.”

“But you escaped,” says Perfuma, almost as a question. “You changed your mind about the Horde, and you left.”

Catra stares at the table. She can feel She-Ra’s eyes glance toward her. Melog gives a solemn mrow of comfort, pulsing aqua-blue. Without warning, light flares again and Adora is standing at Catra’s side, hands empty.

“If I hadn’t found the sword in the Whispering Woods, it would have been me marching on your kingdoms,” says Adora, and everyone shuffles uncomfortably. “I was chosen to be Force Captain just a couple hours before. It was dumb luck that I fell off that skiff and landed where I did.”

“It was destiny,” argues Perfuma. “You were chosen to be She-Ra! You would have found the sword at some point!”

“By that point, would it have mattered?” Adora’s hand strokes Melog’s ears. Catra swears she can feel the ghost of those fingers on her own head. “I wouldn’t have had Bow and Glimmer to show me what the Horde was really doing. I would have had Shadow Weaver and Hordak reinforcing my training.”

“You would have found a way to become She-Ra,” says Perfuma earnestly. “The universe would have aligned somehow--”

“And whose kingdom would have already fallen to the Horde by the time that happened?” Adora lifts her hands helplessly. “Don’t you get it? If I hadn’t discovered I was She-Ra, I would have become Catra.”

They stare at her, apparently never having put the dots together before. Catra, who has always been smarter than these princesses, leans back in her chair.

“Maybe,” she says, smirking up at her girlfriend. “But I wore it better.”

aslfja;lskdjfl;a this is already too long and it half-morphed into fic, so I’ll just summarize by saying everyone is a little sorry that they’ve been bullying Catra, and Catra refuses to admit she’s been bullied because of course she does, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t hugely touched and grateful that for once Adora fought to protect her from her princess friends. The Alliance goes forward with the intent of trying to behave better towards Catra. It helps that they saw Melog turn into a jello-mold as soon as She-Ra appeared, so they have proof positive that Catra is indeed not a threat and is in fact secretly a jello mold herself. The bullying turns into heckling whenever Catra and Adora goo-goo-eye each other. Which is a lot. Frosta makes an ice sculpture of Catra swooning into Adora’s arms (her art skills mysteriously improve enough to clearly depict Catra with heart eyes and Adora with bulging biceps). Perfuma decorates it with flowers. Netossa puts a forcefield net around it so Catra can’t destroy it. Catra sulks and Adora flexes her muscles to make her feel better. the end???

bonus line I couldn’t figure out how to incorporate: “Uh, Entrapta has two Hordaks and I don’t see anyone giving her crap about them!”

[derenger]

Growing up, parenting and gaming - Longread on life, computer games and finding yourself

This longread is dedicated to and written for all those current and former kids, who had or have troubles growing up, taking decisions, finding themselves in the world they live in, who play games independently of age and – perhaps – have not lost their love for a good game, good times and good buddies.

Perhaps it will help someone in their life. If that happens – I shall think of this writing as useful and my time writing it as not completely wasted.

The ideas have been on my mind for over 2 years now (they started getting very clear when I started doing therapy) and I have to put them on paper now.

Here it goes.

I grew up in the 90s in Eastern Europe. After the USSR collapsed millions of people found themselves without work, perspectives and means of existence. We were lucky that my dad had a good job that was paid in hard currency, however he was barely home – and by that I mean like seeing him 2 or 3 times a month.

We had good living conditions compared to others and my mom did the best she could too take care of my younger bro and me.

The first time we were exposed to computer games was when I was like 7 and my bro was 5 – in the office where the boyfriend of our aunt has been working. We played Dangerous Dave, Scorched Earth, Socoban, Digger, Civilization, The Incredible Machine and some others I do not recall the names. And of course, we liked it and it did not take long for our dad to install them on his PC at home. 2 years later my best buddy got Doom 2 installed on his PC and that was the absolute blast. We spent weeks trying to figure out how to get through level 2 and it was a big holiday when our buddy finally did.

My dad tried to restrict TV and computer time per week, so we always opted for the PC. Over time I learned to turn it on by myself and play when there was no one at home. My dad did not know.

A couple of our friends had 8bit consoles - soviet bootlegs of Super Nintendoes, with TMNT and Chip n Dale, but that was probably it. After all, we were living in a small village with not that many possibilities to make money.

When I was 10 we moved to a bigger city into a 1 room apartment. All 4 of us. This was 1996. 2 other very important things:

We started going to a far bigger school than before, where the mood was totally different from what we were used to. We were bullied and beaten, could not get along with other pupils and teachers and no one actually cared.

Father was home every day.

We started going to a far bigger school than before, where the mood was totally different from what we were used to. We were bullied and beaten, could not get along with other pupils and teachers and no one actually cared.

Father was home every day.

I mean, father was present home every day. It is not like he spent time with us doing sports or whatever. He just had any idea what to do with us as this was his first long time exposure to kids in the 11 years we were a family.

He was more of an authoritarian guy – we were not supposed to waste time in gaming clubs, listen to stupid music (Prodigy, Beastie Boys), we should have studied well, read books, have been doing sports and in general act like good kids.

We were doing some martial arts sports cause mom brought us there. We were taking music classes cause “everyone has to”. We were supposed to help out at home. We were not supposed to hang out with “bad” kid or stay outside till late hours. We were not supposed to smoke, swear and simulate illness to miss classes. We were not supposed to get into trouble.

It is not like we were putting a lot of thought into it. We just moved to the city from rural area and frankly speaking were absolutely not happy about. I guess we just went with the flow.

This was also the time when the first “gaming spot” in town opened – they had 2 Sega Mega Drives II and 1 Sony PlayStation. MK3, MK3 Ultimate, Contra Hard Cops, Golden Axe, some samurai fighting games for the Sega. SPS – Red Alert, Twisted Metal, Duke Nukem, Doom and of course – an incredible breakthrough for its time – Quake 2. And that was a revelation. I recall mom giving us money from time to time. To go play. Sega cost like 1 buck and hour, SPS – 1,5 bucks – far more expensive, so we played mainly on Sega.

At the same time we did have some games at home – Doom, Power Formula 1, Lines, the same Civilization, Lion King, Alladin, Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis, Gods and Dune 2000. Dad did not want to allow us play games. Like, at all. Don’t ask me why he never deleted the games. The PC was mainly used for him to work. So when he left home, he took the power cable of the monitor and closed it in his spare suitcase. What we did was to unplug the cable from the printer and use for the monitor. Later on he hid both cables – from the monitor and the PC in the suitcase. I found a way to open the suitcase with a very fine flat screwdriver. Mom hid the fact from our dad for a while until he noticed the suitcase was “broken”. I believe they did not speak with each other for a week. But I am still proud of the fact of cracking that suitcase! Fuck yeah!

Things started getting worse when I transferred to a lyceum - 1998. I was 12. This was like a gymnasium for hardcore science-kids, where they went deep into math and natural sciences. I was hysterical the first 2 years as I was barely making the program. Even my dad had troubles solving the math they gave us. Music classes turned to shits. I had no time nor mood for sport. But I had to keep doing it all. Just because. There were a couple of bullies in class, whose parents bribed the management of the school so that their kids would have fancy graduation papers at the end and frankly speaking no one could get a grip on them. That had me very depressed.

Around 13 I started stealing money from my parents and missing classes to go to computer clubs – their number was getting bigger every week, consoles started to disappear. Half Life, CS 1.6, Age of Empires 2, Q3, D2 1.07, Black and White, SimCity 2000, NOX, StarCraft Brood War and many other games had our full attention. The biggest part of it was the fact you could play with or against your friends! That was so fucking awesome! At the same time I started discovering sci-fi and rock music, but that is a different story.

We stole a lot of money from our parents in those times and missed a lot of classes and of course after 3 or 4 months it all got revealed. Boy oh boy our dad smoked us. That was very very tough for a kid when all the things he actually liked were taken from him. Dark times when we were seriously asking ourselves what the hell our parents wanted from us as aside from the stuff they told us to do they never really told us what was it for. Everything else was useless, stupid or waste of time.

Somehow my marks at school got better closer to graduation and I graduated almost with a medal, went to university. I remember they had this PC club with like 200 PCs and from time to time we skipped one or the other lecture to play Starcraft or CS, but very quickly boozing with buddies became the major leisure activity and pushed gaming to the back. I did pretty well at the university, made my master with excellence and that was it – 6 years flew by in a blink of an eye.

I got my own PC during the first year at the uni, played a bit of Warcraft 3, HOMM 3, Quake 3, Lineage II but it was not like I was deep into that. I remember after defending my master I spent like 3 days playing Crysis without anyone saying a word. I mean, I was through with the university. I was free!

Soon after that I went on to work abroad as a project engineer in the chemical industry.

At the moment I am doing sales engineer for a good salary in Berlin, I am married and except for the Corona and all the restrictions it brought life seems ok.

During the last 10 years of my “adult” life I have been in many different situations. I have been very sick a couple of times, running on the edge of life and death. I have been in some useless relations that only drained energy and nerves from me. I also have been diagnosed with depression and burnout at some point, did therapy and consider myself fully recovered from both. I’ll be summarizing it all below.

When I look at my life it did occur to me that gaming was far more important than just the sheer desire to shoot buddies and skip school.

Growing up under the conditions where everything is predetermined one does not really get the chance to expose your own wish. After all, my parents both come from very unhappy families and did not have the exactly best examples of parenting.

It occurred to me that they never really cared about anything we achieved – whether in school, music or sports. I recall a couple of times when I did really good, like winning the City-contest in English language or getting my first “good” in algebra in 7th grade as that shit was extremely tough. I do not recall any reaction. In fact, mom and dad put their close attention to us only when things started getting really bad, like when we were skipping classes or got arrested for setting up fireworks in a crowded place. We never really got any positive feedback for anything we did because our parents just had no idea how to do that. I do not blame them – they were trying their best from their own experience.

And gaming was the absolute opposite to all of that.

Going to computer clubs we knew exactly that we were surrounded by like-minded lads. We made some good friends along the way – lads, who were always ready to jam on de_dust or bring their D2 chars to share some loot. One of the owners of the club had a daughter who was really good in Q3 – I remember everyone has been looking at her like she was some sort of demigod. The games gave us the space and playground we needed so much – clear even rules for everyone. If you frag – you win. If you don’t – you lose. If you suck – the older guys would always help with a couple of tips. Games also gave us control. I really liked the games where you went on an adventure, like NOX or Will Rock or serious Sam. Gaming also gave us the space to take our own decisions and suffer the full consequences if these were wrong – getting overrun by zerglings or getting fragged with rocket launcher with QUAD DAMAGE.

Gaming clubs were our safe space. At some point our dad did raid the computer clubs and did bust us a couple of times. Sure we got beaten on those occasions.

I recall my bro being very proud on getting 1st in the national 2v2 ladder in SC:BW later in the uni. He also used to game the whole night long at my parents place. This was over 10 years ago and they still do not know. He is still very good in SC though he does not play anymore.

I do play sometimes – currently grinding D2 and refreshing my knowledge in chess. I do not have more time for any other more or less serious game.

I am slowly approaching the point where I should write a conclusion – it is going to be quite simple. Gaming was the first opportunity to take my life into my own hands. It took me 32 years of my own life to find the power in me to take responsibility for myself and not to rely on someone else. My decision – my choice – my consequences. It took a lot of trouble and turmoil for me to get to this point and finally embracing the power within feels great. It was also the first surrounding of dudes just like me, which was a very good feeling back then.

During the last 6 months I switched to a job that pays almost the double of my previous one, my wife moved in with me from abroad, we have a nice apartment and are looking forward to vacations in the Alps. I still have to find a way to approach my parents though I am not sure the old hive is worth disturbing. I guess time will tell.

Whenever I am down or things do no go according to play – I do turn to gaming occasionally, just to get back into the world where I am in full control. It gives me power and I guess hope that everything will work out. If not now – then over time. You just have to keep practicing. And ask for help when it is needed.

I hope you found this read interesting.

[neshabeingchildish]

Poly Wanna? Ch.3

A/N: Anonymous Guest - If you’d like to have a chat about these things, say it with your chest, and I’ll say my part. We’ll have an exchange. If you want to use the space set aside for reviews without identification or giving me the opportunity to reply to you personally, then I have to give you the two cents here and everyone has to be subjected to it. It’s an M rating story, so I’ll presume you have your big girl panties on and can take a reply and for anyone else around, in case they have some confusion about my stand on these things, this applies to all.

I just want to remind everybody that this is free labor and if you want somebody to do anything on your timetable, you oughtta go ahead and fund them. You don’t? Cool. Take wtf they’re willing to give you. Or leave it. None of us have to be here. If you’re here because you would love to read a story that I am currently writing, I’d love for you to stick around and will give you the best story that my skills have to offer, free of charge and therefore not obliged to demands. If you’re here to be an executive producer with a production schedule, you made a wrong turn at the intersection of Fuck You and Pay Me. Thanks for your time. I understand if ours together has come to an end. Read what brings you what you want to see and feel, and I’ll write what brings me that WHEN I write it! 

I will abandon this and delete it before turning over authority on what happens here to anybody, or subjecting myself to being treated like a content mule. Juneteenth happened, Sis. You don’t have no slaves here. In the immortal words of my mama, and many-a-Black-mamas, “I’m not one of your lil’ friends.” You better approach me like you got some sense if you trying to ASK ME to do something for my consideration. Peace and many blessings. And now, my update…

@adorkable-blackgirl  @chenoahchantel @cactus-con @up-the-tube @riebellion  @itsyaapollochild@oof–musicals @lesbian-so-what @woahjusttakeiteasy-man @meadowstryingtobepretty @imma-sensitive-btch @okaygal21 @midernacht @divinereign4ever @xoxoemille

A Very Henry Morning

Henry generally woke up in just enough time to blend some juice and watch the sunrise over Swellview, the city that he fought everyday to protect. It was a lasting ritual, from whenever he was with Charlotte. She would always get up super early for yoga and meditation, blend them some juice, then, he’d get up and watch the sun rise with her. The first time, she tapped him to wake him and said, “Sorry to wake you, but you’ve gotta see this.” He quickly rushed out of bed, wondering if a Swellview emergency was underway. This was more important! She went to the balcony of their apartment, cute body clad in her yoga gear and just stared at the rising sun, in awe. “It’s like whenever the day starts anew, not only is it another chance to get things a little more right, but she really brings the day in, in style.” Charlotte was smiling as the morning got gradually brighter and staring at the lifebringing star until it became too bright to behold. Henry was looking at her.

He wanted to ask her if she really thought that was worth waking him up this early, knowing that he went to sleep late at night after crime fighting, but just the way she drank it all in and the way it became a little brighter and a little warmer as he drank her in… Instead, he’d said, “Tomorrow, wake me up earlier! We almost missed it,” and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Presently, he had been doing this without her now for 6 years. “She really brings the day in, in style,” he would say out loud to himself, every time. For years, he did it hoping that Charlotte was somewhere out there, doing the same and that for that moment in time, they were connected again. He would imagine her in whatever her current form had been from (cyberstalking her) and he would recall the way that she looked whenever they first did this.

When he was with Jasper, he didn’t share that moment with him. It seemed unfair to Charlotte, even though even being involved with Jasper was another betrayal of sorts, the sunrise was holy. It was set apart. It was a part of he and Char that was too big, too bright for anybody, even her to ever be able to take away from him… and he was too selfish to share it with anybody else, even Jasper.

Now, his internal clock was set to make the juice and go to the terrace. He watched the sunrise and then, and only then was he willing to begin his day. Henry usually finished off his juice before the sun rose fully and put the glass into the wash when he came back in. He grabbed his watering pot and went to water all of his plants that needed it and simply check in with the ones that didn’t. “The sunrise was beautiful today. Forecast is that she might scorch you if I let you outside, but I’ll definitely let her in, so she can kiss you all on your little faces,” he said. He himself kissed flowers. He himself touched them lovingly, talked to them, asked nothing more of them than for them to be healthy and flourish, but sometimes shared his life with them. Henry had a therapist, but he knew whenever he spoke to his therapist that he was speaking to a therapist and he, as a therapist sometimes worried about whether he was handling his own therapy properly, or if his fears got into the way of his needs. Speaking with his plants helped him to figure out when he was being unreasonable, irrational, or counterproductive. Because, the way that he spoke with them was like one would a child that they love with their whole heart, explaining things for them to understand, and being honest and realistic, but protecting them from one’s own problems. Accountability mattered when you spoke with someone you loved. You would honestly do whatever you could to make sure that they don’t see you differently and make the declarations to better yourself to them. He did that with his plants, then shared the genuine portions that he walked away with for therapy. They kept him honest.

He kept a 3 foot garden statue of Blodeuwedd in his home and had various depictions of her flowers form in artwork all over the place, along with other deities, myths, legends associated with flowers. He’d keep statues nearby the plants to “protect them,” in that way that a dad looks underneath the bed and in the closet for monsters. He’d collected Flora, Khloris, Hegemone, among others but, Blodeuwedd was his favorite, for some reason. Unless you counted Dionysus! Now, one thing about that guy was that he was known mostly for his partying, yeah? Wine, fertility, ritual madness… People generally thought orgies and drunkenness… which… make no mistake, Henry was not opposed to and would even call himself a fan, but Dionysus was also, among these other fun things, god of the grape harvest… He was a god of fruitfulness and vegetation! Henry felt like it was unfair to simply see him as a wild hedonist when he was to thank for fertility and cultivation. Henry was pro-fair… And maybe, just maybe identified with the demigod, just a little bit. 

Folk rarely saw the portion of Henry that loved as hard as he did when he experienced the sun saying good morning to all of nature and made his first moves of her arrival an offering to those who could not live without her. Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Henry Hart is no mystic. He doesn’t worship the sun, the plants, or any of the gods and goddess spread around his home for the aesthetics. But, whenever he spent time with these plants, whenever he gave love to his flowers, he believed in something greater than himself, and that was all of the faith that he needed to go out and protect this world everyday.

People were fine, or whatever… but also they were human. They were the threats to nature, to the earth, the environment, and all that the sun shone on everyday. Mister Feelgood never had to fight an animal. It was always people that did the evil that required his life’s work to exist. Many moons ago, he had fought a bear, but since then wondered if other steps might have been taken. Captain Man was not one to really do the sensible thing in a fight scenario. 

As he got older, Henry tried to figure out ways to best avoid a fight. He was fast approaching 30, probably would reach it before he knew it, and he was in great shape - the best shape of his life, but he also knew that this vessel expiration date. He wasn’t Captain Man. He wasn’t indestructible, and some of his peers were already discussing that the warranties on their knees had lapsed. A few years ago, he might have replied, “RIP to them, but I’m different.” But, he was showing signs of power failure, himself. He became sore more easily than he did as Kid Danger, well, since the early days, at least. He was sore all of the time from ages 13-15. He thought it would never stop. That his body would ache for the rest of his life. 

By 16, he was accustomed to his hypermotility, trained to perfection in its usage and skilled beyond his wildest thoughts in fighting technique. He didn’t have a single pain for almost 2 years. Then, Rick Twitler stripped him of that. The soreness increased, as he spent more energy to get used to things, but he adjusted pretty quickly and became just as trained and skilled with his normal Henry body. It worked out for him for years, in and out of that outfit. But, by 25, he started getting a little more tired than usual. 

He worked on his diet and regulated his energy levels better. Within another year, he started feeling like he needed more sleep at night. He began a vitamin regimen and looked into some natural remedies for fatigue and sleep deprivation. Now, even his libido was changing. Pre-Charlotte Henry kissed strangers, made out with hot villains, hooked up with any cute flavor that would give him the time of day. That seemed to be normal teenage behavior, in his mind. Post-Charlotte Henry was a little more reserved for a while. He’d had this life changing relationship, failed at it, and wanted to proceed with either extreme self destruction, or instant carnal gratification. There was no in between. He either was a hermit, or a hoe, for months after they broke up, and only tried to moderate that whenever he began seeing Jasper.

Unfortunately for Jasper, Post-Charlotte Henry was still suffering when he picked up what they had, so… while he was truly trying, he still had the tendency to accelerate from hubby to harlot goals in a heartbeat. Unfortunately for Jasper, Henry had not yet gotten to the point where he could honestly and objectively take a look at his own fuckery and see where he messed up and he certainly wasn’t about tackling sorting through his own heartbreak so that he wouldn’t become one of those hurt people who hurt people. Unfortunately for Henry, Jasper was a keeper, and he was still so heartbroken that he lost the one keeper that he could acknowledge back then, that he lost ANOTHER. How the fuck did you throw away two keepers, you egotistical, emotionally stunted, self-centered, sex crazed… He stopped himself. Speak about your mistakes in the same way that you would speak to a friend about theirs. When you have no friends that you can think of, though… Speak to yourself like you would speak to the lost ones. To Charlotte. To Jasper…

He grabbed his hygiene bag - it was like a tactical control bag, but full of his facial and skin care, dental products, and his cleansing and fragrance supplies. The bag was full of things that he used on a daily basis, and also his weekly and monthly care. Henry took care of himself. His hair, skin, and teeth were always a priority that he was sure rubbed off from Char, too. Hell, they were together the first 4 years after graduation. Those were formative years for him. He used to wash his face and body with the same damn soap, his face with his hands and his body with a loofah that he always kept until it fell apart. He used to brush his teeth within 40 seconds. His hair took the most time of everything he did and all he ever did was wash it with a shampoo and conditioner 2 in 1… and if he ran out, the same damn soap he washed his face and body with!

Charlotte got him into separate cleaners and applicators. Like, whenever he washed his face, he didn’t even do so in the shower, because he had an entire process to make sure his face was well cared for and the shower wash wouldn’t be timed right for it. Usually, he did wipe his face in the shower, because of washing his hair and the water and steam, but he didn’t really wash it until he did his face after the shower. The shower itself, he would  wash his hair, let conditioner set in it and then wash his body, some of his parts had different cloths, ALL of the cloths went into the laundry when he finished washing up. He always moisturized his damp skin, and put on his deodorant before his facial routine, which was kind of extensive, but had him looking better at 27 than he had at 17, meanwhile… not to say that Jasper looked bad, but… He definitely hadn’t aged as well as Henry and Char had and perhaps she’d help him, like she helped Henry. 

Her influence had helped him become the casanova that he dreamed himself to be when he was younger. Though lately, his desire had been limited. He didn’t even get off on the thrill of the chase anymore. He was super focused on this television project, so he thought maybe that might be affecting things. He wondered and worried if throughout recording that he might have to play up his sexual conquests so that his life would look more like it had looked for the past few years, or if the show would simply redefine him, or worse, make him look like he was faking for TV, since he didn’t seem to want to go on any dates at the moment. He always went on dates. People knew that. If he wasn’t on a date, he was at a party and he was coming home with somebody’s date.

He had family game night at his parents’ neighbors’ house a couple of weeks before and whenever they were playing word association games. Someone said Henry, and every member of his family said one of the following list: Slut, sex, and STD. He didn’t want to say who said what but at the same time that he told Piper, “I have never once had an STD. I’m a sex therapist for crying out loud!” his mother was asking his father, “Why would you say SEX?” And his “I’m a sex therapist for crying out loud!” Conveniently replied to both Piper and his mom. But… he was still a little embarrassed. Nobody said gardening or flowers. Nobody said therapist. Nobody said even the word that he had been to them for 27 years, 21 for Piper - son, brother, dude who lived with us? He sighed. That was worse than that time that one of Piper’s friends referred to him, not even as Piper’s promiscuous brother… “What was the point of the adjective?” he’d asked.

He wasn’t embarrassed so much as hurt, a little bit. Because all throughout his adolescence, nobody knew him outside of being a friend to hometown faves. Charlotte Page, the smartest girl in town. Jasper Dunlop, a hero and an activist against unjust laws. Ray Manchester, the longest running most handsome man in Swellview. Piper “the Queen of Harts,” child commercial actress and self made public figure/influencer. And someone actually told him, “Honestly, I don’t think anybody would care how many chicks you banged if you weren’t Piper Hart’s brother. You’re a sex therapist and probably a sex addict and you have a sister who began the Holdin’ Out for a Hero chastity challenge.”

Little did that person know, that challenge got Mister Feelgood as much ass as Henry Hart. But, now, for some reason, he couldn’t even think about doing that. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him until today’s shower. Up until then, he just presumed he was getting old and tired of it. Like, dating was exhausting sometimes and parties seemed louder than they used to. Sex? Still awesome. That could never change, but… whenever he had the chance for any, he would prefer to pass. 

He had a date the night that he asked Jasper to speak with him about the venture. “I wanna ask Charlotte, as well, but I still have no access to her,” Henry said, casually. There wasn’t a hint of sadness in his voice or even in his heart at that moment, because it had been nearly seven years and Charlotte being out of the loop and out of his life was commonplace, now.

“Does it pay, because I can probably get her to entertain the thought, if it does?” Jasper asked.

“Who are you talking about?” Henry heard a voice ask in the close background… Like real close… like.. Either hovering right over Jasper’s shoulder, or sitting in his lap close.

“Shhh. You,” Jasper said. Like… their voices seemed to be coming from the same place.

“Don’t you SHHH me!” She snapped and it was right in Henry’s ear! Like she was holding the phone. Even with her being loud and angry in his ear, this was one of the sweetest sounds Henry had heard in years. Her actual voice. She sounded different, older, but pretty much the same. Her language and tone definitely brought back memories. All he had was old footage of her at different times. This was more than he bargained for whenever he called Jasper’s phone. He didn’t even know that they were in communication with each other and they sounded… so close…

She and Jasper were fussing and sounded like tussling, probably Jasper trying to move the phone away as he softly said, “Henry’s asking me about meeting up with him at the old spot about some business.”

“Oh,” she said, and then her voice faded into the background saying, “Well, yeah, I’d talk to Henry for money, I guess.”

Jasper whispered something to her that Henry couldn’t hear, then it sounded like he kissed her? Then it sounded like she giggled. Henry… felt… so odd in that moment. Jasper returned to the call and said, “Sorry. Charlotte knocked me off of the bed,” he laughed.

“The bed?” Henry repeated, halfway in a daze, halfway like he didn’t understand the word or phrase the bed was what you said about your bed. Was he and Charlotte in this bed together?

“Yeah,” Jasper seemed to read his mind. “You.. haven’t seen any of my posts tagging her?”

“No, she has me blocked on everything.”

“Yeah, but I don’t.”

“She actually went into the programs and made them to where Schwoz can’t hack her, so I’m sure she’s got a way for me to not even be able to see her through someone else’s feed.”

“Oh… well…” Jasper laughed a little bit uncomfortably. He had thought that Henry knew, but he could tell that he was just putting it together, “We’re a couple now!” He cheered. “It’s still new, but… yeah..”

Henry wasn’t quite sure which of the multitude of emotions would wind up taking over for the night, but in that moment while he let a silent tear fall, he cleared his throat, put on his happiest voice and said, “That’s awesome for both of you! You two deserve people like each other. Bring her along to the brownstone for the meeting, then. That’ll be good..” After he hung up, he cancelled his date. He didn’t want to put his mixture of emotions on anyone else tonight. That night, he opened a bottle of wine that he was saving for some special occasion or another… He never really had special occasions, so mostly wine that he saved for special occasions either remained right where they were, or rarely, there were nights like that night, where the occasion was that he found out the love of his life and the person he regretted hurting the most were together… and he didn’t know which one of them was which, even as he contemplated that fact. Both of them were, in their own ways, the love of his life. Charlotte had been his first love. Jasper had been his second chance. He didn’t fully grasp either of their importance until their presences were snatched away. Neither of them are that foolish. They��ll recognize what they have in each other and it will last forever. His lost ones. The ones that got away. They’ll have a great love. A beautiful love. A strong love. And… he might not ever be able to witness it, if he can’t charm Charlotte into putting up with him, but maybe worse, he’ll be able to and have access to her, then he’ll see it take place and mourn from the outside that they had (what they deserved) without him. He drank the entire bottle and fell asleep on the daybed on the terrace. He hadn’t felt sexual since then.

But, after he met up with Charlotte and Jasper, something happened. He grabbed his hygiene bag, like we covered before, he went to prep and recalled how Charlotte helped him step his game up, then he was thinking about when they used to share showers. She liked that. Sharing showers and stories in the steam, washing each other’s backs and each other’s hair, kissing, touching, oiling each other up to nourish the skin… everything else. 

He wondered as he was washing off if she was doing that with Jasper now… Making him hotter, cleaner, flawless, while engaging in conversations that bring them closer together and just being sexy AF in the process. If they were in the shower, kissing, touching… everything else and before he knew it, he definitely was feeling sexual again. His libido had not failed him after all. It was the shower, so he made quick work of handling his business and moving along. However, when he got out of the shower, and prepared to do his face, he saw that he looked refreshed. He looked happy again. He at least looked like he was himself, again. So… Maybe he wouldn’t be on any dates any time soon, but fantasizing about Charlotte and Jasper wasn’t harming anyone and seemed to help him a lot this morning. So, that was what he would do, if he needed that. 

[almaasi]

reaction post typed while watching SPN 13x20 “Unfinished Business”

mostly just my pansexual!Gabriel headcanons tbh

03:07

MEREDITH GLYNN YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

give me soft emotional supernatural drama yaaaaasss

directed by Richard Speight, Jr. himself!!! whee

-

03:09

oh my goooooooood sometimes i forget how pretty-faced dean was around season 5

not that he’s any less pretty now, he was just... sparkly before

now he’s more solid and faceted......idk how to explain this. like the philosopher’s stone in the first harry potter film??? as opposed to a disco ball

.........sorry jensen i mean well i swear

-

03:13

this recap is like.....a recap of EVERYTHING

did you mean: the entire show

-

03:15

the tune gabriel’s playing sounds kinda like the theme tune for the old tv show “agatha christie’s poirot”

and is also beautiful

and is also played on a kazoo apparently

(but the recording does not sound like a kazoo, i would like to know what instrument was actually used)

-

03:17

omfg the funky music

i can’t believe gabriel is a character let alone that he’s like this

this show ????

just

this show

thirteen, nearly fourteen years and this is the thing that’s happening

no complaints...... just sometimes i facepalm and smile fondly at the same time

-

03:19

dancing wizard professor gabriel out to steal your candy

-

03:21

this room looks very much like a refurbished version of the cowboy one in “tombstone”

i mean i know they’re basically always the same but it’s SO recognisable

-

03:22

it’s weird hearing dean talk about “mom and jack” being “hurt or worse” ‘cause i’ve just spent the last week immersed in my own 5k headcanon fic where Dean gets married to Cas, and then they go to rescue everyone (Prince of the Ether Realms)

what do you mEAN my fic isn’t canon

-

03:25

FUCK YEAH VIBRATING BED

I BET DEAN’S GONNA BE LIKE “I CLAIM THAT BED”

and then lie face-down and naked because of reasons

-

03:26

oh so NOW mary’s hair grows

six months alone and it never changed, then suddenly WHOOSH

must be jack, a magic hair-growing sprite

i knew he took after sam somehow

little team free will superbaby

also i totally typed “alex” instead of “jack” there

-

03:30

gabriel: “it’ll recharge eventually”

ahh so it DOES recharge

gabriel doing grace-recharging is giving me flashbacks to Hart of the Storm. wow i loved writing gabriel in that. like if you didn’t wanna read the whole fic at least read chapter 21 “Across the Universe”. i mean, suuuuuuuper spoilers for the rest of the fic but GABE

sorry tangent

BACK TO THE THING

-

i guess gabriel’s safeword is ~raspberries~

-

03:37

what a pretty horse man

why does he look irish???? is he irish???

maybe it’s just the green plaid suit and the hair

-

03:40

gabriel: “hi handsome, you ready to die?”

did i already have a pan!gabe headcanon? i forget

well anyway he’s pansexual now according to me

-

03:41

i just realised, as soon as dean, sam and cas burst into the alternate universe they’re gonna realise mary and jack have taken over the place, rallied an army, probably teamed up with charlie, ketch, and probably kevin by that time, and then all they gotta do is join forces and fight micheal, who will ultimately end up fighting lucifer in the original universe (probably killing him?)

but yeah there’s gonna be a moment where dean’s like “BUT WE JUST USED UP EVERYTHING WE HAVE TO GET HERE AND YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU’RE FINE?!?!!”

but in a nice, chill, relieved, mildly exasperated sort of way

-

03:45

i really fuckin hope jacob survives this

-

03:47

is it just me or did dean take his jacket off in front of gabriel a “hey sexy” kinda way

????????????

i swear i wasn’t looking for anything

-

03:50

“i thought this story had pornstars”

a dude with no shirt on in the room

definitely pansexual

(i mean, more the other guy than gabe, but GABE TOO OKAY let me have this)

-

03:51

DEAN.

OH MY GOD.

i feel like he’d be perfectly okay listening to gabriel talk about Having Sex With Women and then There’s A Dude As Well and dean’s still totally enthralled and into it

if they were in a high school au, gabe would be cas’ older brother and dean’s queer-ass role model who tells him dirty stories after school while they eat cereal from the box and watch cartoons, and cas does homework and rolls his eyes and makes affronted noises but is secretly imagining himself doing these things with dean

-

03:55

gabriel to sam: “don’t let anybody ever tell you you’re just a pretty face”

dean:

-

03:56

WAIT LOKI

AS IN GABRIEL

AS IN NOT GABRIEL BUT A DIFFERENT GOD?????????

-

04:02

the way sam talks dean into being nice to gabriel is so soft and precious

who allowed these eyelashes and lips in combination

ILLEGAL

(sign me up)

-

04:13

aw man did jacob and the others get hit by the blast?? :c

-

04:14

something about this shot and the whistling and the weird uncanny nature of it all reminds me desperately of “dirk gently’s holistic detective agency”

down to the norse gods and the “person being an animal and having a ghost animal face over their face” quite frankly

100% chance meredith glynn watched dirk gently and was inspired by it

god i love this woman and i want to meet her

there is absolutely NO chance we wouldn’t get along like a house on fire flourishing with flowers all around

-

04:22

EW WHY WOULD YOU PUT A LOLLIPOP BACK IN A BOX WITHOUT AT LEAST WASHING IT FIRST ASFDGAFJS

-

wait didn’t dean kill odin?? ages back? season 7? or was that zeus? the head of some ancient pantheon anyway

-

04:24

the box of lollipops is probably a weapon tbh

edit: a weapon of mass diSTRACTION. it was nothing, it was just a box of suckers

-

04:25

loki: “what would you do for your fath--”

dean: *STAB*

wow he does not want a daddy issues therapy session right now huh

-

04:28

gabriel just stabbed loki

that whistling music.......is almost IDENTICAL to the whistling theme in dirk gently

same notes, just a little slower and deeper

-

04:30

aw maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan

why are the people of colour always dead

actually why though. someone explain it to me. why are they expendable.

i am so GLUM about this

-

04:31

*red bull ad voice* being a nephilim gives you wiiiiiings~

-

04:32

“ophidian hotel”

noun 1. a reptile of the group Ophidia; a snake.

adjective 1. relating to or denoting snakes.

as in, the snake dripping venom into loki’s eye

jeeeez gabriel really picks his symbolic hotels well doesn’t he

-

04:36

sam: “cas is helping gabriel settle in, rowena’s boning up with the demon tablet”

again, why was cas not in this episode? besides budgeting i guess

also i immediately imagined cas fluffing gabriel’s pillows and telling him all about how his and dean’s relationship has developed over the last handful of years until gabriel interrupts with “hey kid, i meant what happened in general, not just to your lovesick little angel heart”

and then rowena shouts all sweet and scottish from the next room, “that’s really all that matters, pumpkin!”

-

04:42

dean: “i don’t care what happens to me. i never really have”

OUCH

-

04:43

sam: “and if we die? we’ll do that together too”

;A;

is it bad that i immediately thought of my sister

-

04:44

thank you sam for being ........how do i say this..... mature? but also the......... good kind of codependent??? if that’s even a thing

trying to be a team

i dunno, is this a step back or a step forward? maybe they’re just jogging on the spot, who knows

-

04:46

still waiting for the season finale where team free will all die and then they spend the next season in the afterlife trying to save people and hunt things there too

-

anyway this episode

i had no expectations but it was about as good as it should be

again, big issue with dead non-white people?????? who signs off on these things? WHY KILL KEVIN AGAIN??

and the one queer demigod also died

hmmm

but yeah this was fun...ish

and gabriel was great, dean was dean (i.e a total mess trying to do his thing regardless), sam was sensitive and good

9.5/10, could’ve been more enjoyable but i can’t quite put my finger on what was missing exactly.

i feel all quiet inside after watching that, unsure what to make of it

i just re-read this post and i still feel the same quietness, and am still not sure what my feelings are. maybe my feeling is Contemplative ?

sure let’s go with that

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Twenty-Six: Alabaster

Cock-Blocked by a Talking Head

 Warning! There’s a mildly grotesque… thing (?) in this chapter. I’m not really sure it needs a warning or what that warning would fall under, but… you’ve been warned? Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Or love to hate it after the events of that last chapter! Your choice!

               Alabaster hadn’t faced such a paralyzing conundrum in years: if he stood up, he might wake up Kally, but if he stayed where he was, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Being this considerate was highly illogical.

               What he should have been thinking about was what other ingredients he could mix that shape shifter’s ear with to make a more poignant transmodifcation potion or what he was going to do with the Pax brothers and their band of Ol-Sissies in the morning. In particular, how he was supposed to feed them, considering he remembered Axel tearing through half a box of cereal before Alabaster had his morning tea steeped.

               But here he was: his heart panging erratically each time he or Kally moved in their shared sleeping bag. He didn’t know this girl. Well, he sort of knew her—he’d read her journal, about her mother, her adventures with the Pax brothers and her story ideas. But that shouldn’t have been enough. He wasn’t like Ajax, just falling in love—er—liking—er—infatuating over someone because. He had to think things through. They had to make sense.

               This must have been Eros’ or Aphrodite’s folly. He refused to be their puppet, or fall to the whims of—

               Until Kally shivered and he debated whether or not he should shift closer or put an arm around her. Was that horrendously inappropriate?  

               Relief came to him in the worst way possible: the sound of a guitar, a wretched song, and some shriek-mutterings.

               “Oh, Jack must have escaped,” Alabaster muttered, wanting to groan.

               “Escaped?” Kally asked, her voice too alert to have been sleeping. She sat up, and Alabaster saw their chance to go inside, though he couldn’t will himself to get up. He felt dumb for how much he liked sitting beside her. From the disconcerted look on her face, she might have been thinking the same thing.

               “Claymore and I keep him gagged and locked up for safekeeping,” he said. With assigning everyone a room and everything with Pax, he’d forgotten their nightly ritual of detaining Jack. Plus, at Camp Othrys, they didn’t have to, and Alabaster couldn’t help but feel nostalgia with the Pax brothers around.

               At her disturbed stare, Alabaster assured, “He should be okay. When he’s alone, he normally just wanders around the yard composing ballads—”

               Someone shouted. After a delay of recognition, Alabaster and Kally locked eyes. That had been Ajax, his voice weakened from sobbing. Had there been other shouting? Alabaster had been so focused on Kally, he’d written off other sounds as the neighbors.

               A loud split, like thunder had torn a crater in the earth, cracked in the air. The ground trembled once.

               They shoved the sleeping bag away and scrambled to their feet. Neither was armed—they should have gone inside for weapons earlier. He had extra spell prepared on his pants but…

               Alabaster stumbled when one of the runes on his pajama pants glowed brilliant green. He gritted his teeth.

               Kally grabbed Alabaster’s arm to help pull him up. “What’s that?!” she asked, her eyes searching the yard for Pax.

               “Someone is trying to break through my barrier,” he hissed.

               A very powerful someone. He could feel the Mist twisting to the command of another.

               “Are there any children of Hecate after you?” he demanded. This was almost as bad as Lamia.

               Kally shook her head. “N-no. Uh—unless—I think Leo’s girlfriend could do magic? Was the original Calypso a child of Hecate?”

               Alabaster’s eyes widened. “The sorceress? Why didn’t you say—” he cut off. No one but the Pax brothers would have realized how vital that was, and they might have been sparing Jack’s feelings about Calypso.

               A dark figure skirted around the side of the house. Alabaster flinched. Something shouldn’t have gotten through his barrier without him detecting—

               Alabaster relaxed when he recognized the single glint of Pax’s hazel eye and heard the racking hackle of Jack’s song. Alabaster tensed all over when he saw that Pax was alone. No—not alone—

               Pax scrambled up the stairs. He trembled and choked on sobs when he skittered to a halt in front of them. He was pale. Mud smeared his knees, and there was a nasty bruise forming on his neck, like someone had tried to take a chunk out of it. He bent over and put his free hand on his knee. His other fingers were tightly clenched in a mess of short, dripping red hair.

               A mess that was definitely talking.

               “--okay, kiddo, it was just Nico, and we hate that—” the head said.

               Pax gathered himself enough to say, “Jack’s dead.”

               “I see that,” Alabaster said, unable to look away.            

               When Pax registered Alabaster’s and Kally’s looks of horror, he gave another sob—this one of relief. “Can all of you hear him too?”

               Alabaster nodded.

He could see Kally do the same from the corner of his eye.  

Some part of him was fascinated. The other part of him wondered if his fascination signified how much more therapy he needed. Had this been another situation, Alabaster might have chastised Pax for bringing home wartime trophies. Alabaster already thought it was gross when the weasels did it.

               Pax let out a hysterical laugh, twisting the mess of hair. Alabaster’s stomach clenched. He’d had to dissect plenty of bodies for spells, but he didn’t often recognize them. Jack’s face was ghastly pale. His eyes were sunken and his lips looked parched and blue under the spittle and blood. There was a hole in his cheek, leaking more fluids. Despite all of that, his eyes were alert and his mouth wouldn’t stop moving. Now, he was humming the tune to, Don’t Stop Me Now.

               Pax laugh-cried, “Oh, thank the gods! Not that I’m happy all of you are going crazy too, just that it isn’t just me.”

               Kally reached a hesitant hand out towards Pax, but stopped. “Ajax, are you—”

               “No!” he cried, “No, I’m not okay!” Alabaster guessed she was going to say, hurt, but knew stopping a Pax mid-rant was like stopping a train with a school crossing sign. “I’m holding a decapitated—”

               “—very handsome—” Jack interjected.

               “—very handsome, talking head of a surrogate father I’ve had to watch die twice! And I’ve probably been exposed to all kinds of diseases, like ebola—”

               “—actually, it was pneumatic plague,” Jack corrected indignantly, “Keep your pandemics straight.”

               “—shingles, and whatever he gave Annabeth! Oh, and Will’s blood.”

               “Mono,” Jack said.[1]

               “Annabeth is here--?” Kally started to ask, but put a hand to her mouth. “Is Will okay?”

               “He was looking a little on the corpsy side after Jack finished his family bonding,” Pax used Jack’s head to gesticulate on family bonding. Someone needed to take Jack’s head from him… but Alabaster really didn’t want to touch it. “Then Nico went all shadows and poofballs to save him and Melinoe captured him to use him as a shadow bridge and now the others are coming for us,” he babbled in one breath.

               “We need to wake up everyone, assuming that cracking noise didn’t wake them up,” Alabaster said. He could feel the shield around his property waning. “The barrier will only give us maybe—five more minutes at this rate. Ajax—”

               Pax burst into a fit of giggles. He almost doubled over. Both Alabaster and Kally flinched.

               “Get it?! Get it?! Jack’s the head of Orpheus Metal. The prophecy! Orpheus’ head won by heart’s loss. I’m at the loss! Why are the Fates so much more creative than me today!” Pax continued to giggle between sobs and gasps. “You win, Fates! You win this round!”

               Many stories said Orpheus’ head sang after it was cut off, though Alabaster didn’t know why they would need a singing head. What they needed to do was get inside and ready for a fight. If Annabeth and Nico were here, he had a guess as to which demigod would be leading the charge. The thought of fighting Percy Jackson excited Alabaster, but not in his pajama pants.

               Alabaster went to command them inside when Pax hugged himself, not seeming to care that Jack’s head bopped against his hip. He choked and coughed.

               “Aw, kiddo, it’s okay—” Jack started.

               Kally removed one of her socks and jammed it into Jack’s mouth. She shivered, examining Pax. After opening and closing her mouth once, she pulled Pax into a hug.

               Normally, Alabaster might warn that she was falling for one of Pax’s ruses. But Pax could barely breathe. And Jack was definitely dead in Pax’s hand. A shudder of horror rumbled through Alabaster when he realized Death really couldn’t keep Jack away.

               And part of him broke, knowing Pax really needed him right now.

               Kally reached back, grabbed Alabaster’s sweater, and dragged him into the hug.

               He counted out five seconds, trying not to think about how freaked out Pax was. Or Kally. Alabaster had seen plenty of severed heads. He guessed this was her first.

               “We need to get inside,” Alabaster said. Later. They could help Pax later. And… do whatever you were supposed to do for decapitated heads to Jack. “Let’s get inside and get Axel.”

                 As Alabaster had hoped, the others were readying themselves. They must have heard the crack. Axel was decorated with a myriad of weapons strapped on with various holsters: hoplite swords, daggers, knives, and others, both celestial and human-made. He had donned his Nemean Lion pelt. With that, his bracers, and his old leather pteruges[2], Axel looked more like the honored lieutenant Alabaster had proudly looked up to.  

               The child of Eros had his bow ready, peering out the front window like a sniper. Euna had Backbiter drawn, standing beside him. Merry sat on the stairs, pale, jutting her jaw to one side.

               The weasels practiced a war dance all around the living room.

               Needing no instruction, Axel handed Alabaster his playing cards as he, Kally, Pax, and… Jack entered.

               “What in Hades is going on?” Calex demanded from his lookout by the window. “We heard—Holy Hygieia! Pax, why do you have that mental bloke’s head?!”

               Jack finally managed to dislodge and spit out Kally’s sock. “I believe the full term is ‘mentally handicapped’ for the political activists. Don’t want to upset Axel,” he teased.

               “Oh gods, it talks,” Calex hissed, touching his temple with one hand.

               “Jack’s dead,” Pax greeted his brother.

               “Again,” Axel acknowledged as he handed Pax the Silver Tongued Snake helm, his bronze chest plate, some clothing, and Pax’s utility belt and attached daggers. His eyes glazed over Jack the same way Alabaster had seen Axel register other dead in the field of battle: a current logistic, grief best left until grief had time. Though Axel did puff up his cheeks and pop them.

               Alabaster flicked his Mist cards through his fingers. Claymore’s was on top, but now wouldn’t be the time to awaken him. As much as he wanted Claymore’s guidance, another body cluttering the room wasn’t what they needed. He flipped to the next set of cards, summoning his bulletproof vest. He hesitated on the imperial gold sword. No… for this, he wanted his old weapons.

               Axel handed Alabaster his Cloven Witch Boy helm, the goat skull enlaced with Stygian iron.  The Triple A Chimera helped each other suit up like no time had passed since their last mission.

               There was a card towards the bottom of Alabaster’s deck that he’d almost thrown away on multiple occasions. He withdrew it, summoned the contents, and handed a thin vial off to Pax. “This is the remnants of some knock out serum. You get one shot. Don’t waste it.”  

               Jack hummed the whole time and Merry and Calex looked like they might throw up.

               “Pax Bae, sweetie, you and I need to have some real talk time about you bringing body parts and dead things home,” Merry whispered.

               “They sent a diplomacy party—” Pax explained while Axel strapped down Pax’s bronze breastplate.

               “Amicablicious!” Merry cheered. “So why—”

               “—that Jack attacked. And now it looks like I played whack-a-mole with Will Solace’s face and poofed Nico Di Angelo into hipsters and Hot Topic.”

               “Did you?” Calex asked, his eyes narrowing.

               Axel and Kally shot Calex a look. Kally’s was of bewilderment. Axel’s was anger. His message was clear, don’t question my brother.

               Pax’s jaw dropped and began to tremble again. “How could you ask that? You know I ship Solangelo.”

               “Maybe we can still use some sweet talk. Pax, what exac—?” Merry started to ask.

               “AJAX PAX!”

               A rumble shook the house and something roared along the shutters. The window glass exploded inward.

               Calex and Euna shouted and dove onto the floor.

               Everyone crouched and ducked.

               “Let’s talk and flee, shall we?” Pax shouted over the boom of wind as it knocked over lampshades, tore loose papers out of the bookshelf, and knocked Alabaster’s favorite teacup off the coffee table. It shattered on impact with the rug.

               “What is that?!” Kally asked.

               “If I had to guess? Jason expressing his feelings. He’s a very sensitive kind of guy!” Pax shouted back.

               Something smashed into the front door. A piece of the wood fractured. Alabaster wanted to curse. Though weakened, his rune barrier hadn’t collapsed yet. No living thing���human or monster—should have been able—

               The wooden frame cracked, and something silvery thundered into the living room.

               Alabaster summoned one of his best Mist cards: his two pronged, Stygian iron staff. Whichever magic user they were facing must have been powerful to sneak in a—

               A silver worktable.

               With the wind dying down, Alabaster could swear there was a faint, “Felix! Come back! I wasn’t supposed to program you with door ramming abilities until next week!”  

               Maybe they would have shared a collective sigh of relief, had the sentient table not bound across the room. Before any of them could get in the way, the worktable slammed into Kally, knocking her flat.

               The table lifted a leg above Kally’s head.

               She yelped and twisted out of the way of a blow that would have crushed her skull. Instead, the table leg pinned her sweatshirt hoodie, preventing her from rolling away. Kally scrambled to squirm out of the article of clothing.

               Alabaster slammed his staff into the leg, jolting her free.

               “Hunnie!” Pax shouted.

               The weasel scurried out from under the couch. Her approach became much more intimidating when Hunnie expanded to the size of the couch. She slammed into the worktable, rocketing the table back through the front door.

               “Out the back!” Axel commanded.

               “But—the van and Vinyl—” Calex started.

               “Now!”

               Alabaster had abandoned so many houses over the last year, all he could do was internally sigh at the thought of going back on the market. At least it was easier with Claymore around.

But, he wanted to take a stand and fight. He’d run from Lamia and the Romans for months. And now, he could possibly have the chance to fight Percy Jackson and Jason Grace and show the pawns of the Olympic mafia what they’d taken from him?

               While he hesitated, Pax grabbed the hand he had on his helmet and Kally grabbed the one on his staff. They dragged him back through the backdoor they’d entered moments ago.

               From a glance behind, Alabaster could see Euna dragging Calex and Merry in a similar way. Axel followed out last, assuring the group was together.

               As they raced down the porch, the rune on Alabaster’s pant leg shattered. A jolt of pain and weakness spread from the break, darkening his senses momentarily. The rune barrier collapsed. The house was now exposed.

               They couldn’t make a stealthy retreat, not with Jack mumbling the whole time and the clank of their armor.

               The three weasels swarmed around their feet. Hunnie was back to her tiny size, having either won or given up on the fight against the work table. For the sake of defending Hecate’s craftsmanship, he hoped the former.      

               “Alabaster! Best retreat?” Axel demanded.

               “The forest,” Alabaster snapped. Despite Lamia’s recent absence, Alabaster had gotten into the habit of planning escapes. Reflexively, he’d directed Pax and Kally towards the woods, taking the lead.

               “Merry—I know it’s a lot—you gotta keep going!” Kally gasped over her shoulder.

               “C—can’t—” the daughter of Dionysus panted. From their stories earlier, Merry had completely depleted herself of energy. A couple hours rest wouldn’t recharge the strongest of demigods after causing a Dionysus level dance off.

               “I have you,” Calex said.

               Alabaster glanced back. Calex had picked Merry up, but they were already so far behind. And carrying her would only slow the Brit down.

               They needed something to cover their retreat, but Alabaster wasn’t sure his concealment spells could hide all seven of them—eight if you included Jack’s grumbling head.

               Beyond them, Alabaster could see five figures approaching from the side of the house.

               The barometric pressure dropped.

               “STOP!” Pax shrieked.

               For an instant, Alabaster thought Pax or Axel had used their Mayan magic. That’s how it always felt before they did.

               Instead, a flash of light blinded Alabaster ahead.

               Something popped.

               For an instant, Alabaster couldn’t see or hear anything. The earth rumbled under his feet—something was shifting. He, Pax, and Kally fell on the grass.

               When he managed to blink the floating spheres out of his vision, he could see something had shifted the earth ahead of them. There was now a deep trench, in a semicircle, around the back of the house. Like someone had collapsed a tunnel underneath.

               They were trapped.

 [1] Mel Beta Note: “I’m not sure what’s stronger right now: my sense of humor or my sense of morals. I’m so emotionally confused!” However, Mel had the disclaimer that Jack exposure may cause confusion. Like a Psyduck.

[2] This is the proper name for those fancy leather skirts the Romans wore. “Skirts” just didn’t fit the right mood of the scene, though I assure you Pax was thinking of them as skirts.

[fireandgloryrpg]

Congratulations Micah and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play Percy Jackson with the faceclaim of Tyler Posey in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Out of Character Information:

Name: Micah

Age: 20

Timezone: GMT

Triggers: redacted

Activity: while I’m at uni I work evenings a few times a week, otherwise I am pretty much all the time!

Skeleton Character Application:

Desired Character: Percy Jackson

Reason you want to play this character: Percy is definitely my favourite fictional character. I find it super easy to slip into the Percy muse and he is someone that I consistently enjoy writing, I played Percy in the original fire and glory and I’ve played him several times since then. I really look forward to developing him further and discovering the new avenues of development that I can take with him!

Are there any changes you wish to make (faceclaim, age, affiliation etc)? Please explain and provide alternatives: nope! Considering I wrote his skeleton there’s no reason to :)

Biography:

Perseus Jackson - or Percy as he preferred to be called - was definitely not hero material straight away, in his younger years he was a scrawny young man with bright eyes and dark hair that never stayed neat no matter how many times he or his mother tried to comb it into order. But never let that fool you, because Percy would later go on to be one of the most powerful, skilled and courageous heroes of all time. But the thing that made Percy a hero was the fact that he was always humble. Except when it came to skateboarding, he knew he was the best at that.

The first twelve years of Percy’s life were far from normal, he lived in New York, growing up with a mother who was kind, loving and together they had a little bit of a strange love for the color blue. You might think that his early childhood and life was ideal, perfect and amazing. You’d be wrong. Sadly. An ugly man named Gabe Ugliano ruined all of that, with his pot belly and the stench of beer on his breath. He was always mean to Percy, and Percy was sure it was more than just that with his mom.

But at twelve years old that all changed when he discovered that he was actually a son of Poseidon, a demigod hero who would eventually save the world. It wouldn’t be easy, neither would it be free of pain, but Percy would do great things. He would fight monsters and slay them, the Minotaur, Medusa, the Chimera and Nemean Lion, Hydras and Cyclopes all within the first few years of his time as a hero. But that never stopped him for one second. He simply kept going. He even fought some gods, now that was interesting to say the least.

His list of achievements include taking Zeus’ nuclear powered lightning bolt back to him, even thought it had been in his back pack the whole time. He grabbed the golden fleece from a cyclopes that barely had one eye. He duelled Atlas the Titan one christmas and he held the sky on his shoulders. He navigated his way through the Labyrinth and fought in the battle of Camp Half Blood, he even duelled Kronos multiple times and eventually saved the world. That was all before he was sixteen.

After he was sixteen however his life didn’t get any easier, he was kidnapped, had his memory wiped and got dumped in a house full of wolves, from there he made his way up to Alaska and fought giants and monsters he’d never dreamed existed. From there he watched his friend bomb New Rome and start a war, then they fled to Greece, stopping off for some interesting detours.

Yet through and through Percy stayed a good guy, with his trusty pen sword thingy Riptide he fought monsters, gods and even other heroes (when they were being particularly stupid). But with his best friends Annabeth, Grover, Nico, Thalia and Tyson having his back he was never alone. Later he’d made friends in Jason, Hazel, Frank, Reyna, Leo and Piper. Whatever the case Percy was never alone to face the world.

It has been a few years since he saved the world with the rest of the crew of the Argo II, since then he has received a bachelor’s degree in Marine Biology from New Rome and is currently studying for a masters degree in Marine Biology. Life is a mad flurry of books and trying to live a normal life, but it is never that easy when you’re a demigod. Right?

Para sample:

If there was one thing that you had to give a therapist, it was that they definitely had the money to buy nice sofas. You could literally feel how much it had cost, just from running your fingers over the leather. He could feel the expensive leather as he nervously ran his fingers up and down the arms of the chair he was sat in.

It was funny, normally he wouldn’t be nervous. He had fought people who were literally twice his size. He could leap off of a hundred-foot-high cliff into a pool of water without his heart skipping a beat. Yet usually the only thing that made him nervous was Annabeth. When he had done something to piss her off, she would give him one of her trademarked glares that made you think she could see right into your soul, with those stormy grey eyes of hers. Well it was enough to make anyone’s stomach turn. But for Percy it was enough to send him running for the hills.

The key to avoiding the glare was to avoid fucking up too royally. Usually he could manage it. But sometimes he had to hide at the bottom of the lake.

Yet today, he wasn’t nervous about the stare of Annabeth, it was the stare of his therapist. She was an incredibly thin lady. Percy couldn’t help but notice every single bone in her face. Prominent cheekbones, a jawline that supermodels would envy and slightly sunken eyes. She seemed to be a stern individual, however the way she looked at him, staring at him over the rim of her golden wire glasses, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was reading him like a book.

Dr. Arkwright had been suggested to him by Rachel Dare, a good friend of his, apparently she had helped her through a number of issues and was uniquely talented at her job in her own special way. If Rachel swore by her then that was enough for Percy.

“Percy,” she said in a quiet voice, “I know this is our first session, so there is on no pressure for you to open up right away…” she trailed off, her eyes never wavering from him.

He had been to other therapists before, but they had been mortal, unable to see through the mist or understand what it was that he had been through. They had tried to help him, but with everything he had been through, he hadn’t been able to be helped. Not until now, at least, that was what he hoped. The trick to this was that his therapist was a demigod. A daughter of Apollo, cabin counsellor in her day, though that was a long while ago. She had started out working in New York, but after the recall she’d moved her office to New Athens. Percy guessed that Demigods seemed to need therapy too

“… but this will only work if we can develop a relationship of trust, I can’t help you if you don’t let me help you.”

He took a deep shuddering breath and looked away from his hand, meeting people was an easy task, he could deal with that, but it was different when it came to this woman.

Meeting her eyes wasn’t easy, but he forced himself to do so.

“I don’t even really know where to start,” he admitted, biting his lip gently as his sentence ended.

“Just from the beginning perhaps,” she replied. “The beginning of what?” he replied, perhaps a little too sharply, “My life? Or just specifically falling into Tartarus, or the fact that I’ve been all but a child soldier since I was twelve, gods that is ten years…” he said, more to himself than to her. “Wherever you feel comfortable,” she said quietly, she didn’t seem startled by his revelation or his little outburst.

Falling silent again he sat there and shifted in his seat, that was a problem with his ADHD, sitting still drove him insane. He had never been good at it, maybe that was one of the reason he’d always done so badly in class. He couldn’t sit still. So he stood up, and walked to the window. Staring out into the city of New York he thought about what it would be like to be stood out there, rather than in here. He stared at the cabs and the pedestrians on the streets.

Sighing he ran his fingers over the curtains that were at the edge of the window, even this material felt expensive.

“I guess,” he sighed and tapped his fingers against the glass, leaving little finger marks on it, “I guess the best place to start would be with my childhood…”

There was a sudden binging that interrupted his line of thought, reaching into his pocket he pulled out his phone and stared at it.

“Monster attack, need your help, Annabeth.”

“I’m really sorry,” he said, turning to the therapist, “but I’ve got to go, duty calls.” He said wiggling his phone and grabbing Riptide from his pocket. He turned and strode from the room, his heart thumping in his chest. This therapy thing was hard.