#warnsyou

[lovetaled-a]

❛❛    how  are  you  not  cold  in  that  thing  ?

...  @warnsyou  !

the  frigidity  of  the  evening  has  touched  everything  beneath  the  sky;      the  heaps  of  snow  lining  the  london  streets,       the  slick  ice  making  perilous  the  roads  and  corners  of  alleys  and  spaces  beneath  gutters  and  curbs,         roofs  and  sills  lined  with  icicles  sharp  as  blades.       as  if  to  combat  the  pureness  of  winter,       grit  and  smoke  cling  to  the  snow,       peppering  slush  and  churning  in  dark  mud,       blotting  out  the  clouds  with  tendrils  of  ash  in  places  where  the  streets  are  narrowest.       the  pair  of  them  have  traversed  beyond  the  thin  roads  and  dingy  buildings  to  hyde  park,       leaving  thomas  waiting  with  the  carriage  not  far  off,       with  coin  enough  for  some  of  the  mulled  wine  sold  steaming  and  fresh  in  festive  stalls,         cinnamon  and  clove  rife  in  the  air.       here  the  winter  is  shimmering  and  aglow,       bright  enough  to  thwart  the  bitter  cold,       joined  with  the  candles  and  lanterns  of  its  enjoyers,       as  children  and  sweethearts  skate  the  pond,       and  mundanes  bundled  in  layers  mill  about.  

will  pulls  up  his  collar,       giving  jem  a  wondering  glance  as  the  other  boy  keeps  pace  at  his  side,         the  both  of  them  forgoing  glamours,       their  boots  crunching  against  the  snow  and  scuffing  in  places  where  it  lies  thickest.       his  heart  leaps  at  the  sight  when  it  hadn’t  known  it  yet  could,       surprising  him  with  warmth  spreading  in  his  chest  so  that  he  does  not  heed  the  chilled  points  of  his  ears  and  nose,       and  the  frostbite  that  might  grip  him  by  the  chin.       familiarity  was  no  stranger  between  william  herondale  and  james  carstairs;       it  had  not  been  for  some  time,       though  shorter  the  interval  since  which  they  had  began  to  cautiously  explore  the  development  of  their  greater  feelings,       yet  unnoticed  by  their  acquaintance       (  nor  has  it  been  of  late  considered  extraordinary,       that  will  ceases  to  go  as  often  as  he  comes  to  the  institute,       the  darkness  beneath  his  eyes  and  general  haggardness  diminishing  for  the  first  time  in  years.  )     a  temporary  change  of  heart,      they  might  say:     a  brief  respite  from  wretchedness  still  tainting  his  meandering  soul.       maybe  an  interlude  outside  of  certain  damnation,       as  angels  all  once  spent  precious  hours  in  heaven,       though  they  were  few.       such  alterations  in  himself  and  their  consequence  are  far  from  his  mind  now,       as  the  sight  of  it  is  filled  with  one  so  dear.

❛❛    what  ?     you  can’t  mean  this  coat.    ❜❜        bemusement  mingles  with  the  sudden  puff  of  his  breath,       a  tell  of  its  own.        ❛❛    i’ll  have  you  know  it  is  more  than  sufficient.     kept  me  warm  a  night  and  a  thousand  in  this  city  without  you  worrying  yourself  silly,      thank  you.    ❜❜      will’s  pallid  cheeks  color  as  he  turns  on  his  heel  to  face  the  other,      pulling  at  each  open  end  of  his  coat       (  not  his  finest,       as  he  had  not  considered  he  ought  to  appear  in  any  state  save  his  usual  self  in  the  other’s  company  )       taking  several  steps  backwards  on  agile  feet.       if  honest,       an  endeavor  at  impressiveness  that  he  does  not  trip.      ❛❛    besides,      it  doth  well  suit  a  lovable  rogue,     don’t  you  think  ?    ❜❜

[nightsprince]

@warnsyou !

     HE IS SHADOW AND DARKNESS.    all he sees, all he knows is night.    surroundings have melted to ash; once green shrubbery now dirt beneath him.    dust spills from trembling fingertips, exploding from him in frenzied shooting stars, encapsulating all in its path.    blue eyes, often alight with mischief, are near black in their newfound wrath.    but beneath the widened, vengeful gaze of the prince lies another truth: FEAR.    nyx is terrified.    his power, bleeding off him in waves, sends dozens of illyrians scattering for shelter.    none brave enough to stand in his path. not even the one who had sent him ablaze with rage. 

       one conversation. a few sentences. a single remark. 

     some off-handed comment about his family.    so vile in its hatred of the night court.    not that he isn’t already accustomed to such hostility; the illyrians make their distrust in him very clear.    but one male had taken it too far.    one moment, they were arguing, nyx fuming while his opponent smirked in amusment.    the next, the other’s arm was bent behind his elbow and the entire outdoor training area was exploding in darkness. 

      he can’t stop himself.    every steadying breath releases more shadow, sends him further into the spiral of power he cannot outrun.    how many had he hurt?    how many buildings collapsed, how many soldiers cowered in horror?    he cannot see through the haze, fingers ripping through inky locks as raging tears coats his cheek.    he’s been screaming, is about to again, when the sound of someone calling his name catches his attention.    faintly, as if far, far away, KAZHEIR’S familiar tone hits him.    it STUNS the prince for a moment.    not long enough to halt any magic, but just for a brief second, nyx hears him.    and that guilt and terror ripping at his gut only tears him apart that much further. 

     ‘     GET AWAY FROM ME!    RUN!     ’

[rubyfall]

✱  worried  texts  sent  to  .  .  .  JEAN  MOREAU  (  @warnsyou​  )  from  RENEE  WALKER

        THE  SURROUNDING  BLACKNESS  OF  THE  DEEP  WOOD  GIVES  MORE  WEIGHT  TO  THE  NIGHT  WITHIN  HER  ROOM  .  when  the  phone  buzzes  to  life  it  jolts  the  goalkeeper  awake  .  typically  the  device  would  remain  silent  into  the  morning  yet  she  had  taken  to  leaving  it  on  in  the  urgency  of  the  coming  weeks  …  and   there  was  one  particular  number  that  graced  her  screen  often  after  the  hour  of  midnight   .  neil  had  given  her  this  one  ━  in  an  odd  turn  of  shifting  responsibility  .  she  and  andrew  going  back  and  forth  on  who  would  be  the  striker's  keeper  all  while  the  boy  in  question  had  gone  and  began  to  gather  a  flock  of  his  own  .  THIS  ONE  IS  MINE  /  MINE  TO  SET  FREE  ,  NOT  TO  KEEP  .   she  swipes  at  the  call  button  connecting  the  line  .  on  the  other  end  she  is  met  with  ragged  breaths   and  then  the  catastrophe  of  three  final  words  ;  “  kengo  is  dead  ”  .  the  static  drops  off  taking  with  it  the  vital  reassurance  of  those  haggard  exhales  .   the  countless  redials  blur  into  one  long  stream  of  ringing  ,  in  an  endless  loop  of  dread  before  the  automated  voicemail  begins  again  …  and  again .  eventually  she  starts  the  process  of  tapping  out  a  message  ,  steadying  her  hand  just  enough  to  get  words  right  .

2:12 AM   [  TEXT  TO:  JUANITO  MOREAU  🖤  ]   are  you  hurt  ?  did  he  hurt  you  ?   

      the  impatience  eats  at  her  ,  springing  up  from  the  unfamiliar  bed  she  tosses  the  sheets  aside  .  it  is  a  brief  respite  ,  a  beat  between  the  panic  and  her  irrepressible  instinct  for  violent  reaction  .   glancing  down  she  realizes  only  two  minutes  have  gone  by  in  the  ensuing  internal  terror  .  sending  signals  to  the  air  rather  than  anything  solid  but  she  cannot  push  down  the  immensity  of  his  warning  .  IT  WAS  A  DEATH  SENTENCE  .    

2:14 AM   [  TEXT  TO:  JUANITO  MOREAU  🖤  ]   jean  answer  me  what's  going  on  ?   pick  up  the  phone  please 

        this  time  she  does  not  wait  .  she  is  pulling  off  her  nightgown  and  slipping  into  day  clothes  .  she  has  one  arm  through  the  sleeve  of  her  sweater  as  she  picks  up  the  conversation  once  more  before  descending  down  into  the  depths  of  the  cabin  .  THE  MOMENTARY  CLUMSINESS  GOES  OUT  OF  HER   ━  A  BLOOD  SNIFFING  HOUND  IN  ITS  PLACE   .  the  cross  around  her  neck  seems  to  catch  and  burn  in  the  scarce  moonbeams  piercing  through  the  passing  windows  .

2:36 AM   [  TEXT  TO:  JUANITO  MOREAU  🖤  ]   i'm  done  playing  their  game   i'm  coming  to  get  you  keep  your  phone  on  i'm  going  to  call  you  when  i'm  close 

       by  the  grace  of  god  she  manages  to  make  it  to  west  virginia  while  speeding  the  entire  way  .  somehow  avoiding  the  crying  of  sirens   in  her  wake  .  this  early  ,  the  edgar  allen  parking  lot  is  a  misted  over  ghost  town  .  when  stephanie  pulls  into  the  space  next  to  her  she  finally  checks  her  notifications  and  finds  the  home  screen  absent  of  any  new  calls  or  texts  .  when  her  ear  presses  to  the  receiver  she  knows  by  the  fifth  chime  that  there  will  be  no  answer  .  so  ,  she  begins  her  ultimatum  ━  the  parting  communication  before  she  began  playing  offense  with  her  non-dominant  hand   (  the  fox  coming  out  from  her  cave  of  netting  at  long  last  )

5:03 AM   [  TEXT  TO:  JUANITO  MOREAU  🖤  ]   i'm  here  don't  make  excuses  and  don't  try  to  stop  me   i  know  you  might  try  to  hide  but  i'll  find  you   i'm  getting  you  out  of  there  you  deserve  a  chance  just  as  much  as  the  rest  of  us 

[spectrophobias]

❝  i need you.  don’t you get that?  ❞ reyna n hyllaaaa

judging by the look on her face, hylla most certainly does not get that. she looks like she hasn't even considered that, because she hasn't, not when every day since they had gone separate ways she had told herself the same thing: reyna is better off without me. she had to convince herself of that to be able to leave, even if reyna hadn't agreed. one day she would see that hylla had been right, and that it was for the better of them both.

now hylla doesn't know if that's true. reyna still doesn't see that, though she's long from a child, if she had ever really been one. she had found success, a place to call home, somewhere with too much structure to ever fall apart. like the homes they had had before. and hylla had found her own success, not necessarily a home but a throne, somewhere that she could sit above it all and finally feel untouchable. shouldn't that be enough for them both?

"no, you don't." hylla says, but she doesn't sound certain of it. reyna didn't need her. reyna had never needed her, except for maybe when she had been a little baby. she still remembers holding her when she was tiny, wanting to protect her more than she had ever wanted to protect herself. and she'd done a pretty shit job at doing that, in the end, hadn't she? it's a thought that haunts her, even after the years that have passed.

"don't be foolish. you don't need me. you're doing perfectly well without me, the same as you ever have." her voice sounds almost pleading, like she doesn't want to let go of the idea. she didn't want to have left her sister who needed her. she wants to have left her sister who was old enough to stand on her own two feet, and put enough distance between them so that they could each finally grow on their own.

"why do you think you need me?" hylla finally asks, beginning to twist one of her several rings anxiously around her finger. she finds somewhere else to look, a nice piece of wall over reyna's shoulder, looking at her but not. "why would you think that when you have so much now?"

@warnsyou

[stygicniron]

warnsyou asked:

“look how far we’ve come, we can’t give in.” from reyna!

The Musical! -- @warnsyou

Nico managed a tired smile, notable if only because it was a smile--which, a distant part of him realized, just made it clear how tired he was. “I don’t know if it’s giving in,” he said. He didn’t mean to whine, and he couldn’t really tell what his voice was doing anymore. His weak hands tried to regrip the ropes over his shoulders, making an effort to appear determined if he had been whining. “The Athena Parthenos is heavy.”

They managed two jumps that day, making the second one only because the monsters found them faster than expected. Hopefully with the distance they traveled with this jump, they would have a bit more time to rest. He winced, a hand rubbing over his brows as tried to summon more energy.

[enternecersarc]

      it  is  not  in  kate’s  nature  to  be  apologetic.  edwina  has  always  been  the  kind  &  gentle  one,  while  kate  grew  up  outspoken  &  fearless.  it  is  why  this  is  so  hard  for  her.  especially  seeing  as  she  has  decided  to  apologize  to  him  of  all  people.  it  is  truly  the  last  thing  she  wants,  but  he  deserves  it.  she  is  no  stranger  to  the  burden  of  grief  &  the  absence  of  a  father.  pushing  him  during  pall  mall  had  resulted  in  traumas  resurfacing  and...  lord  bridgerton  deserves  better  than  that.  he  might  be  a  rake  and  an  alluring  man  with  his  carefully  chosen  words  laced  with  empty  promises  but  kate  crosses  the  line  at  this  one  topic:  the  loss  of  a  family  member.  

       it  is  the  only  reason  she  seeks  him  out,  mocha  hues  roaming  around  aubrey  hall  as  she  walks  towards  his  study.  though  she  finds  him  in  the  library  instead.  taking  a  deep  breath,  the  raven-haired  woman  enters  the  room  in  silence  as  she  watches  him  read.  he  truly  is  handsome,  kate  realizes.  it  aches  at  her,  the  memory  of  how  enamored  she  had  been  at  their  first  race  and  that  first  ball  before  he  opened  his  mouth  to  his  friends  and  professed  his  intentions  of  finding  a  wife  which  fit  a  carefully  crafted  list.  everything  about  anthony  bridgerton  was  carefully  decided,  kate  has  noticed.  except  playing  pall  mall  against  her  and  hitting  their  ball  close  to  his  father’s  grave.  

         right.  the  apology.  clearing  her  throat,  she  allows  knuckles  to  tap  gently  against  the  wooden  door.  ❝  lord  bridgerton,  might  i  have  a  word?  ❞  please,  do  not  make  me  regret  this.

@warnsyou​​  /  sc.

[wandyrlust-a]

@warnsyou said: ✐         for nox.

        azriel  had  never  considered  himself  a  gossip,  though  he  supposed  in  a  strange  way  he  was  the  biggest  one  in  all  of  prythian,  between  him  and  his  shadows.  he  didn’t  often  expel  many  of  his  judgements  to  anyone,  let  alone  someone  who  had  little  to  do  with  the  court,  though  that  was  probably  why  she  was  a  safer  place  to  confide  his  grievances.  it  hadn’t...really  ever  been  like  that,  not  with  anyone  worth  remembering.  sometimes  he  wasn’t  sure  how  accurately  he  saw  himself,  but  he  knew  himself  well  enough  to  admit  that  he  was  not  only  the  pettiest  of  the  three  winged  members  of  the  court  of  dreams,  but  azriel  was  least  afraid  of  the  consequences  of  speaking  ill  of  his  orders.  if  he  didn’t  already  know  how  the  argument  would  go,  he’d  have  aired  his  frustration  right  before  rhysand  just  to  watch  him  stir.  the  look  nox  cast  him  reminded  him  of  how  unusual  this  was,  his  candid  honesty  and  his  muscles  locked  for  a  moment.  it  wasn’t  a  look  of  judgement,  it  seemed,  but  far  closer  to  something  resembling  a  challenge,  if  he  were  to  try  to  put  his  finger  on  it.  ❝ listen, ❞  he  started,  defenses  flying  up  as  he  shifted,  ❝ if  we  were  all  on  trial  for  our  thoughts,  we  would  all  be  hanged. ❞

[lovetaled-a]

*  @warnsyou  (  jem carstairs  )  ⋆ ›   ‘  stay behind me.

every face that rises in will’s vision is of a glistening pallor,    cut with crimson lips like petals of rose,     darkly sunken eyes with undertow gazes,     of eerily-uncanny beauty:    their shapes the delicacy of pressed flowers and passions long withered.     he’d never been fond of vampires.     they first unsettled will as they drew his curiosity,     their costumes from bygone eras and untastefully-cultivated appearance of living.     he thought it similar to seeing ghosts,     only these were utterly drained of the humanity which tethered the restless souls will encountered on the london streets.    corporeal and moving,     life-mimicking,     and in all respects except the literal heart-beating sort,     alive.     yet they defied the very nature which rendered life temporary,     thus love eternal.

the place was called a bleeding den by shadowhunters.    few managed to operate successfully without being discovered:    a blatant violation of the accords through and through,     and an easy one to decommission once proof was obtained.     of course the downworld had its ways of thwarting discovery,     and always suspected the presence of nephilim who interfered.     will had never been to one of the places himself until now:     while vampires feeding on mortals despite the law was something he’d seen time and time again,    this was a reveling in it,     a place of vice where mundanes bled out and died,    some to revive again,     that even desired to walk among the night children.     however the process of that transformation was not one that could be controlled and more often than not it occurred through malicious intent. 

as he weaves his way through cold bodies in an even colder room,     sensuous music and sinister voices and laughter and wailing cries that burn in will’s ears.     he finds himself near to praying that the glamour and care he took in covering up his runes kept him from immediate discovery     (  one could only imagine the trouble that a shadowhunter would run into in a place where vampires drained people of blood like they were downing drinks.     will certainly doesn’t savor becoming some pasty bloodsucker’s nightcap.  )     he cannot disguise the momentous shudder that wracks him,     the quick masking of a stricken expression.      surely the sense of overwhelming wrongness occurred prior to the discovery of his parabatai among them,     leaning against the wall near a dripping candelabra,     with a glass of devil knows what drink the den had on tap.     his gaze narrows in the dim light and pressing shadows,     wishing it were a trick:     but will knew him always,     by soul keener than sight.     his lips part in surprise as he catches up the twin silver moons of jem’s eyes in his own,  approaching without a glance over his shoulder in apprehension of notice. 

❛❛    what in the bleeding hell,     james  —    ❜❜      his eyes darken to turbulent seas in the night,      shoulder close to brushing up against the other’s:     he hadn’t warned jem he’d be staking the place out,     yet jem must have caught wind and come up with a ruse far more elaborate than will’s for blending in     (  he looks like one of them,     will realizes with a pang.     i might have passed him by and thought nothing.  )     ❛❛    bleeding hell,     bloody literally.     i thought you were confined to your chambers.    ❜❜    yet would will have asked jem along,     to a haunt such as this ?     he knew too well the way jem would go very still,     tighten his lips and bend his shoulders with self-awareness at the sight of downworlders poisoned by the drug that laced his own blood.     a part of will always sought to prevent it,     and he would face greater horrors than this to avoid the dismay that always settled over jem at an inadvertent reminder of his fate.     will tilts the brim of his hat low,     as his voice harshens to a furious whisper.    ❛❛    very well,     behind you.     so long as you explain what you thought of coming here,     dressed like dead hamlet ran off the stage for a lark.       and do not even consider drinking that.    ❜❜

[foxwove]

@warnsyou​ gets a starter for neil from andrew

𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚁𝙴𝚆 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙱𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂. he pays little mind to the celebrations and happy chattering around him. the foxes won their first game of the name season. the feat of starting off the season with a win was unheard of but expected after the reputation the small team created last year. andrew only bother to look up when one of the shiny new players dare to take a step too close to him in an attempt to assimilate him into the celebration. he was uninterested in joining in. the only thing that sparked his interest was when neil and kevin walked back into the room. his gaze follows them as the slightly taller striker stands in front of him. ❝ so who in the press are you going to be pissing off this year, stupid? still hunting ravens? ❞

[nofable]

@warnsyou   :        ( sarcastic ) i’m incredibly likeable. practically adored by the gods. / percy @ grover!

grover looks from the mysterious package to his old friend...      it had shown up on the doorstep of the poseidon cabin,   which obviously meant it was for percy   --   even when there were zero identifying marks,   no labels on it,    no notes left behind:     nothing but brown paper wrapped neatly around a box.     their past history with the weird and the horrifying made grover’s hairs stand up at the sight,   prickling against his thighs and at the back of his neck   [   it wasn’t really his job to protect percy anymore,    since his life had brought other summer - softened roles to play,    but he’d always come when the other called   --   he owed percy that   ].        ‘         you’re joking,  right?   that’s a joke.     because i’ve watched you anger every god we’ve ever met.    you could meet the chillest god and still manage to make an enemy...    what?   i’m being honest!       ’         as much as he admired percy,   there was no denying he could be a real thorn in the side of whatever enemies he made.        ‘       which means this could totally be a percy - specific killing bomb.    in a box.         ’

[rubyfall]

✒.         IDK IF THIS WAS A MEME OR NOT?   . . .   ⥽   ACCEPTING !  ⥼

       RIVERS WERE NATURAL CROSSROADS AND THEIR MOTHER LIKED TO BELIEVE HERSELF A COMIC.  depositing alex into the murky depths and leaving them to fend for themselves among the bottom-feeder fishes and waterlogged garbage.  when she gathers her bearings she has fought her way to the surface and is now standing over the passing stream.  IMMUNITY TO THE CURRENT,  THEY COULD RENDER DIRECTIONAL MOTION NULL AND VOID;  AN ODD SORT OF MAGIC. they travel this way for some  time not in the water but above it drying in the early spring sun until they come across a pit of bubbles,   gurgling beneath them.  crouching down she is met with a face which startled her back as it breaks the shallow in alarm.  

♠     the mermaid  (  @warnsyou​   )  is wide-eyed and smooth-skinned,  almost like a disney princess who somehow escaped her story,  though her language definitely exceeded the PG rating.   ❛ wait, shit, are you here to kill me?   ❜   

         ❛  no babe,  you're just swimming in the hudson so i thought you could use a hand.   ❜  no sane person would even dip their toes in this river much less soak in it for an extended period of time  ━  or so they had thought  (  she could not exactly speak to the girl's mental well being,   not to mention she also was in no place to talk   )  already an inked arm is extended toward the daughter of aphrodite though they pull back slightly as they ponder the demigoddess' motives.  ❛  unless  ━  you're intentionally taking a dip in this toxic waste…  then i guess i'll leave you to it.  ❜  the offered hand pulls back slightly as they tilt their head to the side,  assessing her for once last time.  both arms come to cross over their chest and then a shit-eating grin appears across their lips.  ❛  if you sprout another tail don't come crying to me though.  ❜

[skullearring]

megaera’s  breath  hitched  as  her  back  thudded  against  the  massive  door  that  shut  behind  her.  the  hall  was  massive  and  eerily  quiet  —  she  could  hear  herself  pant  as  she  waited  for  the  next  stream  of  wretches  to  crawl  from  the  shadows.  her  grip  on  the  worn  hilt  tightened  as  an  unexpected  figure  emerged  from  the  darkness.  megaera’s  frown  deepened  after  she  pushed  herself  away  from  the  cold  surface.  ❝  why  are  you  here  ?  ❞  she  didn’t  ask  with  the  expectation  of  an  answer  :  she  could  more  than  easily  guess  why.  ❝  i  told  you  i  was  doing  this.  you  can’t  stop  me.  ❞  whether  or  not  he  had  believed  her  when  she  said  so  wasn’t  her  problem.

she  scoffed  when  zagreus  revealed  his  blade,  then  squinted  her  left  eye  as  the  faint  yellow  glow  embedded  in  what  little  of  her  scar  peeked  over  her  jaw  briefly  pulsed  brighter.  she  swore  she  could  feel  it  tingle  now  that  she  could  see  him  —  how  strange.  no  matter.  she  could  ignore  it  for  now.  she  approached  the  center  of  the  room,  then  steadily  raised  her  arm  to  aim  the  tip  of  her  blade  at  his  chest.  ❝  i’ve  already  made  it  this  far.  it’s  not  too  late  for  you  to  turn  back.  ❞  /  @warnsyou​  :  for  zagreus.

[spectrophobias]

❛ What happened to you? ❜ reyna & thalia

"nothing i won't bounce back from." she says, trying to sound cheerful as she sinks into one of the chairs in reyna's study. it's nothing like her own quarters in her lieutenant's tent, much more neat, and certainly reyna seems to be more sparing in what she owns. thalia, in comparison, grabs onto anything she wants, and she doesn't let go of it even if it only ends up strewn on the floor of her tent. it's the first thing she notices as she looks around, looking tired and a bit battered, but not particularly wound up now that her girls are settled and they've gotten a moment to themselves.

it's very strange to thalia, to be really studying one of reyna's personal places for the first time when she already feels like she knows her so well. watching your people die together will do that, she guesses. but their friendship has outlived the wars, and finally, the news thalia comes bearing is inconvenient at worst, instead of unbearably bleak.

"we tracked one of those godawful fucking manticores across a state and a half before we finally cornered him enough that he had no choice but to fight." she scowls, clearly having no love for the creatures. in fact, she had a special grudge against them after dr. thorn all those years ago, but that's far from the point now. it at least explains the way her jacket is hanging off of her in strips, only the deepest gashes to her arms still left healing. "we took him out, no losses on our side, but i'm sure you know how horrible the poison can be. we were already close to here, so i figured it wouldn't hurt to stop by for a night. i hope you aren't too busy or anything."

@warnsyou

[nightsprince]

@warnsyou  sent: ❛ you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜ from nesta!

         CRAP.  HE’S  BUSTED. 

          stealthy  and  silent,  nyx  thought  he’d  succeeded  in  sneaking  out  his  bedroom  window  at  the  river  house.  ensuring  his  wings  didn’t  rustle  an  inch,  not  wanting  to  awaken  his  family,  before  leaping  from  the  sill  and  flying  towards  the  house  of  wind,  landing  in  the  large  home’s  training  center.  arriving  so  early  in  the  morning,  surely  no  one  would  be  awake  to  hear  him, giving  the  boy  the  perfect  opportunity  to  train,  the  moon  his  only  companion  as  sword  slashed  cloth.  again  and  again,  nyx  had  tried  to  cut  the  valkyrie  ribbon.  changing  his  position,  shifting  his  angle,  even  switching  from  sword  to  dagger  to  knife;  all  to  no  avail.  a  budge  here,  a  bent  corner  there,  yet  despite  his  best  efforts,  the  ribbon  would  not  break.  and  with  every  failure,  his  frustrations  only  grew,  irritated  groans  filling  the  space,  echoing  throughout  the  arena.

       and,  it  seems,  the  house  of  wind  itself.  loud  enough  to  stir  his  aunt  from  sleep.   

       ‘     i’m  sorry  if  i  woke  you,  aunt  nesta. i  didn’t  mean  to,  i  just  ----  i  couldn’t  sleep.     ’  and  rather  than  lay  in  a  too  warm  bed,  thoughts  chasing  any  rest  from  his  body,  he’d  decided  to  sneak  away  and  continue  his  valkyrie  training  unsupervised.  ‘     are  you  gonna  tell  my  parents?     ’

[stygicniron]

warnsyou asked:

“no one can blame you for holding a grudge.” from percy!

The Musical! -- @warnsyou

“Good,” Nico said, voice coming out sharper than he meant before he looked away, a muscle working in his jaw.

Holding grudges was the fatal flaw for the children of Hades, Nico knew this, even though a small voice in the back of his mind wanted to argue that his grudge in this case was justified--that he had a right to his anger. That he should let it burn white and hot in his core, pushing everyone away just to be safe from anything happening again. Even as it tore little pieces off of him in its fury.

He swallowed, jamming his hands into his pockets. It didn’t help that the complicated center of that grudge was Percy, a fact that Nico’s mind shied away from in that moment, preferring to think about something else, anything else. Oh right, the entire reason he’d appeared outside Percy’s apartment in the middle of August. “There’s a rumor about another opening to the Underworld opening in New York. Do you have time to help?”

[lovetaled-a]

will had grown used to it over the past few weeks,    almost like it was a known routine.   one.  the boy with the silver hair would come into the cafe,   armed to the teeth with an apathetic expression that invited no more notice than it desired   (  will was probably the only one who did:   notice him that is,   as more than a regular who liked plain lattes and never made conversation with the staff.   he’d a new appearance since will saw him last,   one that promised utter alteration from the person he’d once been,   and further suggested inward change,   a persona rewritten.  )   two.  their stares would meet,   while james was in line or waiting for his order or sitting in the farthest booth in the left corner working on something that looked like sheet music.   three.  will would pretend not to recognize him,   then try to figure out what it was he was absorbed with,   as furtively as he could manage.   he’d look up quickly from the bar just for a second before focusing on something else.   or make himself busy cleaning off a table nearby to poke at the other’s reserve just a little — to test the theory that he’d be noticed,   or that jem was capable of anything but a frown now. 

four.   he would remember with a sudden clench in his heart the boy that this older stranger version of that boy had been.   a friend that trailed him around the football field in primary,   and liked to talk sense into will when he wanted to take down their bullies or lie about the finished state of his homework,   that refused to copy will’s notes in english class out of innate honesty.   he’d remember crinkling corners of bright eyes that outshone characteristic shyness,   and how even at twelve years old will had liked to think he was the cause of someone’s cautious close-to-a-smile.   curiosity would refuse to let will herondale forget that a tether to his old life still existed,   as much as it unsettled him to know that any part of his past could walk in on him at least three days a week in the late-morning to mid-afternoon.

he was on step three of the routine that tuesday,   as golden light filtered in through the storefront windows,   a sunset that’d snuck between the high rise buildings of the neighborhood.   soon will would clock off and head to his evening class,   listen to a lecture on some chemistry topic that was duller than lettering on old tombs.   and jem would leave,   snapped shut like a book to be read incomprehensibly another day.   out of the corner of his sight he notes the other now,   as he had marked his presence like a consistent point of unrest earlier in his shift.   head down,   pen at the ready,   tapping back and forth between the table and his chin,   bleached hair falling between his eyes.   he was paler than will remembered,   and the light was doing him less than a favor to hide it,   while at once capturing in its glow a strangely content expression.   he’s in his element,   will thinks.   and since he’s so fond of interrupting mine —   ❛❛   what are you working on ?   ❜❜     he asks,   the question invasive enough to be irritating and vague enough to keep will’s cards close to his chest.   the rise of his own voice in the room feels tighter and more intent than he’d have liked when the other looks up.    as if will depended in some way on the answer.   ❛❛   it’s just that you’ve perfectly channeled the angsting twenty-first century teenage musician.   i am wondering if it is a true habit or a study you’ve made of the lifestyle.   ❜❜ 

*  @warnsyou​    ⋆ ›     jem carstairs.