#clarissercy

[takaraphoenix]

Have you considered Luke/Clarisse/Percy but it's actually Luke/Percy and it loops with Clarisse/Percy, and Luke and Clarisse just kinda beef with each other (when Percy isn't looking) bc they're both possessive over their boyfriend that is also the boyfriend of the other one

I'm afraid I do not care about Luke/Percy enough for that, I've never been a big Luke/Percy shipper, I generally only ship them in an OT3 with Octavian ^^°

I'm not a big fan of the v-polyamory arrangement and generally only write it if I am really, really, really invested in both ships to the degree of wanting to see them both happen at the same time despite them not being compatible with an OT3

But hey maybe someone will see this who's more into the concept! ;)

[youarestellarverse]

hello i am SO curious about "but really it's nico's story" and "rrverse polycule"

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WIP meme!

HEY SO remember this post? That's where that title came from.

I'm not completely sure what I'm doing with it yet, but I started writing it out. I have a ton of these, small excerpts of scenes that might not end up anywhere or might end up turning into a multichapter or might just ultimately be oneshots.

The scene I have is a conversation between Nico and Jason, meant to semi-mirror their canon interactions, set during tech week for Sweeney Todd (Nico and Sally are assistant stage managers— re, they're the members of the run crew who wear headsets so Stage Right, Stage Left and the stage manager can communicate during the shows).

"Let me guess. The Smiths." 

Nico turns off his cassette player, his lips twisting into a reflexive scowl. 

"Virgin Prunes, actually." 

"Isn't that the one Bono was involved with before U2?" Jason sits down next to him, his hair a good inch longer than it was when they met and startlingly black. 

"You look like a sick, male Thalia." Nico almost lets himself smile when Jason snorts with laughter in response. 

"Yeah, black is really not my color. The same thing happens to her when she goes blonde. I guess she went through a Hole phase when she was about fourteen." 

He doesn't look terrible in it, but it brings out his stress. The circles under his eyes are a lot more pronounced, his usual tired paleness exaggerated into a stark, almost deathly pallor. It's worse when he's in the pure, blinding white of his costume shirt, a color that oddly enough lights Percy up like a— fuck. 

Nico shoves that line of thinking away as hard as he can. 

"Right. I forgot who raised you. That explains how you know about the Prunes." 

Jason smiles, and it almost looks sincere. "She got me into Stevie Nicks and Kate Bush, which sent me down a rabbit hole into goth and new wave. I like Sisters Of Mercy a lot, mostly because their music is in a good range for me to sing along with." 

He's not wrong. Nico can hear it in his head, if he thinks about it. He's not sure why the idea makes him so uncomfortable.

"You should be Andrew Eldritch for Halloween. Your sister could go as Patricia Morrison."

"She probably would. We were already planning on going as Billy Idol and Joan Jett some year." Jason sighs. "It was Percy's idea. He's threatening to go as Robert Smith." 

So much for avoiding that subject. 

Nico sinks into his auditorium seat. Percy's down at the piano, his bright voice carrying through the auditorium. 

"I am in the dark beside you, buried sweetly in your yellow hair!" 

I'm sure it'll explode in length when I get to House of Hades, but I'm still just over halfway through Mark of Athena at the moment. 😅

rrverse polycule is the next multichapter up after I finish HiOB, which is plotty, so I want it to be done before I post to hopefully prevent getting stuck and writing myself into a hole. MORE UNDER THE CUT.

The reason it's "polycule" is because it's the part of the multichapter that's from Percy's POV, as relates to the bit where he and Jason temporarily break up and Percy ends up being "fostered" by Clarisse and Charlie and Silena and Chris. There's some more chatter about that plotline under the tag #rrverse polycules, which I will add to this post for easy browsing!

It's pretty angsty so far. It will get worse, but it will also get better, I promise. 🥴

Content warning for references to self injury and unsafe kink.

"I didn't cut myself." 

Clarisse leans forward, her elbows on her knees.  

"I know. I've been debriefed."

Percy fidgets with the edge of the medical tape at his wrist. His arm itches. She hasn't stopped looking at him since he sat down, and he hasn't looked back at her at all.

"I don't think it looked as bad as it was. I told her I was fine because I honestly felt fine, and by the time I came down enough to realize I wasn't actually fine, I was already on the train."

"She should have stayed in the room with you until you came down completely, regardless of how 'fine' you told her you were, and you know that."

Percy is overcome with the distinct sensation of being dunked in cold water, without any of the clarity or release of the real thing.

"It wasn't intentional," he gets out eventually, slow and reluctant. "I didn't go in there thinking 'gee, I hope I find a shitty dominant who seriously hurts me'."

"No, you just slept with the first person in a pair of leather boots who insulted you and ended up in urgent care because she couldn't be arsed to do the bare minimum of her responsibility."  

There's an accusatory note to Clarisse's bright voice, but it's not directed at him. It makes him twitchy and self-conscious. 

"She did the bare minimum."

"She literally put a fucking bandaid on you and walked away." 

"Several bandaids, and they were very large." 

"And you still bled through your shirt and got an entire subway car convinced you'd been fucking stabbed because, again, she cut you so deeply you needed three fucking stitches, Perseus Read Jackson." 

("Your middle name is 'Read'? Shut up."

"You shut up. I'm named after the pirate queen. I would have been Estelle Anne if I'd been a girl— Marie is after Paul's mom, but Gramma Blofis likes sharing an homage with Mary Read and she thinks it's cute that we match."

"Okay, I would, too.")

"Thanks for drawing my attention back to it." He wants to glare at her, but he can't, so he focuses on the wall instead. "I just distracted myself from the pain."

"If you don't find a better way to do that, you'll end up in the hospital or worse." 

He scowls at the floor. He can feel her eyes on him, burning into his skin.

"I told you I didn't do it on purpose."

"Bull. Your subconscious figured out that you can say you're not hurting yourself without it being a lie if you get someone else to do it for you. Like, oh, some chick you've never met who's arrogant enough to try a kink she doesn't know how to safely do, that you've been doing for way too long not to recognize the sloppiness of her technique."

Shit.

"Okay, maybe I'm not being as careful as I should," he mutters. "And maybe that's kind of by design. I always feel really stupid about it afterwards, if it's any consolation." 

"No, it isn't, because feeling stupid about things is what sets you off in the first place." 

Clarisse crosses her arms over her chest.  She's in a brick red wifebeater, well-worn and thin enough that he can see the lace on her bra through the fabric.

Percy blinks, and finally meets her eyes. 

"When the hell did you get so observant?"

"You're not that subtle, pretty boy." 

"Why, Miss La Rue, are you hitting on me?" 

"Yes." 

The banter stops, with the abruptness of a cartoon character running face-first into a brick wall. 

She stares at him. He stares back. 

"You're serious." 

"Yes." 

Now that she has his gaze, she's somehow locked it in place with a shift in expression so small he can't pinpoint it— yet somehow enormous in impact.

He never realized it before, but she's actually hot.

She's not pretty, and she doesn't try to be. That's not what makes her attractive: it's the way she moves; the power in her stance; her bold, assertive attitude. That's why her renaissance faire character— the Red Knight, Slayer of Dragons, defending champion of the joust for two years running— has so many clamoring groupies, even though she spends almost the whole time shut inside her boar-shaped armor.

"I don't want your pity." 

"It's not pity, it's that I know what I'm doing and I give a shit about your welfare." She smirks, and something about it is almost feral. "And while I actually do think you'd be hot in one of Charlie's shibari harnesses, mostly it's because I'd rather you didn't fuck your way into the morgue." 

Somehow, her voice remains calm and even. It's like she's talking about the fucking weather. Percy's blushing at the mental image she just gave him and feeling torn open, pinned like a butterfly to a board, over the insight. 

"So, what, Beckendorf will tie me up and you'll kick my ass so I stop recklessly endangering myself by subconsciously seeking out the worst tops I can find?" 

"Pretty much." Clarisse leans forward, her elbows on her knees, looking more serious than he's ever seen her. "If you're not interested, don't feel like you have to take me up on it, but I'm not going to stand by and do nothing when you're in trouble."

He's tempted. Oh, he's tempted. 

The problem is, he knows that look, and there's only so long he can ignore the similarities. 

"How bitchy can you be?" he asks, half serious. She rolls her eyes, but he can tell it makes her happy that he's considering it. 

"Would my middle school levels of bitchiness be enough for you? I'm not shoving your head in a toilet, but I can think of a few other places I could shove it."

"I can't—" 

His voice stops abruptly, and he can't spit it out. 

"You can't handle someone being nice to you right now," Clarisse finishes for him, surprisingly sympathetic. "Which is why you're being reckless, and why I'm offering to be a bitch. I can be as mean as you need me to be."  

That one's longer, with bits involving the other three as well. It's currently sitting pretty at just over 7300 words. I'm imagining it'll become clearer where I'm going with it as I finish off HiOB!

Thank you for dropping by, friend 💜