#JUST so no one MURDERS ME they are actually both unrelated YEA

[elderwisp]

finished adding two scenes to the story queue U WAM A PREVIEW? NO?? OK! HERE U GO!

[jujutsu-headcanons]

Yes to Yuji wrecking Mahito! Just so much yes my boy needs to avenge those wrongfully killed!

See I wanted Geto to be on my shit list (as I'm not normally a bad guy lover) but I swear he wore me down reading the manga. Plus he's just so pretty he makes my brain all static noises 😳 Not to mention that backstory between him and Gojo like YES give me all the drama I need buried drama 🤩

Totally agree on the Mai thing. See I wanted to hate Todo too bc of well him beating on Megumi but the moment him and Yuji were just like "Big Dumb Meat Heads" together I threw that out the window! Those two together are *chefs kiss* Absolutely stupendous I never get tired of them 👌👌👌

Mai on the other hand is just crawling more and more under my skin. Like why you gotta be like that gurl? You wanna go in the crusty corner with Mahito? Cuz you gotta crusty attitude that needs fixing like yesterday 😐

Literary brain tells me it wants more drama/character growth between Megumi and Toji. But my useless overly big heart wants to punch Toji and protect Megumi at all costs bc he just showed up on the screen like the kool aid man and burst right into my heart and I shan't forgive Megumi for that but now I will die for him so ¯\_( ツ)_/¯

But I'm not the only one who lowkey fantasizes about self inserty type day dreams??? Like every day all day I got my thoughts flowing into 500 different lil oneshots I'm too chicken to post anywhere bc I havent written anything in a while and I feel I'm rusty. But your idea! YOUR IDEA WOO BOI- I'm not even a Gojo fanatic (like I adore him but my heart dick thudded elsewhere RIP) but that scene you described of straddling him just to rip his blindfold off in the heat of an arguement that's clearly deadly to either party- Just to see him on the brink of tears fighting back every emotion to slate his composure to cocky/uncaring. Only to have it obviously failing, and the metaphorical reality around you both crumbling along with Gojo's emotional state- Oh God I would read that crap outta something like that. It fills me with the angst and I thrive on it daily *heavy breathing* You should think about posting more of your original content too! Self inserty or not bc that sounds down right brilliant on so many levels

💛anon

Bro I can't help but feel had for Gojo. That shit must have hurted. Like he looked so calm and collected when it all happened but was he really? His best friend potential lover went feral and murdered an entire village AND his family then he tried to kill his first years once and now AGAIN what is happening. Did you see the look on Gojo's face when Yaga told him he went rogue? That was a face of hurt and betrayal he couldn't even begin to understand at the young age of... What was it, 17? 18? He was practically a little itty bitty baby compared to now. I haven't read the prequel yet don't laugh at me but I've heard it hurts so much worse having to face Getou back then AND now. Stupid brain worms, stop fucking around.

I wanted to hate Todo too hut before he even turned good I couldn't. I have a thing for big buff boys who have zero brains and too much brawns I'm looking at you Metal Bat, Captain Ōbi I just wanna adopt/marry them because in all reality they're trying their best. I'm really glad Todo exists and has his big brother delusion because honestly I think that's something Yuji needs, especially in the current arc. Yuji needs as much support as he can get.

PFFFT CRUST CORNER I cannot with you omg they do need to sit on the time out chair for s bit and think about what they've done lmaooo

DID YOU CALL TOJI ZENIN- FUSHIGURO THE FUCKING KOOL AID MAN AHAHAHHHSH oh my god i hate this so fucking much or were you calling Megumi the koolaid man bc really each one is absurd n e wayz I dunno bro I rlly can't wait until Megs wakes up post Shibuya arc and actually has time to process what the fuck happened to him back then. I really want to know if he can connect the dots by himself and realize holy shit that was the source of my daddy issues right there in the flesh and how he reacts to him being a curse and all that. There's so many ways that can go too it's scary to think about.

Low key unrelated but I have a theory that Gojo can see everything from his little cube prison and knows what's going on. Its probably because of the six eyes, or because he's just fucking Gojo, or even because Geto seems kinda sadistic and would do something like that. But I can imagine him watching Megs and Toji fight and it absolutely destroying him. For starters, Gojo killed him .... Right? Wtf is he doing back? What? Second don't commit suicide in front of your kid oh my god Toji what (I'm probably just salty because of a past experience, but also, calm down Toji oh my god) and third I can see it hurting Gojo because in a way it feels like he's been trying to protect Megumi. Its obvious Gojo has this attachment to Megumi, and maybe it's because they've known each other so long, but I don't think Gojo is prepared to deal with the aftermath. Does he have to tell him, if Megs doesn't put the pieces together? Will he have to knock some sense into him to actually tell him? Because he DID try to tell Megs once before and he avoided it like the plague. Its also gotta hurt when you feel like someone's dad and you witness them have a bad interaction with their other dad.

Throw in his daughter being on the brink of death, his other son being emotionally demolished, his second year kids lost in the void and not even his void, his best friend locked him in a box, his other best friend exploded, etc. I think Gojo I pretty distraught even if he doesn't show it

Bro okay my brain is riddled with ideas like this and 90% of them are always angst. Idk where tf they come from half the time but they exist and I hate it. They're always self inserts too.

So I actually read this ask last night, but due to personal reasons I didn't reply to it now, and I actually started experimenting writing out this scenario. I had to stop when I wrote the line "Approximately one year after the first finger was consumed, Itadori Yūji was formally executed. At three minutes to midnight, Sukuna Ryomen was expelled from his body, destroying the vessel along with it. The executioner was none other than the teenager's teacher and mentor Gojo Satoru. When Y/N awoke to this news, they attacked on sight."

Oh god I made myself so sad with that line

And i do really want to post some of my fics, like I did with Nobara Meeting Sukuna For The First Time. However, I only posted that because it was short and simple lmao it was basically just a meme I didn't even run it though grammarly like I do with the headcanons.

I like sticking to the headcanons as of right now because I feel like grammar didn't exist when I make those. I can spell things wrong and leave off punctuation and word then like I'm a third grader just learning English and no one will laugh lmao. Fanfics kinda stress me out because i want them to be perfect. I also have a hard time with fight scenes and transitioning and it's s mess.

I REALLY want to write out my Guardian Angel! Junpei AU because I think it's so cute. Just the idea that this boy is assigned to fight against fate and the higher ups and keep Yuji alive despite him being an idiot and a target is cute to me. Like I just canon him being the plantonic equivalent of in love with this boy and he feels like he rlly owes it to Yuji for trying to save him it's the LEAST he can do. Plus I need the mental imagine if Junpei annoying reader-chan into finding Yuji because "they play a pivotal role in Yuji's future" just for the "pivotal role" to literally be playing therapist and just being there for him and being a medium between Junpei and Yuji because guardian angels aren't allowed to reveal themselves to the person they're guarding but also/// he might risk his wings being stripped just to talk to Yuji one more time////

Okay I'm going to stop now

But yea, maybe if I have time and create little mini works like Nobara Meeting Sukuna For the First Time I'll def post them! I'll work on casually making them longer and soon I'll be confident to posts longer ones. But until then I hope just the headcanons at alright ;-;

[popwasabi]

“Do the Right Thing” and “the language of the unheard”

Two things tend to happen following the death of unarmed African American at the hands of law enforcement in this country.

The first are protests that often lead to heightened demonstrations of anger, which lead to police decked out in riot gear to come in and put a stop to it while property and storefronts often burn around them. The second is a condemnation of all that but less so of the brutality that led to the riots but of the riots themselves.

In America, there is a modern philosophy of “civility” at any costs, that even when angry, even when rightfully enraged by the injustices that befall a group of people, you are STILL expected to “behave” and it is YOUR responsibility to stay calm and do the right thing.

“I’m sorry, I agree with you, but I just can’t support you because of the way you demonstrated that belief” are often the words that follow.

(Image unrelated)

I’m not saying you should ignore all toxic behavior or that you can’t take issue with a movement’s methods, I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but I used to stringently believe this myself. In the wake of the Ferguson riots in 2014 where a Missouri police officer shot and killed unarmed African American Michael Brown for the crime of allegedly *check notes* stealing a box of swishers, I found myself participating in the same tone policing as much of the wider country.

“Yeah, the police were wrong to kill Michael Brown like that but also the protesters have no right to destroy their own city. That’s wrong, they should do it peacefully!” I proudly proclaimed at the time.

(Image unrelated)

Six years later my feelings on this have taken a complete 180, partially because the circumstances of our times have become exponentially more volatile but it really began with finally understanding an ending to a movie I got around to seeing in 2009; Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing.”

Back in the “halcyon” days of 2009 I used to be a part of a small Myspace (yea, I know…) movie club group where we all shared various movie reviews amongst each other upon individual recommendations. One day one of these members recommended watching 1989’s “Do the Right Thing.” Up until that day I really didn’t know much about Spike Lee beyond him being a rabid Knicks fan and opinionated Clint Eastwood agitator but I gave it a watch and I liked it quite a bit.

(Shade you can hear.)

“Do the Right Thing” details a day in the life of Mookie, played by Spike himself, as he navigates his rough Brooklyn neighborhood. Throughout his day, he and his mostly black neighbors, friends, and acquaintances encounter various micro aggressions in the form of gentrifiers, white and Asian store owners who disrespect them despite being their primary customers, widespread income inequality, and of course the police who monitor their every step. The movie examines the intersection of race and how it all comes colliding together when circumstances are less than perfect specifically to those that exist in African American neighborhoods.

I enjoyed this aspect of the film, it felt real and authentic to me, even humorous at times, critiquing the very real issues black Americans face every day while also examining how other groups of people interact with them. 

Where I took issue with the film, at the time, was its aforementioned climax.

At the film’s end, tensions have boiled over as Radio Raheem, one of Mookie’s friends, is called the n-word by Sal, Mookie’s white pizza store owner boss, leading to a scuffle between the two of them. Police are then called, pulling Radio Raheem away, nevermind that it was Sal’s words that ignited the fight, and put him in a chokehold and well, you know this story already…

Finally, the anger that has been rising throughout the film ignites with a growing mob agitated at Sal and his sons who they see as the main instigators. Mookie stands rubbing his face for a few moments before picking up a trashcan and tossing it at the window of the pizzeria, simply yelling “Hate!” as it crashes through.

A riot of course ensues, as the largely African American neighborhood tear the store apart, looting it of all its material goods before it burns to the ground. The next day Mookie returns to the scene of the unrest to ask Sal directly for his paycheck who angrily tells him his stunt destroyed his business to which Mookie simply retorts “Radio Raheem is dead.” The two argue for a bit but somehow ends with the two quietly understanding each other before they go their separate ways.

For the longest time I couldn’t square exactly with the ending despite my enjoyment of the movie. I never outright condemned the entire film’s message, (some people within that group I spoke of did though…), but I did find myself saying I couldn’t condone how it ended. Afterall, what did Sal do to deserve that kind of backlash, why did his storefront deserve to be destroyed? It had “nothing” to do with Radio Raheem’s death, right?

Fast forward to today and well, my attitude has definitely changed.

At this point I’m not going to spend an entire paragraph describing our current events as you all should be smart enough to know by now what’s going on but an African American friend of mine summed up these past two weeks in the most concise way possible I feel; “the results of oppression, poverty, hopelessness, and frustration is destruction and violence.”

Throughout “Do the Right Thing” Spike Lee shows us a microcosm of the effects of societal neglect and institutionalized racism has on his community. He tells us exactly why Mookie did what he did and yet still largely white viewers, which included myself at one point, were confused by this. At a certain point a person, a group of people, an entire community can only take so much before they take actions into their own hands.

When our white dominated society tells African Americans it’s “inappropriate” to protest during the national anthem, that it’s inappropriate to “make everything about race,”, ask “What about black on black crime,” respond back “#BlueLivesMatter” or “#AlllivesMatter,” when largely white Americans, especially those in power, ignore and refuse to believe all evidence that says otherwise this is what happens. These are the results of the neglected, ignored, and unheard.

(Btw, Roger Goodell can fuck all the way off with his crocodile tears until he gives a formal apology to Colin Kaepernick on behalf of the league, AT MINIMUM.)

There is a rush to judgment when the looting and rioting starts following these tragedies around the country. Nevermind the fact that police are largely the aggressors in all these interactions and attack peaceful protesters who are “doing it the right way” anyways but the blame for the destruction is almost only squared on the rioters themselves.

Cries of “Martin Luther King would have never supported this” and “He would call for peace and #unity right now!” are typical when this happens. King was a far more nuanced and complicated man than the liberal hippie that both Republicans and Democrats liken him to be and when you invoke his name to condemn protesters before the cops who actually started this you, and I cannot emphasize this enough, ARE NOT HELPING.

(If you won’t listen to me, listen to his daughter, you assholes.)

People generally want to empathize with victims but for some reason only want the perfect victim in this country. A victim that is a Saint in real life, lays down, does all the right things, and still gets hurt for it because they are “doing it the right way.” Sometimes victims are imperfect, including people who have been murdered by cops and people who loot and riot, but they STILL deserve to be heard and most importantly they deserve JUSTICE.

Nevertheless, these people are villainized to their most extreme as people are disproportionately being harassed by the cops while it all happens. Again, I cannot emphasize this enough, when you spend more time talking about “good” vs “bad” protesters you are helping those who benefit from maintaining the status quo. They WANT you to make this about those “criminals” and “thugs” who would “destroy our communities.” Nevermind, that upping the militarization of our police force only INCREASES the chances of a protest turning violent anyways.

(Tell me who is this protecting? Who is this serving?)

By making this about the “bad protesters” they drive a wedge between you and the cause so that police brutality can be maintained, so that power structures are not changed, so that you can be “protected” from people who are actually fighting for your rights right now. When the media and politicians use this kind of language, they are giving cops free reign to justify all forms of heinous means of pacifying these demonstrations, including ones that are banned in war. They want you to miss the point, they want you to forget why this started, hell they want you to forget they looted your asses long before the “rioters” looted a multibillion dollar company’s store who has more than enough insurance to recoup their losses anyways.

Spike Lee is often asked about the ending to “Do the Right Thing,” a question I would’ve asked him myself even just a few years ago, and he’s quoted as saying “only white people ever ask me that question.”

MLK’s name is often invoked when shit hits the fan in these demonstrations and while I’ll admit that I don’t like seeing neighborhoods destroyed and certainly don’t like seeing small businesses torn down and looted it’s important that King wanted us to understand why they happen and to keep our eyes on the ball:

“A riot is the language of the unheard” is important in understanding “Do the Right Thing” and this current moment we are having in history. While I have been pleasantly surprised by the near unanimous support Black Lives Matter has had across the board by people I would never thought to become radicalized there are still pockets of people who make this about the “right way” to protest.

To quote Spike Lee even he says he is unsure if Mookie did the “right thing” or not in that situation but he also says, “I know who did the wrong thing.”

Some of you might be saying still that MLK would not have supported these riots and hell, that may be true but need I remind you, there’s a reason he's not here today to tell you himself.

I’ll leave you with the same two quotes Spike left his audience in 1989 from MLK and Malcom X. I want you to read them both thoroughly and see if you have done the right thing yourselves over these past two weeks.

I truly hope you have...

Love and respect, y’all.

[pillowblaster]

Greetings mortal! Are you ready to buy?

Seeing there's been interest in some lore behind the Guncaster,  and I released the update lately, I might as well bother to exercise my writing skills again (if there are any) and explain some fun tidbits behind the new shopkeeper and perhaps his background, being older than GC itself, cause why not~

Art by Cage - DOCTOR, MY EYES APPEAR TO BE SWOLLEN!... WHAT?! TOO MUCH PORN? IMPOSSIBLE!

Hereby I present you Nithor Flaynithere - dragon deity of endless snarkitude!... Okay, patron of fury and courage actually, but that includes endless snarkitude. Formerly keeper of the eternal flame. Starter of a bloodline of dragons with anger management issues. As you know me, obscenely powerful cause I am sucha funny overkill guy, but he has his flaws and drawbacks to overcome.  Cygnis is obviously his direct descendant somewhere down the line; don’t wanna tie my hands with an exact generation.

Cyg's Ancestor job at first was being a sort of head of security in the Dominion - think like where Olympus was an HQ for Greek gods, it was such place for the gods of Vernazij (Can just read it as Vernazi - I also have a thing for silent H’s in names, just in case), his homeworld. His top priority was tending to the aforementioned flame. He didn’t question things the way they were, as much as he started to grow bored... and suspicious. A branch of fellow, godly brethren, he could tell for sure, was plotting something. There was an ages long conflict going between them and the rest of the mostly-content deities and the inhabitants of the mortal coil ever since the whole universe was a thing.

Whaddaya starin’ at? I swear on me mum I’ll punch ya in the gabber, ya spineless tosser~

Oh yea, speaking of the universe!... The legend goes like this: An almighty deity had left their two descendants into an empty void, with a well of matter, energy and space to shape their own universe in a way they deemed fit, both as a test and as a testament to what he thaught them. But of course, being siblings with different concepts on what their world should be, it led to an obvious conflict of interests. They both ended up in the well after typical argument with just a bit more cosmic power involved. It caused a big bang of sort and they got absorbed into their own creation. Once things settled in a little after the initial blast, first deities and supreme beings got formed, forged to carry out their will. Yes, they were still waging petty conflict between themselves even after they got evaporated, go figure. They went onto forming massive armies to fight and prevail with their concepts of forming the universe. From the ashes of broken matter and the corpses of destroyed creatures - the universe kept on forming itself on its own whereas the first inhabitants didn't even notice that miracle even going. They were too busy killing each other.

As the fight had progressed, some planets did form their own life!... But didn't quite make it due to the whole conflict of cosmic proportions. They became the victims of collateral damage. Still, as the shaping force kept going and the destructive forces kept on dwindling, only inhabitants of few planets across zillions of them were able to survive, step back and come into conclusion that their conflict at this point was undesirable and pointless. They realized everything was already formed out of chaos, without much of their involvement. They were too busy fighting over missed opportunity. Now it was just a battle of who would take control over the results of said uninvolvement. The deities of one of such cases came into agreement. They decided to sit back and see how things will go on from here, as much as that was an uneasy peace. They named their home - Vernazij. (It supposed to mean something metaphorical for all the forming that world went through, but again, couldn't think of anything clever enough yet. I AM SUCHA GREAT STORYTELLER HOLY SHIT~)

You have a ‘what’, napping in your living room?

Over the course of years, things have stabilized - respective roles that were fitting given gods’ particular set of skills were given, treaties were made, tasks were completed... suddenly, Mortals! Local gods went “They look so familiar! And adorable~”. Powerless, fragile creatures that often resembled the deities, they were another byproduct of the self-sustained world creation. The gods didn't have much ideas on what to do with them, seeing they were pretty weak. so they had let them be. That was until some of them helped their mini-me’s, or did quite the opposite. Their fear or reverence resulted in worship. Worship gave them power, so gods started unhealthy competition over the mortal souls in their respective fields, forming alliances, breaking them, stabbing themselves in the back, or protecting themselves from the others - generally, you know, your favorite part that divides or brings everyone together - politics. Every god could store their worship as some kind of power, as much as one spot wasn't decidedly taken over. The irony of no one being courageous or dedicated enough to become the patron of courage. All brave acts sparked as an eternal flame instead. Nithor was denied to become its patron by old gods, saying he was “not ready”, whatever that meant. So he was just protecting the flame and the whole Dominion instead.

Sir, we are late for burning time!

As the time passed without any relatively bigger conflicts, some of the older caste of gods, still having in mind “the great plan” and the responsibility behind it, feared the day when the Great God will visit their plane. They predicted it might end up with a total disaster, seeing how they seemingly failed to carry out the will of his children. As they were scheming about taking the universe's fate into their own hands, the mortals were rather unhappy with how the old gods were ignoring them and grew to be a force to be reckoned with. They somehow breached into Dominion, which technically was impossible for mortals to do so. Nithor tried his best to fend off the angry mob off (despite his obvious disdain towards old gods, duty was a duty). But that was too much for him, even for years of staying valiant. He tried his best to keep the mortals off the premise of the eternal flame without killing anyone (no word about work-related harm, though), the flame got dispersed and tainted, and looked for a nearest, suitable vessel to claim, which happened to be him - being the best, viable candidate.

I should probably make some pics depicting the story instead, but laziness. Look at that thicc boi lazy it out~

As the things calmed down, he begrudingly resigned from his job as a keeper, considering that the flame was no more and he failed to keep the place secured. The old gods got banished from Dominion onto Vernazij’s plane. Being unaware of his state as a wielder of the slowly self-corrupting flame, he took on a life of a demigod and an adventurer as his longed form of a vacation, seeing how he was done with the godhood. He went onto numerous adventures, met a lot of folk, got married, had kids, stabilized his life... All was good and dandy, despite the more and more obvious problem of the flame rearing out, but nothing that he couldn't manage - he just blamed it on some magic diarrhea of sorts, being as oblivious to his status as ever... Well, that was until huge accident happened. Or more like, an incident. A one that had changed the world forever, which got named in the legends as the Deadmaker's March.

That whole mess was orchestrated by his old god workmates - starting from leaving a breach in the Dominion’s defenses for mortals to enter, then letting the eternal flame to be disturbed. Their exodus was also obviously predicted part. They knew what the flame was capable of and wanted to weaponize it, but it needed a vessel... which Nithor was an obvious candidate for, but they needed both him and the flame to be unstable. After getting him on the edge by destroying his family and everything he valued from behind the scenes - Nithor went onto a rampage Vernazij has never seen before and thereafter. Only by combined forces of all mortals and all the gods they were able to seal him away, as defeating nor controlling him was impossible - every single act of force against him was only making him stronger and even more furious. The old gods initial plan had failed, they wanted to rebuild the world from its ashes as it should be in their eyes. Still, they got their much-sought retribution after having a hand in the process of capturing him. Their scheming continued.

Mona Lisa as fuck.

And what about Nithor? As much as they tried to fool him, speak into his senses to become their ally in their quest for the control over the universe “for the greater good”... He saw through their intentions of destroying anything that doesn’t want to abide to their will or worldview, which made him hate them with all his guts - he valued his own and the universe’s freedom of choice above all. After spending three millenias in fury-blinded seclusion, he breaks out from his prison, dead-set on murdering them all and anything that dares to stand in his path. As a last act of the prison's purpose, it used all the energy it stored by draining his unrelenting fury to get him back into senses, and seal it away. Unphazed by that event, he sets forth on a mission to kick the old gods' butts into oblivion (or whatever constitutes for them as butts) by retrieving his old gear as a keeper, getting control over his horrid power and single-handedly dealing with all of them. However, as three millenias worth of time was more than enough for them to prepare a whole plethora of nasty surprises, such as painting him as an evil villain in the eyes of the whole world and themselves as icons of pure intentions (imagine that whole narrative in history for past millenias is painting you as a Sauron of the universe) - his mission became harder and more complicated than ever. They hid the truth under unparalleled amounts of lies, and destroyed any evidence they could find that could prove otherwise. The fact that Nithor had all the looks and wits of a supreme asshole didn’t help on his case, either.

I am a tallyman of your mistakes. I am the executioner for your sins. Now face what you have poured into me, for what I’ll pour into you.

...Hot damn, that actually sounded pretty intimidating, go me, bwa-ha ha!

Most of his allies are either gone in the sands of time, or still mad at him, if they didn’t bite the dust yet. He scored couple millions of deaths during his grudge-filled killing spree, so you can imagine how many souls are willingful out there to get near or even think about hearing him out... Quite the contrary, with a little exception that are the depths of Taumthegos - the local equivalent of Hell. He is being revered there for obvious reasons.

A cynical jerk by trade, Nithor’s temptation to do the easy thing and go ballistic is strong. But he is not without a heart, even after everything he went through and people hating his guts, he refuses to do so. He felt partially responsible for all the mess he got involved in and wanted to prove everyone wrong and show who’s the real enemy here. He kept finding clues about old gods’ mischief during his time of absence. The problem was, with all due respect for his pure intentions, his rather abrasive nature. More often than not, he screwed up his opportunities on coming out as a good guy. He was hellbent on getting shit done and ignorant about anything that wasn’t helpful towards his quest, rather than approaching the people who were interested in hearing him out and finding a common goal. He still had plenty of humor and determination (and lack of common sense) to go against the whole world which hated him so much for sins of days long past. And a whole journey to go through to learn again how to be a decent being. The truth is the ultimate value, no matter how painful or regretful it might be - he will bring it out.

So lemme tell you Victor, the story of the great!... Meeee!... Crap, that sounded better in my head. I should have just used my name or something. Should I start over?

Considering that Cygnis and his descendants are a thing and I am writing this whole ordeal in retrospect, you can safely assume that he had succeeded in getting his good name and life (to a degree) back. But what constitutes of his adventures, how he knows about Earth and its fineness of culinary such as the casserole and how he got in touch with his late grandson?

...Those are stories for another time!

Tl;dr yada yada that’s a lot of bullshit. Kerist, that was stressful to pull off. Hoping that at least it’s somewhat enjoyable, to a degree.

[trcve]

h hey hey gays!! i’m kit, 20 yrs old, currently working full time in the mdt timezone! i use them/they pronouns n i’m a whole ass cancer... yea the stereotypes r true. i love marvel in general and p much have interests all over the place?? harry potter, lotr, kpop, anime, u name it pal. feel free to mssg me on discord (or here) for plotting, or like this post and i’ll go to u!!

now get ready to meet eden, or as i like to call him, the dumpster fire. 

i kind of already have his bio, just not entirely fleshed out, which you can find here! i’m gonna list down a summary below, plus a few points i missed and will be adding eventually. so, as a wise man once said, let’s-a-go!

tw: murder, physical abuse, guns, mentions of alcohol&drugs.

the weapon’s expert, codename: trove, thirty-seven, tom hardy fc.

eden harvey was born into a family of criminals. his father, possibly the only real psychopath in the family, was sentenced to life in prison after he murdered the man he called his best friend, along with his wife and two children. 

eden was seven years old in the year it happened, and his mother didn’t paint over anything when she told him about the gruesome crime. he grew up with sparse visits to his father, because while he didn’t exactly love the man, he didn’t despise him as much as he thought he should. this event was the reason he grew up into having very grey morals. 

his mother was the type of woman who didn’t make a habit of showing affection, or praising her children when they did well. instead, eden and his brother grew up with the idea that they got hit as a form of love and education. neither of them actually held it against her later on in life, though. the two were so used to the roughness of life that they could happily appreciate their mother in all her coldness. 

his brother was essentially his guide as a young boy. eden was four years younger than him, and he learned all of his ways from him. especially his love of weapons. he was eight years old when his brother let him shoot his first gun, and from then on there was no return. 

he’s had adhd his whole life, which means that his school life was hell. eden never bothered with it, because even if he did, he’d still find it too difficult. besides the fact eden thinks that even without the adhd he still wouldn’t like school, no subject he learned in a classroom ever seemed to grab his attention, and he spent his days skipping and then getting detention for it. he was the kid in the back of the classroom making wisecrack jokes and disrupting lessons. the one no one seemed to care about, they all shared the collective thought that he wasn’t going anywhere in life. 

he dropped out of school when he was a junior in high school, not caring about disappointing his mom, the only person who (kind of) gave a damn about where he was going in life. he decided that he’d had enough of having enough. enough frustration, enough of feeling like the stupidest person in the classroom, enough of getting hit whenever his mom received complaints from the school board. 

he focused entirely on being a disaster. parties, drugs, alcohol-- discovered he was into doing anyone who he found attractive, man, woman or otherwise. overall, he was having a pretty good time, and then he moved into the shed in their backyard after one particular bad fight with his mom, which was exactly what he hadn’t thought he needed. he turned the place into a workshop, where he started pulling guns apart and then making new ones from parts. at first, it was mostly aesthetics changes from the original models, but soon enough he became well-versed enough to start working on original ideas. 

he was eighteen when he received a visit from his uncle, a man he’d met very sparsely in the past; when he turned four years old, and the day his dad received his sentence. he was there for the recent engagement of eden’s brother, and as the appointed godfather of both boys, he made a promise to their father to be there. it turned out he was an arms dealer, and when he discovered eden’s creations, he suddenly became a fixture in his life. his uncle offered him work in the company, and the money was more than eden had ever made, so he agreed. 

the two started working side by side. his uncle would handle the business side of things while he had the freedom to work on original creations, but he was too irresponsible to seriously dedicate himself. he’d still party too often, miss deadlines, and make his own inputs on client orders. it took three times of getting ganged up on by groups of thugs to realize that they were being hired by his uncle, but that was just part of their differences. eden took everything too humorously, even getting beat to a pulp by some guys that his own uncle hired to teach him a lesson. after all, that was family. it was how they showed love.

 twelve years into the future, he was still working under his uncle. his brother had somehow gotten his life together with his wife and now three children, but eden was still a mess. he was now thirty-two and still too selfish, too careless. in the blur of a year, three things happened to him that changed things forever: his brother’s death, the first time he killed, and a run-in with the cia.

the killings the the run-in were unrelated, but his brother’s death was not. when he got the news that he was fatally shot during a shootout, eden had enough information to follow a lead, and he killed the man who shot the gun, and the man who made the order. both childhood friends. the run-in happened during business hours. eden wasn’t surprised that they’d be interested in him, and he didn’t hesitate to leave the family business for the cia. he was the godfather of his brother’s three kids, and he promised that he’d take care of them and his wife if anything were to happen to him. he took the opportunity to be a clean provider, put his uncle in jail right next to his father, and betrayed the whole family. 

he moved his sister-and-law, her three children, and his mother to an apartment complex with high security. he knew that if anyone found out that he betrayed everyone for them, they’d surely come after them, and part of his agreement with the cia was that they’d be placed under protection. 

and that has all brought us to the eden we know today! lastly, though, some personality!

very unhinged, very careless, honestly just here for a good time. he loves anything that goes ‘boom’. the bigger the better kind of person. you know, go big or go home. 

he’s been receiving therapy for adhd, which means that it’s easier to live with now, but he’s still a very distracted person. he spaces out of conversations, brings up random subjects, and basically his train of thought just goes a lot of places in a small expanse of time. he needs to find interest in something to truly be focused, otherwise simple tasks can take him a while. something that has always captivated him are weapons. they’re like the love of his life, pretty much.

his whole coping mechanism is humor. he laughs at the things that happen to him in life, and he’s so used to the bad things happening that it’s easy to take them as they come. a trait he received from years of living with his mother. 

he’s catholic, though not too involved in the religion. definitely believes in god and definitely believes he’s going to hell. he prays almost everyday but only goes to church every now and then.

you can literally do anything to him. punch him, stab him, offend his entire heritage, there will (eventually) be no hard feelings. he’s incredibly understanding, to the point of a fault. instead of caring, though, it has an opposite affect. he simply does not care enough. just don’t say anything about his brother, threaten those he protects, and things will be chill. 

ok, i’ll stop here because i absolutely gave into my habit of long intros fhdifughfd soRRY im just EXCITED. this was garbage and all over the place, but hmu anyways? hfiusdhf 

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Twenty-Two: Alabaster

A Prophecy’s Surprise Encounter… or Two

 Warning: Sexually suggestive commentary and themes. Less weasels than one might expect, though that is completely unrelated to the former comment. Regardless, enjoy!

The next fifteen minutes progressed exactly as Alabaster expected they would. He’d locked his room up, resigned from restructuring his spell book for the night, and shut the light off. That’s when he heard the jiggling of his doorknob.

Alabaster tried to ignore it and the ache of nostalgia he felt. He didn’t have the time or energy to renew the flame incantation that he’d used earlier. Although he’d positioned his sheets precisely as he preferred them, he shoved them and the comforter down in irritation.

           He’d guess it would take about three seconds before—

           Someone yipped as the secondary hex on the lock shocked the picklock user.

           Despite the ward, the door opened. There was no noise between that, a breath of darkness, and the weight at the edge of Alabaster’s mattress shifting down.

           Alabaster thought about rolling away or summoning Claymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to do either. He’d thought… he’d thought Ajax was dead for too long to kick him out immediately. And… Alabaster thought he, himself, would be isolated and exiled from his family forever, that he’d never have an assistant helping him craft his spells, that he’d be chased by his demonic sister until she wore him down with exhaustion and taunts, that he’d die purposeless with the guilt of his siblings’ deaths shattering his sleep every night.

           Pax’s lips brushed Alabaster’s ear as he whispered, “I had this horrible dream about a boar with a bowtie. Can I examine your PJs so I know not everyone has such boorish taste in night gear?”

           Alabaster wanted to punch him in the face.

           “You actually had a dream about a boar with a bowtie?” Alabaster asked, staring at the blackness of the ceiling. Neither of them wanted to talk about their shared nightmare. What would make Axel murder his brother? In Alabaster’s dream, assuming all their dreams were the same, Pax didn’t have a real chance to fight back, not that Pax would ever fight against Axel.

The thought threatened a stronger sense of dread. Alabaster had just gotten these two back.

           Pax hesitated. “Yea. That was the one with Phobetor. He and Atë have interrupted my nightmares a few times. She… she gave me two more dreams tonight. Aphrodite occasionally kidnaps Axel on little forced dates to get him out of his nightmares, though I’m not sure how that’ll work with the whole ‘Reyna’ thing now.”

               Alabaster felt like Pax had just said Percy Jackson was the best hero alive. He tensed, tightening his fingers into fists, making him swallow any sentimentality. “So, Axel really is sinking to the level of Roman scum for that witch.”

               “A: irony alert on hearing you call someone a witch, B: don’t discourage Axel. We need him to breed his awesome genes with someone, and C: I’m pretty sure they broke up after he set her room on fire. Though you never know, they flirt weird.” Although Alabaster couldn’t see him, he could envision Pax shrugging. “How’s that saying go? Love always finds away even if it wrecks people emotionally and physically.”

               “You would know,” Alabaster snapped. He bit his lip. That was harsher than he meant it to be.

               Pax paused. Then he slipped into the sheets beside him, nuzzling into Alabaster’s neck, tickling his skin. “I know a lot more about love than I did last time you read a book to me in bed.”

               Alabaster did not like his tone. “I did that because you were an illiterate child,” he said.

               “I’m still illiterate. Though… I’m not a little kid anymore.”

               He wasn’t. This had been less complicated when Pax’s emotions could be chalked up to a childish infatuation. And when Alabaster had a solid reason for rejecting him. Other than, “I’m straight,” since Pax had crunched that away with a bite from one of his mother’s morph apples. “I kinda wish you were,” Alabaster muttered, wondering how long before Pax crossed the line. He gave him 5 seconds.

               Pax laughed and slipped a hand around Alabaster’s waistline, gracing the strap of his pajama pants. None of this was helping Alabaster relax. “Perv…” Pax whispered, “I missed you. At least I’m old enough now that it isn’t creepy when I hit on you.”

               “It’ll always be creepy. You’re not guilting me into anything.”

               “Not even cuddling?”

               “No,” Alabaster said. He focused on the calculated calm Claymore always retained in uncomfortable situations. “It’ll set the precedent for future interactions, making you think I’ll just forgive you for everything because of external circumstances. I’m still mad at you. We’ll talk about everything in the morning, with everyone around.”

               Pax sniffled. Alabaster was about to snarl at him not to fake crying, when Pax whispered, “I don’t want what happened with Dad and Uncle Frasco to happen to Axel and me.”

               Alabaster wanted to curse. He remembered how scared Pax had been when he first got to Camp Othrys, and how suspicious Axel had been of everyone. They’d just seen their father beat their uncle and aunt out of existence.

               For an instant, Alabaster wanted to pull Pax into a hug. They’d both suffered a lot. Most likely, neither of them had properly mourned the deaths from the war. From their story, the Pax boys had lost the rest of their siblings, Hiro and Lapis, to Eris. Pax’s family was crumbling.

Then Alabaster remembered everything with Lamia and how Pax joined Camp Half-Blood.

He pinched Pax’s hand and removed it from his waistline. Alabaster sat up, not caring how Pax hiccupped and said, “W-witch Boy, I’m not gonna pull anything. I just needed to talk—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep,” Alabaster commanded. He got out of bed and snatched his spell book off the nightstand. Ignoring Pax as best he could, Alabaster made his way around the dark room, shutting the door behind him.

He sighed in relief when he didn’t hear Pax shuffling in the room to get up.

There was no way he could sleep now. He needed fresh air and something to make his head stop spinning.

Despite the cold, he made his way downstairs, past the helmets hung in the living room, past Hanapu, Xbalanque, and Nietzsche curled by the roaring fireplace, to the back door.

The air was freezing when he stepped outside.

He was surprised to see someone on the back porch. Kally sat on the top step, hunched over a notebook. She stared up at the cloudless sky, at the brilliant moon, like she was waiting for Artemis to high five her.[1]

Before everyone settled down, he’d offered them a change of clothing to sleep in. He frowned to see Kally wore his oversized Mist sweater that one of his siblings made him. He knew it read Hecate’s Babes on the front and Witches and Bitches on the back. He couldn’t remember which siblings gave it to him, but did remember them swearing that Pax had nothing to do with the construction.

Had she not glanced back at him, he would have headed back inside. When she startled, he exhaled, watching his breath steam out in the silvery light. “Did Ajax try to break into your room?” he guessed.

She hesitated. “Um… I’m not sure… well… yes, he did. Someone tried to come in and stepped on Euna. You really don’t want to step on Euna when she’s sleeping.”

Alabaster wondered if Pax was limping when he crept into his room. Alabaster stepped closer to Kally, wishing he’d put on some shoes instead of just socks. From what he could see, Kally’s feet and legs were wrapped in one of the Triple A sleeping bags: his.[2]  

Something about seeing Kally in his sweater and sleeping bag made Alabaster pause. She wore glasses, the ones he saw inside her messenger bag when he went through everything.

“Do you mind if I…” he gestured beside her.

Kally lifted up the edge of the sleeping bag to offer the material where Morpheus signed his name. Alabaster had only meant to sit down, not to share the sleeping bag, but the mischievous, twinkling grin on the fabric reminded him of how warm it was.

Alabaster sat beside Kally, wrapping the other half of the sleep bag around his feet.

She blushed and stared down at her notebook. “You looked cold.”  

“Thank you,” he said. Then Alabaster realized he’d done something horrifying: he’d sat within a foot of someone he didn’t know without any conversation prompt beyond sharing a kinda-sorta-not-ex-boyfriend. At Camp Othrys, he was always working on some project that he could talk about, but he doubted she’d know anything about how concealment incantations cast during REM sleep might affect lucid dreaming.  

The moonlight made her skin glow in contrast with her hair. She must have let it down to sleep. Alabaster hadn’t noticed how long it was when it was in that messy bun. She still reminded him of something.

He hated the idea of talking about Pax, but he wanted to know. “What did Ajax do to you?” he asked, assuming she wouldn’t need any clarification if she really was one of Pax’s not-relationships.

Kally inhaled shakily. She stared at the grass of the backyard. The house backed up to the woods—not as nice a fortification as his last house on a cliff, but an acceptable replacement.

“He messed around with Praetor Zhang to steal a ‘mysteriously important stick.’ He twists the truth a lot. He and Axel threatened me when I first found out about Backbiter… and I—I think he and Axel only saved me originally to get into Camp Half-Blood.”[3]

The last part was quieter than the rest. Her knuckles were white as they gripped her notebook. “You?” she asked.

Alabaster hadn’t talked to anyone about it. That would have meant admitting to relations with Ajax. Despite that, he swallowed. “He cheated on me with my sister, Lamia, a monster. He claimed he was trying to ‘make things better’ in proper Pax fashion.”

“Oh…” she whispered.

“Yea… that and his hyper invasive, disrespectful attitude. At least he’s calmed down now.”

Kally smiled. “Calmed down? You’ve gotta be joking. What—did he send Baller to spy on you?”

“He doesn’t for you?”

Alabaster hadn’t meant it as a joke. He was startled when she laughed.

They quieted down and Kally seemed to relax while staring at the sky.

He glanced at her journal, feeling uneasy. He wondered if she realized where the note came from. “I’m sorry I read what you wrote,” he said.

Normally, privacy was all-important to Alabaster. He didn’t know who was traveling with Axel and Ajax—curiosity had consumed him. The Pax brothers weren’t the type to keep logs. When the van showed up, he would have accepted any form of information about them, or anyone who lived through the Battle of Manhattan or Slaughter of Mount Othrys.

“It’s…” she hesitated. Her shoulder slumped.

“I’m sorry you and your mother’s first interaction with the Olympians was so thuggish,” he said, struggling to contain his bitterness. Axel and Pax had always been better at easing ignorant demigods into the truth. All Alabaster wanted to say was, at least you won’t be deluded later.

“You mentioned we were Olympic sympathizers… and you made it sound like you wanted Camp Half-Blood destroyed…” Kally paused. She looked nervous. She exhaled and made eye contact with him, her face grave. “Wanting to save Camp Half-Blood has nothing to do with the Olympians. Even if Apollo did… rape my mother and even if I am the product of a mistake, I’d still want to stop Eris from whatever she’s doing.”

“Why?” Alabaster asked in bewilderment. That sounded self-defeating and stupid.

“Because, my personal anger is pointless here,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Even if Axel and Pax kidnapped Rachel as a set up to gain the camp’s trust, and even if she’s Apollo’s favorite and I hate that narcissistic womanizer and—uh—mananizer, I’d still save Rachel from Python again. She’s still a person exterior to all of that, just like the campers are still people.”

“Those ‘people’ you’re referring to are Olympia’s soldiers. You need to kill off soldiers to immobilize a leader,” he snapped.

Kally flinched but kept her lips in a firm line. “We’re not talking about that war here. We’re talking about my half-siblings, and your half-siblings dying because the Goddess of Strife is bored.”    

Alabaster tensed. He wanted to slap Kally.

“Besides…” she sighed and pulled her knees up to lean her chin on them. “Maybe, after we save Camp Half-Blood, we can make another camp. Not one for war, just somewhere people can go that don’t belong in Camp Jupiter or Camp Half-Blood. Axel and Pax can’t go back. I… I don’t think I’ll want to go back. And I don’t think Euna will want to.”

Alabaster glared. “The other two camps would attack us and wipe us out.” He didn’t mean to say us. The word slipped out. He’d thought about restarting a camp, but Zeus would never allow that.

“Maybe…” She frowned. “But, maybe not if we have someone like Merry or Nico to act as a convoy between camps. Then we could have visitations for games or something. Didn’t they do something like that in Ancient Greece? Even cities that didn’t like each other could get along for festivals and stuff?”

“They’re called poleis,” Alabaster corrected. He stared off to collect his thoughts. He and Claymore wanted to bring the children of Hecate to peace. Then he lost his position as their leader and he found Jack. If they had someone on neutral terms with the Greeks and Romans, could they start a new home for more than just the three of them?

He shook his head. It was too late for them to having this conversation. He was too rattled about Axel and Pax being alive, about finding out his nightmares were coming true, and that Pax and Axel were having the same final nightmare he was. Plus, the way she’d pulled her knees up let cold air into the sleeping bag.

“Can I try something on you?” Kally asked suddenly.

When he glanced back at her, she blushed. “Oh that sounded—um—it’s nothing ba—it’s a healing technique Merry and Will were experimenting with that’s supposed to help Pollux with his bro—I don’t even know if it’ll work…” she trailed off and looked away.

A daughter of Dionysus and a child of Apollo teaming up for a healing technique? The idea was interesting. Alabaster’s mind spun at the possibilities for psychology. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he didn’t need help. Both he and Jack had been seeing Dr. Cenote under Claymore’s orders. Without Merry around though, could Kally do anything?

“Can you sing quietly enough for Jack not to hear you?” he asked.

She nodded, though still wouldn’t look at him. “He gives me the creeps.”

“He should. He doesn’t get along well with his siblings,” Alabaster said absently. If they could make song magic heal psychological wounds, maybe it could help Jack. He narrowed his eyes. “So you know, children of Hecate can sense when people try to alter memories or erase them. And my defensive runes will set off if you try to give me an illness.”

Kally stared at him. “Are you this suspicious of everyone? I don’t even know how to do what you said.”

“I—I’m sorry. It’s been a long day,” Alabaster admitted. Jack’s paranoia must have been wearing off on him. He’d forgotten she was on the run from Camp Jupiter as well, and a friend of Axel and Pax.

Kally hesitated. “Um…” she said and angled herself towards him, putting her legs back on the top step. Her notebook started to slip down the sleeping bag. Alabaster caught it before the journal could tumble off the porch. When he glanced back up, Kally hovered her hands an inch away from either side of his temple, like she was about to smack him cartoon style with invisible cymbals.

Before she sang, Alabaster thought about how impractical it would be to kill someone like that, unless you were Hercules.

“You’re a mess, tangled with your confidence.

You think you haven’t sinned.

Well, you’re unstoppable,

Your walls are impassible.”

Her voice was lovely, as would be expected from a daughter of Apollo. But he couldn’t focus on that. As the notes whispered out, Alabaster felt his eyes flutter closed.

The Battle of Manhattan played in fast forward—the soldiers that were washed away when Percy collapsed the Williamsburg Bridge, the soldiers engulfed in flames when they had to split ranks around the reservoirs, Hades and Nico’s indestructible undead army cutting off any retreat for a full platoon, the mindless skeletons massacring monsters and demigods alike, with no regard to those who dropped their weapons in surrender, because the skeletons couldn’t tell the difference and didn’t care.

The half-charred, half-drowned, and diced siblings he couldn’t heal, because Ethan Nakamura convinced Kronos to leave their best healer, Jack, at Mount Othrys, saying the Silver Tongued Snake, the Leonis Caput, and the Scourge of Rome were in conspiracy with the spy and were allowing Luke too much control over his body.

The bitterness and anger threatened to overtake Alabaster. Did Percy even know how many died in that war? Did he even care? And after all his conniving, Ethan Nakamura himself betrayed them?

But something gave. A tightness in Alabaster’s stomach eased. The deaths were too numerous to conceptualize, and he remembered the smiles on each of his siblings faces’ during the games and concerts Ajax and Jack organized to keep up the army’s moral. He remembered the time Matthias painted Kronos’s chariot pink, and the way Krios and Prometheus tried not to crack up in front of Kronos’s face. The way Mercedes would laugh when Axel dragged her into one of their festival dances. How their tiny toddler Charlie would climb giants as a jungle gym.

When Alabaster gained awareness of his current surroundings, he could feel his chest heaving. He could smell eucalyptus and mint as he inhaled sharply through sobs. Alabaster thought crying was useless, despite everything Dr. Cenote said, and was furious this was the second time in a day he’d let himself go.

Kally’s voice was trembling as she sang:

“I know you lay in bed,

Contemplating all of your dead,

And you look at what you’ve done,

Please, don’t forget the sun.”[4]

Her forehead had pressed into his. There were tears streaking down her cheeks. Had she seen all of it too? Could a child of Apollo do that? He knew they could heal any physical damage but… was she trying to accelerate healing his mind?

Alabaster pressed a hand up to her lips, so she’d stop singing. He wanted to tell her to stop, but his mouth was already producing words he hadn’t registered until that moment,  “—why? It all feels so pointless. Everything we worked for—everything—” He caught himself. He didn’t know this girl. There was no reason for him to be babbling this off to her. Normally, he wouldn’t even talk to Claymore.

Slower, without the hiccup of sobs, he whispered, “Th—thank you. Th—that was a good experiment. But that’s—this is too much, right now—”

Kally leaned forward and hugged him.

Alabaster let her. After a moment, he hugged her back. They sat on the porch, Kally trembling with her own tears. She had seen. He was glad she didn’t say she understood or tried to give a stupid apology. Just the warmth of a touch.

Although Alabaster felt dismal, something was… calmer. A tension eased in his chest. He focused on the chill of the air and the way the sleeping bag winked.

Kally withdrew her face from his shoulder and disentangled her hands to wipe away her tears. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your sweater gross with tears and snot—”

Alabaster tried not to give a half-hearted laugh, but only managed to choke it off. That’s what she was apologizing for. He should have apologized for being so suspicious earlier.

When she took off her glasses to wipe her eyes—

“A Livemont Art Nouveau poster,” Alabaster realized, “That’s what you remind me of.”

“Excuse me?” Kally asked. The comment surprised her out of the tears.

Alabaster shrugged, trying to calm his trembles. He picked her notebook off the ground—it fell when he hugged her. “When my father was studying at Columbia, they made him take an art appreciation class during his undergraduate. As much as he hated it, Mother said that’s when he started hanging Livemont posters of beautiful women all over the house. He even commissioned one of her...”

The lack of sleep and memory overload must have been getting to Alabaster. He didn’t understand why Kally was blushing in the silvery lighting until his mind sluggishly made the connection by transitive property of equality: Kally=Art Nouveau poster. Art Nouveau poster=beautiful women. Therefore, Kally=beautiful.

“I didn’t mean to say—” Alabaster cut himself off from ending that train wreck of a sentence. He had meant it, it was just… “I’m sorry. I’ve exclusively been talking to Jack and Claymore recently. I’m not used to having other company.”

The warmth of her knee pressed into his became agonizingly prominent.

Kally pushed her glasses back onto her face. “Does Jack look like an Art Nouveau poster?” she asked, sniffling the remains of her tears.

“Gods no,” Alabaster hissed.

She laughed softly. “We just have soccer trophies, family portraits and pictures of Jesus on our walls. I don’t think we have artwork to compare people to.”

An actual home with a full family. Alabaster frowned. He hadn’t had one of those since his father died. These houses only ever lasted a few years before something went wrong, though Camp Othrys had come close to being a solid home.

He wondered, now, if Kally thought about Apollo attacking her mother every time she thought about home. From the hesitation in her voice, he thought she might.

Maybe he could repay some of her attempted kindness.

“Do you miss any of it?” he asked.

“Yea… a lot. Whenever I was having trouble in chemistry or other stuff at school, my older brother, John, would sit on the back porch with me—kinda like this—and talk about it,” she said the last part in a voice too light. Kally didn’t want him recognizing her worry.

“Problems with chemistry?” Alabaster asked in confusion. “It’s a lot like the formulas I need for potions and spells. If we see each other after tomorrow, I can give you some pointers. Now, describe your backyard,” he said.

As she gave the details, Alabaster felt a tug in his gut. He reached out to the Mist lingering around them and twisted it to mimic her memory. Alabaster knew her mind would need to fill in the holes he couldn’t create, but that’s what everyone always did—they liked to see what they wanted to see, regardless of reality.

But as he crafted, something shifted behind them. Kally and Alabaster jumped, glancing at the door to the back porch. No one was there.

Alabaster felt uneasy. Neither of them was armed for a sudden attack. He’d have to withdraw his Mist sword and he thought Kally’s weapon was in her bag, inside. Though, the magical barrier around his house should guard them from sight as long as no one stepped out.

They should be alright.

He exhaled and turned back to Kally. “Continue,” he requested, “But close your eyes this time. When you open them, imagine you’re in your backyard. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  Thanks for reading guys! As per usual, I hope you enjoyed. Also, good luck to everyone with their first few weeks of school!

  Footnotes:

[1] Betanote from Mel, a paragraph before this: “I’m going to be so low key mad if he meets Kally outside because I still ship Pax x Kally and also Pax X Alabaster, but also low key shipping Kally x Alabaster and cheering the meet. The struggle for a multishipper is becoming real.”

[2] Another Beta Note from Mel: “OH MY FUCKING GOSH. JACK. HAVE YOU BEEN SECRETLY SHIPPING THESE TWO SINCE THE BEGINNING??? IMMA BE SO MAD AT YOU BUT ALSO HIGH FIVING YOU DAMNIT.”

[3] Beta Note from Mel: “WE’RE GOING TO LEAVE OUT THE NICO THING” Note from Jack: Yep. If I were her, I would absolutely never want to explain that one to someone I might like.

[4] These are altered lyrics from Don’t you Dare forget the Sun by Get Scared.