#because when I am forced to run my entire department on top of having an entire other job to be doing

[megatraven]

I’m going to kill someone and it won’t be me

[sleep-drink]

Hey Guys!!!! Actor AU ShTuuuuuff

So I wanted to add a lil lore to the Actor AU comic in terms of roles and hierarchy :)

Welcome Home as a show has a VERY large turnover rate! This is in fact not entirely due to Wally though. The company the production is under “The Playfellow Network” historically tends to not treat its actors or it’s crew very well. It pays decently in terms of its crew and because of how well the show is received it’s actors are paid even more, but in terms of things like benefits (mainly again for crew) it’s garbage. Also, because they can’t keep a whole lot of people retained, they will just kind of hire anyone. Lots of people who are in the industry have passed through Playfellow and the general consensus is “oh god, you worked at Playfellow too?”. Because of the lack of employee retention, the work environment and atmosphere is catty. at best. This makes communication between departments really difficult and very stressful. On top of that is Wally, who runs the show because he’s basically irreplaceable. As you know he’s trying to protect his loved ones and fellow actors from the terrible set and network conditions which are basically discriminatory for puppets.

The characters and their roles so far (in order of hierarchy):

Wally - Star (Lead Actor):

This is pretty straight forward. He’s mr. Irreplaceable and he doesn’t like humans. With pretty good reason :)

Susan - 2nd AD (currently acting as Key PA): Susan is the Second Assistant Director on this production and has been working here for 6 months. She works basically as a backstage manager and coordinates the call sheets and wrangles actors (when she has to). Poor Susan is actually hella overworked. So (oh no!) there is actually not currently a Key Production assistant working on Welcome Home! (I love causing my characters pain eeehehehehehehee ((we’ll see more of that soon))

The Key PA is in charge of all of the production assistants and let’s them know what to do and to keep them on schedule. The person who WAS key PA did quit (mayhaps or not cuz of something Wally did) and the company has not yet hired someone new (hooray bureaucracy).

Dolly - Walkie PA (Currently ALSO acting as Key PA): Dolly is technically the Walkie Production assistant, which means they are in charge of all of the Walkie use on set (she is actually not very good at this and it’s why she often forgets to turn her own mic off). Fun fact! Dolly’s only been on this production for like a month and a half and has outlasted most other walkie PA’s! :) She started as a costume PA and then expressed interest in other areas of production to Susan. Susan was like “Omg yes help me” and kind of forced her on Walkie PA because she has some (theatrical) tech experience in the past. Walkie PA’s can act as Key PAs but dolly has no prior experience and is kind of floundering, plus weird requests from Wally (like fixing his wardrobe sleeve length for him) take up a lot of their time. They don’t mind because it’s just a rule on set that what Wally says goes, but it makes their job just that much more difficult :)))))). Dolly is dealing with it… kinda.

Sandra - PA: Sandra is a production assistant who has been here for about 5 months. Production assistants are generally considered entry-level production jobs but she has beef with Dolly because she’s been here for longer and Dolly has been (technically) promoted before her (even though there’s SO much bleed-through between departments). She also is just a bully, she’s trying to come back from a failed stand-up career, but she’s basically been blacklisted in several comedian circles. (Gee I wonder if it’s the threats and bigotry)

Everybody else who you’ve seen so far are usually random PA’s or I haven’t assigned them a true role yet. But here’s what I got so far! I am by no means an expert. I am an actor (and a stage actor mainly at that, but I’ve dabbled in film) so not all of my info is probably truly accurate. But I try! As per the usual AU CRED: @frillsand 💗 u b! Thanks for reading my ramblings!

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Forty Eight

Masterlist

Teshteal: Oh- but I’m sorry. It looks as if our store does not carry that selection. *audible overdramatic sigh with a fake apologetic customer service voice* We only sell the finest of filthy dresses- what you’re looking for is too clean. Now excuse me. I have to restock our wares. *tosses the dress aside enthusiastically*

Lucille: What’s taking them so long?

Nick: Not sure. Hope they’re alright.

Gardio: *adjusts his own fedora* What are we to do if they aren’t but rescue them? After all, Linus only left a few minutes ago. Give them some time.

Jasmine: (Softly chuckles as she puts her dress back in her bag. She spots a mini safe under some rubble and picks it up, staring at it curiously. She takes out a bobby pin and a screwdriver, picking the lock easily and removes its contents that includes a ridiculous and overly done feathered ladies hat for some reason. Partly amused she holds it up to Teshteal, tilting her head to one side as the brightly colored feathers flap with the movement)

Teshteal: Oh! *claps* What a nice hat! We should keep it! *quietly to himself* I’d wear it but I have horns. *louder* I wonder how it would look on you? *bouncing excitedly on his feet*

Nick: So I hear you’ve been doing detective work-

Gardio: Free lance. I tend to roam about, rarely ever coming back to Hangman’s Alley.

Lucille: You lived in Hangman’s Alley this entire time?! And we never crossed paths until now?!

Gardio: I prefer not to stay in the Alley… *points at his face* I don’t want anyone getting sick because of my sheer existence.

Jasmine: (Shakes her head at that idea of her wearing it as she closely examines the hat. Might’ve been some sort of prewar fancy luxury brand that probably cost an arm and a leg to but which must’ve been why the owners decided to put it in a safe. Can’t understand why something like this was once so desirable, it’s completely useless now. She holds it out to Teshteal so he can take a look)

Teshteal: *takes it an examines for a moment* It hurts my eyes. *puts it on top of his fedora but doesn’t try to force it past his horns. He looks even sillier now* How do I look?

Gardio: Nick… *sighs regretfully* About what happened before the war- at Cainbridge, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t step in when the department-

Nick: Gardio, that was 200 years ago. You wouldn’t have been able to change much-

Gardio: I could have done something. The best I could do was try to look for Winter myself but then- *purses his cracked lips as he looks up at the sky* I didn’t see the point after the war. I ran. Helped people, yeah, but I couldn’t finish what you started.

Nick: *pauses for a moment as he realizes what he’s talking about* Don’t worry about it. *smirks* Lucille and I put that son of a bitch Winter six feet under. Where he belongs.

Gardio: *surprised look*

Nick: *reaches up and slaps his shoulder* That doesn’t mean I won’t thank you for trying to do right by the original Valentine. You’re a good man, Chapel. *nods* A good man.

Jasmine: (Smiling brightly on the inside but she can’t make herself react physically to Teshteal, and it weighs her down. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the bloodied book and flips to a page, taking out her pen that has cats printed on it) (Writing) “I am not suppose to react to anything at all, sorry. If I do I get mad at myself and feel like I am about to get punished.” (Points to the hat) “It looks ridiculous on its own, but you somehow can pull it off.” (Draws a smiling face by her writing)

Teshteal: *bounces forward and presses the book almost daintily down* We are not supposed to but wouldn’t you love to anyway? Who’s gonna stop you? Not me. Not the dead raiders. *looks over at a mannequin* What are you going to do, mannequin? Suddenly spring to life? Shout if she giggles? What? You will?! I’ll kill you. *smacks it into the wall then runs back to Jas* See? Anyone that says otherwise will get the “mannequin treatment” from yours truly. *jabs his thumb at himself*

Jasmine: (Slowly blinks at Teshteal, reaching down to her sleeve and pulls it up along with some bandages to show him her self harm cuts, then points to her head) (Writing) “They carved themselves in my head, you can’t fight me to stop me.” (Gestures at her side then at her legs that are also littered with cuts, cuts that bring a forbidden relief when inflicted) (Writing) “That was the next step for you I think, to get commands to self punish so they are always in control even when they aren’t there. It starts with breaking you down, then they can build you however they want and you can’t stop them because you’re nothing and worthless.”

Teshteal: I cannot- that’s a bit of problem. Hm. *taps his chin* Perhaps imagine I’m beating them up? *does not know how to help* Or both of us! *grins stupidly. He’s trying his best*

Jasmine: (Shrugs her shoulders, having no idea how to stop these thoughts either. Or the more violent thoughts that occur to “solve problems”, those are the most dangerous to herself and others. There is a way to pacify herself however, although she hates that it can happen. She stares down at her notebook and flips back a few pages, peeling two that are stuck together. The page is shown to be a list of those mentioned commands. On the very top is written “A-001”, her assigned number from the vault that is needed for some of these commands)

Teshteal: *immediately points to Reset, Dismissed, and the Custom Command* Those seem to be the safest ones. *scratches his head* I don’t think I’m a handler, but maybe we can make a custom command word? One not associated with fear? *snaps his fingers* Valentine-! His last name’s perfect for a command and he’s associated with a strong emotion- literally the one that rivals fear itself!

Jasmine: (Writing) “They used the custom command one mostly to get me to eat, although they found out they had to specify how much because I’d only eat one spoonful then stop.” (Freezes, her hands shaking when she remembers what else they made her do with this power. She was helpless against it) (Writing) “Also had me do other things, I hated the custom command.” (If used in the right way maybe these can helpful, especially to Nick if she gets out of control or lost in her head)

Teshteal: I know you hate it but it could be useful to help stop the voices. We can use their tactics against them. *smiles reassuringly at her* We have a way to stop them.

Jasmine: (Puts the tip of her thumb in her mouth while she stares down at the list. Hate is an understatement. It would send shocks of fear through her to hear these spoken directly at her and possibly flashbacks of being punished for not following orders, but in the end is it better than the alternative? She doesn’t know, she’ll have to leave it up to Nick in the end to make the call. Should she show this to him? Show him her assigned number so he can activate the command that render her completely useless and submissive if necessary? Her Dad won’t abuse this power, yet she doesn’t want to…)

Teshteal: We can show this to Detective Valentine and discuss what to do. He seems too kind to use the commands excessively.

Jasmine: (Immediately tears out the page when he says that, tucking the list in her jacket pocket so it’s safe with her and she the one with control over it. She tilts her head at Teshteal when two thoughts comes over her) (Writing) “What’s your assigned number? And where’s Nick if he’s not here?”

Teshteal: *heart beat roars in his ears suddenly and ge stiffens up at the thought of anyone knowing it. Regardless he keeps a chipper tone* I assume still over at Hangman’s Alley. I initially came here to bring you back to the group. *hesitates* Why do you want to know my number? *tail wraps around him and he starts to fidget with it nervously*

Jasmine: (Writing) “You know mine, I’d be lying to say that it doesn’t make me uncomfortable that you know it. I am the one who’s more susceptible to this.” (Looks up and blinks under her mask, realizing that her coding is yelling at her to get the edge on Teshteal and even things out. That’s why she wants to know it) “Fuck….” (Takes a few steps back in horror at herself while she drops the book, crashing into the wall as she starts breathing quickly and grabbing at her arms)

Teshteal: That’s true. *ringing his tail even more nervously* Mine was F-666. The useless ones. The… the cannon-fodder. *suddenly feels a wave of panic wash over him. He slowly backs away, his own coding and instincts telling him he’s so much more vulnerable now that someone now knows his assigned number*

Jasmine: (Horrified that she didn’t even realize her own true ambitions for doing things until it’s too late, until she was getting what she wanted. She presses herself up against the wall as the words “Monster” and “Pathetic” ring in her head over and over again, along with another one that’s getting louder. “Mistake”) (Quietly) “I am sorry…” (She has tears on her face now, not that Teshteal can tell as she slowly slinks to sit on the floor in a dark corner and picks at her arms)

Teshteal: *smells the saline and his eyes widen. Softly, fighting his panic* No, no, no. Don’t cry. *slowly approaches her and kneels. He takes her hands, gently crossing her arms over each other, and starts breathing slow, deep breaths. Softly still* You’re okay… We’re okay…

Jasmine: (When she heard him say not to cry she goes deathly silent and stiff because she’s not suppose to and would receive severe punishment for doing so. But when Teshteal starts comforting her in that sweet and gentle manner she relaxes a bit and lowers her head as the voices in her head attack her, the mask fogging up from her tears. She’s getting hit with berating and judging remarks for how she handled things, scolded for not performing better. On the other side is the same three words that are meant to keep her down and scared)

Teshteal: *keeps comforting her as he sits. He keeps taking deep breaths, hoping she’ll subconsciously start matching them while keeping his own thoughts at bay, too* You didn’t hurt me. That’s good. We’re okay… *puts his forehead against hers* I’m okay…

Jasmine: (Choking on her tears) “What if I hurt you?” (Shy’s away from him out of fear of doing so. She already hurt people who tried to help her. Nick- her own father, included along with Lucille)

Teahteal: So what if you do? *shrugs* I’m Safeguarding you, right now…

Jasmine: (Raises her head when she hears that command he’s doing for her, sniffing back her sobs and she tries to stop trembling so much. She’s suddenly very aware on how much time they are wasting just sitting here waiting for her to stop being such a baby) “You are not suppose to, no one is.” (Pulls back and tries to stand while bracing onto the wall)

Teshteal: *stands and extends a hand to help her* As your sibling and your friend, I’m absolutely supposed to. *determined* They may be in our heads but I’ll be damned if I let them stop me from helping people I care about.

Jasmine: (Stands on her own and just starts walking back to the rooftop without looking at him, hoping deep down that he doesn’t take it personally. She’s gone completely numb to keep herself at bay, to keep herself from crying. Soon she’s rushing up the ladder and jumping from the stores roof to another roof, looking back to see if Teshteal will follow)

Teshteal: *already pocketed the ridiculous hat and it’s following her easily and effortlessly*

Jasmine: (Starts efficiently leaping from rooftop to rooftop, railing to railing, gliding across nimbly like a cat save for the part of constantly walking on all fours, she only does that when it’s easier or needs to stay hidden. Soon she and Teshteal near where she last saw Nick and Lucille, quickly lowering herself so they can’t see her. Or rather so Gardio doesn’t see her)

Teshteal: *whispers* Why are we hiding?

Nick: Alright. I think I need to go find those two. It’s been a while.

Gardio: I probably should have gone with him. Don’t know why I didn’t. The man doesn’t have the best track record of keeping his head low or out of trouble.

Nick: Didn’t he crash his car through a precinct window once?

Gardio: Good lord, don’t remind me, Nick. *chuckles at the memory*

Jasmine: (Peers down, swallowing hard. She pulls back and takes off her mask, quickly wiping it from the inside so she can see better. Her eyes are red and puffy, there’s still fresh tears going down on her face as she puts it back on and tightens her hood. She slowly starts backing away in the direction they just came from)

Teshteal: *takes her hand* Hey. Gardio won’t hurt you. I promise… at least tell Nick what’s going on before you run off. *softly. Pleaful* Please?

Jasmine: (Gestures over the edge to where the trio is standing below and points to her head, shaking it while holding up her trembling hand. Then she points to her heart and shakes her head again to try and signify that she can’t feel anything and has gone numb. She thinks for a long moment before she uses her free hand to make several small slicing motions down her arm, remembering her promise to Nick. She looks over the edge, seriously considering jumping off and scampering to somewhere she deems safe)

Teshteal: *takes hold of her other hand after he sees the sign* Hey, look at me. Neither I nor Nick will let Gardio hurt you. I doubt he ever would seriously try, but neither of us will let it happen. Let’s talk to Nick. Please…? *his pupils are wide with concern as he begs her almost desperately*

Nick: *about to go when he suddenly looks up at the building* Nevermind. You two stay put. I’ve got this. *walks over and climbs up a fire escape on the side. He swings himself over the ledge of the roof* There you two are. *walks over* Talk to me about what…? And when did you start calling me by my first name?

Teshteal: *keeps her hands in his as he addresses Nick* It’s faster to say- sorry. *looks to Jas then Nick* Rosie’s scared of meeting Gardio. She might need a second to get her barings but I’m scared she’s going to run and… *pauses, fear crossing his face for a second* Do something…

Jasmine: (Starts pulling from Teshteals grip while grunting with frustration, twisting her wrists in a furious manner. If she really wanted to she could escape and run free, but she rather not hurt Teshteal while doing so. She’s dangerously close to the edge as she struggles, not that isn’t aware of it she’s actually trying to jump off)

Nick: Thanks for the warning-

Teshteal: Nick. *mouths* A-001 Reset.

Nick: What- That’s-

Teshteal: Just do it. It’ll help.

Nick: *with some hesitation and regret as soon as he says it* A-001 Reset.

Jasmine: (Eyes immediately go wide and get filled with terror as she goes completely limp. She falls to her knees still super close to the edge and puts her hands behind her head while she heaves heavy breaths. Her mind and vision go blinding white, heart thumping in her ears while she “resets”. Essentially, this command was to help them clear their heads if they get overloaded and out of control, helps them rethink their decisions and strategies. For her it was mostly used when she made a grave mistake in combat. So she’s getting slapped with internal corrections on her recent and past mistakes, fearing that she’ll be severely punished)

Nick: *terrified at seeing how frightened and powerless she suddenly becomes* What did you just have me do?

Teshteal: Quick- tell her she’s not in trouble. That’s a crucial step.

Nick: *glares angrily at Teshteal but kneels and gently and calmly starts reassuring her* You haven’t done anything wrong, Rosalinda. You’re okay. Dad’s right here… I didn’t know what it that would do to you or what the situation was. *heart breaks seeing the fear on her face. His voice cracks a little* I’m so sorry. *gently cups her cheek and strokes it with his thumb*

Teshteal: I-

Nick *looks back at him with a glare then quietly goes back to reassuring Jas that she’s safe*

Teshteal: *goes quiet again and wordlessly starts pulling out the trinkets he found around Jas’s house, setting them next to the pair* Please give these to Rosie. I found them at her house… *decides he’s gone too far this time* I’ll be somewhere. *scampers off suddenly*

Jasmine: (Staring off at nothing with her hands still behind her head in surrender, her red teary eyes unfocused. She doesn’t seem to register Nick as her mind continues to flash white for the reset, anticipating a blinding pain to come from either a slap or her jaw roughly grabbed to wake her up from it followed by berating remarks)

Nick: *holds her close, gently lowering her arms so he wrap his around her* Come back to me, doll…

Teshteal: *running like the wind, tears streaking past his ear. He doesn’t know where he’s going but he knows he can’t be there anymore. He messed up. Being alone is what he deserves*

Jasmine: (Can’t stay in reset mode forever and starts slipping back into reality and into the correction stage. She doesn’t move but blinks with slight recognition at her surroundings as her previous actions slowly play out in her head, the slightest mistakes coming into view. It throws her off that she’s not getting hit or forced to do things she doesn’t want to, instead her Dad is here and comforting her. She still feels like she did downtime terribly wrong…)

Nick: *gently petting her hair* It’s okay… I’m sorry.

Teshteal: Stupid. Moron. You don’t deserve anyone. You’re a burden. You’re just an inconvenience. *stops suddenly and just collapses into a ball* No one cares- *the memory of being held in one big strong hug by Gardio burns inside his mind. He wants to go back to that so bad but knows… he knows as soon as he finds out…* You just make things worse…

Jasmine: (Finishes her assessment of herself from the moment she first left to the store until now, biting down on her tongue. She’s currently in a “do whatever the hell you want with me, I don’t care anymore” stage by reflex in order to shield herself. It’ll be awhile until her mind registers that it’s safe to fully return, and that she doesn’t have to go numb anymore for these type of things)

Nick: *decides to carry her on his back back down the fire escape. He arrives at Lucille but notices Gardio’s missing* Where’s your father?

Lucille: Went off to find Teshteal.

Nick: *opens his mouth then shuts it*

Jasmine: (Completely motionless as Nick carries her, not making much of an effort to hold on. She’s like a limp Raggedy Ann doll, anticipating for something to happen to her, waiting for someone to puppet her)

Gardio: *looking everywhere for Teshteal, even asking a few feral ghouls*

Teshteal: *curled up in a hole, waiting to just… Die*

Gardio: *managed to find him* Linus…?

Teshteal: *a jolt of fear causes him to jump* Don’t call me by that name!

Gardio: Oh- sorry… *kneels in front of him and even then he towers over the poor rat of a man* What are you doing?

Teshteal: …Trying to die.

Gardio: By sitting in a hole in a wall? Friend, you’re going to be waiting for a while.

Teshteal: Why did you even bother finding me? I’m a monster. Literally. *smacks his tail against the ground*

Gardio: That makes two of us. *points at his face* That’s no reason to give in.

Teshteal: It is if you hurt someone close to you so easily.

Gardio: I see… but don’t you think that it would hurt them more if you ran away and never apologized for it?

Teshteal: *looks up in surprise. He hadn’t thought of that. He lowers his head, voicing another thought* What if I keep hurting them?

Gardio: If you make steps to improve on yourself, you won’t. Not in the same way, at least…

Teshteal: *sighs sadly* Detective Valentine won’t want me around anyway-

Gardio: You let me worry about Valentine. Worry about the person you hurt first.

Teshteal: *starts to cry again suddenly* I don’t deserve this kindness.

Gardio: You deserve friendship.

Teshteal: No-

Gardio: Don’t fight me on this, officer. That’s an order.

Teshteal: *well now he can’t argue. Orders are orders*

Jasmine: (Closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, counting how long it took her to calm down earlier. Two minutes too long, pathetic)

Teshteal: This might be stupid to ask but can I have a hug?

Gardio: *Picks up the little rat of a man and gives him a big hug* Not a stupid question at all.

Teshteal: *feels a lot safer suddenly. He hugs back*

Jasmine: (Opens her eyes, lifting her head from Nicks shoulder and she looks around like a wide-eyed lost kitten. She’s so terrified, so confused. Her brain doesn’t know know to process anything, it’s stuck in this mode)

Lucille: *just standing near Nick, checking one of her guns for damage*

Jasmine: (There’s a slight haze to her vision and a ringing noise in her ears, almost like her mind is censoring what she sees and hears. Again it’s completely unnecessary now, maybe she can correct it later so the reset is just her clearing her mind and nothing more)

Nick: *worried about her specifically*

Teshteal: You always give the best hugs…

Gardio: *sets Teshteal down on his feet* Are you going to be alright?

Teshteal: *whipes his eyes* I think so.

Jasmine: (Puts her head back down, partly closing her eyes while she take heavy, but steady breaths. She still anticipating the regular abuse she’d normally suffer after a reset. Luckily for everyone, unlike when Lucille slapped her into a similar state she isn’t being drowned in horrific memories, although she still remembers them)

Lucille: *Kind of regrets that, too. Still thinks Jas hates her for all of that*

Gardio: Glad to hear. Now let’s get you back to the others. *adjusts his hat* What do you say, partner?

Teshteal: Yes sir. *salutes him dramatically*

Gardio: *starts walking back towards the group* At ease, we’re not on duty. *cracks a grin* Save the formalities until we’re in uniform.

Teshteal: You are. *referring to his coat as he starts to follow*

Gardio: Hey, you gotta look the part out here in the ruins! Dress for the job you want and all that.

Teshteal: *sticks his tongue out at the old ghoul*

Gardio: *glances back* Still just as immature as ever.

Jasmine: (Tenses suddenly, going completely relaxed while she trembled. She’s not sure why exactly as she’s not currently getting flashbacks, guess it’s just muscle memory)

Nick: *decides to cradle her like a toddler and quietly comfort her*

Lucille: *yawns*

Jasmine: (Raises her head and her little hands hesitantly grab onto his coat. Her eyes get teary again while she feels something jolt in her chest. She didn’t do anything wrong, did she?)

Nick: Ssh… it’s alright, doll. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not this time.

Teshteal: *leading the way this time*

Ferals: *start climbing out at the sound of the two’s footsteps*

Teshteal: *gets into a fighting stance*

Gardio: Let them be. They’re curious about the noise.

Teshteal: They’ll attack-

Gardio: No, I don’t think they will. *looking around at all of them* Go back to sleep you all…

Ferals: *stand and twitch in place, seemingly unsure of what to do*

Gardio: Just keep walking, Teshteal. Don’t make eye contact.

Teshteal: *hard swallow as he straightens up and walks normally down the road*

Gardio: *keeping an eye on the ghouls as they pass through* That’s right. Slow steps. *calmly* We’re friendly…

Jasmine: (Stares off for a bit while her bottom lip trembles, suddenly feeling very clingy to her father and fearful of being separated from him. Ditching all the voices telling her no, she grabs onto Nick as tightly as she can while she wails nonsense into his coat. Aaaaaand here’s that separation anxiety she’s been trying to avoid developing all this time)

Lucille: *jumps* What the-!?

Nick: Whoa-! It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere, kiddo! I’m right here.

Jasmine: (Not sure what the hell came over her that’s making her sob and hold onto her Dad like he’s the last person on earth. She had never been like this with her mother even when she was very small, or with any other adult she was close to after her mom died)

Nick: *sighs and keeps reassuring her he’s not going anywhere*

Teshteal: *Once they’re through and a safe enough distance* How’d you keep them from attacking?

Gardio: Glowing Ones tend to be a bit… odd as nonferal ghouls go. I can kind of tell what they’re thinking usually- don’t know how or why.

Jasmine: (Realizes that she’s not even crying tears all that much, she’s just blubbering incoherent sentences. She shuts her mouth but doesn’t loosen her death grip, closing her eyes to recount again with a clear head. She’s not in trouble, she was told to reset by Nick and not the trainer or the guards. There’s no need to shield herself anymore after a reset or have a panic attack, she can take a rest now…)

Nick: *softly* I’m sorry, Rosie…

Teshteal: *eyes widen* You have super powers!?

Gardio: You have super speed, horns, a tail, and cat eyes. Still out to lunch on how that last one’s even possible.

Teshteal: Touch-ay.

Gardio: You still don’t know how to say Touche…?

Teshteal: It’s a weird word!

Gardio: It is literally two syllables.

Teshteal: Listen, I can only hold so much grammar and pronunciation rules in my head.

Gardio: *rolls his eyes at his lame excuse*

Jasmine: (Ran out of batteries, she’s exhausted from the ordeal. She keeps her tight hold on her Dad while she buries her face in the crook of his neck, dropping into a power nap)

Gardio: Wait… how are you leading me back?

Teshteal: Take a wild fxcking guess.

Gardio: …Oh please don’t tell me you’re guessing.

Teshteal: What? No! Sense of smell. *taps his nose* It’s very accurate!

Gardio: I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted.

Teshteal: How did you find me anyway?

Gardio: The power of friendship and “Ghoul to Ghoul communication”.

Teshteal: … Please tell me you’re joking.

Gardio: I’m not. I wish I were.

Jasmine: (Napping quietly and peacefully, some tears still on her cheeks. She’s holding Nick on his promise that he’s not going anywhere, that’s the only reason she can sleep right now)

@lucilleandherrobots

[nobully]

DEFEND

a comprehensive list of scenarios | 58.  DEFEND :  for one muse to save the other from one or multiple assailants.

'Sun, relax.'

'They're not gonna go anywhere. And also, you're not a cat.'

Sun pauses from running around in circles on all fours over the carpet. "That's not true, Wang Yi! Remember last time I turned into one?"

'Yeah well, you turned into a toddler too and you're not a baby, are you? Besides, didn't you say you were the Monkey King?' Point.

Sun falls silent after that, seemingly thinking it over. Meanwhile, Wang Yi flips another page in his murder mystery and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. Around them, living fluffballs in various shades of fur meow and purr contentedly in the heated interior of the cat café.

Ahh, peace and quiet...

"Hey Wang Yi, if I rule over all the cats, won't I be Cat King too?" Sun suddenly pipes up.

Wang Yi stops on a page describing the autopsy report of the corpse and gives Sun a look of doubt. Unlike him and his armchair, the golden-haired boy is sprawled right on the ground, almost blending in with the fur rug as cats of all shapes and sizes flank him on both sides. It's cute, but it's almost a reminder of how, well, childish his friend babysitting target creditor okay fine it's his friend can be.

'I'm pretty sure Sao Ling's got you beat in that department already,' he says, smiling in spite of himself. 'Besides, you need to win over the cats before you can lord over them. How are you gonna do that?'

Look at the lazy animals lounging all around the place. They couldn't even be bothered with pets, much less someone like Sun bossing them around. Honestly, it's a pretty sweet life.

But Sun's eyes take on that sudden shrewd twinkle he has sometimes when he comes up with an idea. Even his tail starts wagging like crazy as he lopes towards Wang Yi in excitement.

"I have a way! I can use the thing that all cats like!"

'What thing?' Wang Yi begins, forced to duck out of the way as Wang Yi reaches over and past him for a jar on the shelf. Isn't that where they store the catnip? But wait, the lid's coming off and—oh crap.

The entire contents of the catnip jar spill gloriously in a powdered perfumed cloud over Wang Yi's shoulders and clothes. At the same time, 28 different cats suddenly turn their heads his way with hungry eyes.

"Whoops," Sun shakes off excess catnip from his hand, dusting Wang Yi in more cat-attractant as he takes a step back. "Sorry, Wang Yi!"

Wang Yi clambers to his feet and all but crashes into him. 'Shit Sun, run!'

"Huh?"

"MREOOOOOWWWW!"

"Hey!"

Riiiiiiip!

Wang Yi's not sure what happens next. He only knows that by the time he opens his eyes, he's lying on the carpet with Sun on top of him, caging him in from the world. There are scratches on his face and arms, but also plenty of purrs as tails, whiskers, and cat bodies nuzzling against them affectionately.

"Wang Yi, am I king of the cats now?" Sun grins down at him triumphantly. "Look, they're all cuddling up to me!"

'That's because they're high, you airhead,' Wang Yi mutters back. He feels a chill and sneezes. 'Ugh, why's it so cold all of a sudden.'

"Cause I took off your sweater!" Sun explains brightly and lifts a woolen top with one sleeve. "Do you want it back?" Even now a tabby is clinging to the fabric, making meowing noises as it inhales the traces of catnip from the wool.

'How did you take my sweat—hold on.' Wang Yi looks down. He's still wearing his T-shirt, but the only remains of his sweater are a right sleeve and a bit of collar around his neck. 'Sun, did you rip my top off?!'

"Because the cats wanted it..." At least Sun had the grace to look sheepish with the remains of Wang Yi's clothes in his hands. "Are you mad, Wang Yi?"

He probably should be, but this is Sun, after all. So Wang Yi just exhales and closes his eyes again. 'It's fine, it's still in one...two pieces. We'll call it a new fashion statement or whatever.'

After all, the guy had saved him from a mauling by cats.

'Anyways...thanks, Sun.'

Next time he's sitting somewhere without the catnip.

[styafiya-blog]

Humans Race of earth live under rules that govern them in society.

The beginning of human justice is to respect the law and the rights of those who are governed. In today's society, you have a lot of departments of government that rule over the people, and if you check the behavior of all of them, you will see that they do what they want to the people. Check out the crazy side of that system, which goes against the rules that govern the constitution and law enforcement that were created to protect the people. In every justice department, there are good men and women who know the corruption laws against the people, but they can't stop it. They just do their job and mind their own business. Let me shine some light on the human population of the law; they think way different from the people. In the public, let me give you some examples of some of them doing the same thing as The people in the public worldwide What I am explaining is that humans are either hunters or prey. When you are dealing cards with the world, remember that not every human plays faith fairly. behave in a dishonest way, they will hide it until they get what they want, then show you the other side of those dark evils.

humans doing human things, playing games smart if they can work or do business and don't run into any problems with the legal system, I call them earthly skilled humans who play by their rules and stay out of power traps trouble.

Humans are such easy prey for the perturbor.

Around the world, many women end up missing or taken by unknown forces. Most of them don't have eyes to see the dangerous forces that attack them; no one teaches them to keep an eye on them. So, the entire female human population must remember that you don't have to do anything wrong to be disliked by a person or group of people enough to plan an attack on you. I have experienced humanity's control attack for many years. I checked the cause of it. They don't want to see my type of change up on the world.

Humanity teams up on me. all nations background power behind them corruption changed the way I dealt with the human race, and your creativity can become the death of you because humans are predators and organizations are going against talent.

Humans of earth live under rules that govern them in society.

When the police pull you over in your car, any wrongdoing is evident when they put the cuff bracelet on your hands. Some of them read you your rights. That shows when you do bad things you have the right to fight back.

Humans have always been curious, but have we become too curious? Do our actions harm more than they help? What is the true cost of our actions? evils and good is the same person perfect  humans  in my book of life hard to know hard to find. I believe that the people of society must have their own protection program against the justice department because of my attacking experience. I had all the humans kidnapped, raped, and killed. Warp line enters your home in the public worldwide, and one side of the system plays a role in that behavior.

That's the same corrupted side trick the people are using to do a landslide; they are all reading and listening to our minds around the world. I mentioned that before, and one more time, the governmentis steeling everything humans are just being humans.

[phykios]

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

1)

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12). 

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog. 

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation. 

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.” 

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut. 

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door. 

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass. 

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other. 

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.” 

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets. 

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…” 

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks. 

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.” 

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up. 

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…” 

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements. 

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.” 

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.” 

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?” 

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun. 

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.” 

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.” 

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response. 

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?” 

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.” 

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper. 

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise. 

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!” 

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release. 

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all. 

2)

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene. 

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says. 

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…” 

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea. 

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?” 

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--” 

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much. 

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.” 

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit. 

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses. 

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles. 

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door. 

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen. 

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

3)

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom. 

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street. 

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing. 

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things. 

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.” 

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else? 

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Who are you working with?” 

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question. 

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?” 

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand. 

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks. 

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.” 

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile. 

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice. 

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…” 

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared. 

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear. 

Annabeth, behind him, coughs. 

“S-sure. No problem.” 

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him. 

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend? 

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice. 

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far. 

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?” 

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps. 

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly. 

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…” 

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?” 

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps. 

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock. 

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before. 

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his. 

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could. 

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.” 

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.  

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today. 

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor. 

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit. 

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision. 

4) 

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…” 

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.” 

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him. 

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together. 

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together. 

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all. 

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time. 

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him? 

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode. 

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes. 

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust. 

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner. 

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. 

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks. 

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops. 

He squints at one of his doodles. 

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar. 

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books. 

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response. 

Percy approaches the table. 

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra. 

Percy picks up the book, squinting. 

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself. 

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares. 

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look. 

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?” 

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness. 

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch! 

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth. 

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?” 

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance. 

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes. 

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

5)

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?” 

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes. 

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask? 

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.” 

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says. 

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.” 

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.” 

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head. 

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21. 

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music? 

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth. 

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly. 

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill. 

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it. 

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…” 

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

+1

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake. 

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window. 

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos. 

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.” 

Jamie looks up. 

There’s a four year old staring at her. 

“Hi,” Jamie says. 

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks. 

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her. 

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.” 

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers. 

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.” 

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit. 

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him. 

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin. 

She really should have just stuck with German instead. 

[queenshelby]

Roommates – Part Two

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,363

Warning: Smut

Note: This plays in 2020.

Three days had passed and your new little toy had become your new lockdown obsession. You never had an orgasm so strong and your two best female friends thought that it was rather amusing when you told them about it over a glass of wine.

Every Tuesday evening, you skyped with Laura and Elenore in your room for at least an hour while enjoying some alcoholic beverages and tonight was no different.

But, since living with Cillian and following his breakup with Laura, you had to be careful about what you were saying as you didn’t want to upset either of them.

Laura clearly wasn’t over the breakup and continuously asked you about Cillian, finding it somewhat strange that you were living together and, whilst you assured her that you were not interested in Cillian, she struggled to believe you.

You hadn’t told Laura about Cillian’s hook ups with Lindsay and made it clear to both of her and Cillian that you weren’t going to discuss their respective private lives with the other and would appreciate if they were going to accept your position in this regard.

Whilst Cillian did, Laura sometimes couldn’t help herself and dwelled on about how she missed Cillian. Clearly, she was still in love with him and, whilst you reminded her that you aren’t a messenger between him and her, you were quite willing to listen to her and provide emotional support as a friend.

When, however, the topic of intimacy came up in your conversations, you couldn’t help but cringe.

According to Laura, he was quite a devil in the bedroom department and you felt as though your wanted your ears to explode every time Laura brought up specifics.

This, again, happened tonight when your sex toy recommendation turned into something else entirely and you learned that you missed out on so many things with James.

According to your friends, what you and him used to get up to was quite ordinary and you learned that your best friend and roommate was much more adventurous than your ex-fiancé.

‘You did not have sex at the theatre…oh my god’ you said in disbelieve when Laura told you one of the many stories in which you learned that Cillian had quite a thing for risky public relations with his female partners.

‘Who would have thought huh? He seems all so quiet and shy, but he really isn’t’ Laura confirmed, making you to take a rather large sip from your glass of wine.

‘Apparently so’ you then giggled before you also learned that your new house mate was hiding some things in the basement.  

‘Common, you’ve been living there for three months now and you never wondered what the hooks in the ceiling of the basement are for?’ Laura then asked and you couldn’t help but choke on your wine. A sex swing perhaps, you now wondered?

‘I think I have heard enough, thanks. Can we please change the topic?’ you asked somewhat embarrassed but, it wasn’t the fact that you learned these kinky facts about Cillian which embarrassed you. Rather, it was the fact that you got aroused by the thought of him doing those things. This, in turn, made you uncomfortable and you didn’t like that you were fantasising about him in any way at all.

You even had started to have dreams about Cillian over the past few days, causing you to wake up aroused and wet and forcing you to seek relief. You never felt like this about him before and you wondered why this was happening now.

Was it the fact that you saw him every day, sometimes even half naked as he carelessly moved through the house? Was it because you were bored and sex deprived? Or was it because your bond had become stronger after he helped you and supported you through your break up?

You didn’t know what it was that caused you to have these thoughts about him but you noticed that they had become more prominent and you found yourself looking at his body more frequently when you were around each other.

****

But you weren’t the only one checking out their roommate. Cillian quite obviously did the same.

It was Wednesday morning that he came back from doing the grocery shopping as you were in the kitchen, dancing and making pizza dough.

You didn’t even notice Cillian walking in as you shook your booty to some loud music while giving the dough a good workout.

Wearing nothing but a cotton singlet and cotton briefs, you were twirling around the kitchen just you twirled around the dough. Your top wad covered in flour and so was your hair and face.

Cillian’s chin dropped and inhaled sharply before putting down the shopping bags.

‘Having fun there?’ he asked, startling you and making you drop one of the empty plastic bowls.

‘Absolutely’ you smiled before bending down in front of him and he couldn’t help but wonder how far your tattoo on your right thigh extended upwards.

Whilst Cillian put away the groceries, you finished preparing the dough and set aside to rise before cleaning the mess you had made.

‘I am going out with the dog shortly, do you want to come?’ you asked but Cillian declined your offer.

There was something else he needed to do.

***

Knowing that you had left the house, Cillian made his way to the basement.

‘This is ridiculous’ he said to himself as, once again, his erect cock was straining against his tight jeans after he saw you dancing around in the kitchen.

There was something about you like this, in your black cotton panties and your black singlet, messy hair and your top covered with white dust from the flour moving to the beat of “Touched” by Part Human. Your nipple piercings were clearly visible through the thin top and the tattoo on your upper thigh was barely covered.

It wasn’t even the kind of music he liked, nor did he like tattoos or piercings on women. He didn’t want you. Or did he? He wasn’t so sure anymore but, what he did know, was that he needed to get off yet again.

Opening up his laptop he was quick to flash up the internet, but it wasn’t a porn website which he decided to visit. To the contrary, Cillian felt the need to listen to this very same song again, picturing you in his head, dancing and slowly loosing the little amount of clothes you were wearing.

He placed a towel onto the large office chair in front of his desk and, after sitting down, Cillian unzipped his jeans and pulled them down slightly, releasing his raging erection. He leaned back against the chair comfortably, closed his eyes and caressed his shaft gently.

Using an open hand, he massaged his cock and balls at the same time while imaging you, dancing for him. There was no time for guilt as every stroke of his hand sent a shiver down his spine and every exhalation released tension from his already throbbing cock.

Cillian then used his other hand to move upwards and with a lick of the forefinger, massaged the back of his bulging head, much like the way you tease a wooden clit.

But it was no longer his hands he imagined stroking him, it were yours instead and he squirmed under the overwhelming pressure of anticipation. Panting and short of breath, Cillian opened his eyes like one waking from a nightmare.

It didn’t quite feel right just yet and he quickly reached into one of the draws in his study desk and retrieved a tube of cherry flavoured lube which Laura had bought back in time. Cillian squirted the lube directly down his pulsing shaft and some of it ran over his tight balls and down into his clenching ass. The lube was cold but soothing and the scent of cherry-scented lube filled the room.

Cillian spread the lube all over his shaft with his right hand and began stroking, up and down, slowly at first and then increasing in speed. The sensation of it trickling down his ass arched his back, making his breath seize up.

The thought of you stroking him occupied his mind as he continued to stroke. He was sweating now, panting and wanting more. He could feel the surge through his testicles as he continued to rub his shaft and tease his balls.

His body lurched. Mouth open. Eyes closed. There was a surge of pre-cum, running across his thumb and, in his mind, he imagined you licking it off with your pierced tongue.

Then, finally, the roll of cum began as he continued to stroke his cock hard and fast. The orgasm was building, muscles contracting. Cillian’s cock was hard as a rock. One frantic gasp for air and release.

With a loud groan, Cillian came hard and his seed landed all over his upper thighs and the towel beneath him while his cock continued to throb and pulse in his hand. Cillian squeezed the last of his cum from his shaft with a final groan and, just as he did, he heard a voice in the doorway.

‘Oh my god, fuck’ you said with total embarrassment as you quickly turned around when you realised what you had just witnessed.

‘Fuck, Y/N, Jesus’ Cillian shouted out, cheeks flushing red.

‘I am so sorry Cillian. Please tell me when you are decent, alright’ you chuckled while Cillian quickly wiped his cum off his thighs with the towel and pulled up his jeans.

‘I am decent’ Cillian huffed out rather embarrassed and you turned around with a wide grin on your face.

‘Listen Y/N, this…’ Cillian began to say but you immediately interrupted him.

‘Cilly, there is no need to explain, really. We all have needs and its not that I haven’t seen your manhood before. In fact, most of the world has, although maybe not in an erect state’ you chuckled, thinking back at 28 Days Later.

‘I thought you were out with the dog, so, uhm…you know…’ Cillian barely managed to say.

‘I forgot the doggy bags and came down here to ask you where they were’ you eventually said and Cillian got up and showed you where he had put them.

‘Right, thanks, I am going now, see you later’ you then said before commenting on his choice of music to masturbate to which, of course, embarrassed Cillian even more.

***

For the remainder of the day, you couldn’t get Cillian out of your mind. The picture of him masturbating was stuck in your mind and so was the picture of his hard cock and cum covered thighs.

There was no way you could go to sleep like this and you pondered on about what Laura told you and how dirty minded this man really was.

From light BDSM to anal sex, you were certainly turned on and you were feeling ashamed about it. He was your best friend for god sake and yet all you could think about was his hard cock.

With those thoughts running through your mind, you reached for your other more conventional vibrator and lay back and open your legs as wide as they will go before placing the tip of your vibrator at the entrance to your dripping pussy.

Whilst you felt guilty about it, you imagined it be Cillian’s hard and glistening cock instead of your vibrator, pausing for just a moment before gliding it home.

‘Fuck’ you whispered, unable to keep completely silent, and began sliding the vibrator in and out of you. The fullness felt amazing and you loved it but you couldn’t get enough. You were aching for more, for Cillian’s warm skin on yours instead of the hollow air and the cold vibrator in between your legs.

But your mind went even further than that, imagining the cum you had seen on Cillian’s thighs inside of your pussy, filling you and dripping out of you slowly. You even wondered what his cum would taste like and feel like in your mouth as you began pleasuring yourself harder and faster.

You were desperate now, your eyes closed, picturing your best friend making love to you. Imaging that this is him slamming himself into you over and over as he tells you that you are his. It's almost too much, but at the same time not enough.

You stopped for a moment and pull the toy out suddenly, almost cumming as you did. Quickly you reached down with your left hand and used your fingers to dip them inside, soaking them in your juices. You began pumping the vibrator into you slipping and sliding over and over in a constant motion. Fucking yourself faster, harder in desperate need.

Your left hand had also increased in speed, furiously drawing circles around your twitching swollen clit and, after only a few seconds you explode without making a sound.

The explosion was overpowering from waves of pleasure from inside you coming out and along every inch of your skin. They started before the last one ended, rippling forever upwards throughout your whole body.

Your clit suddenly too sensitive that you had to remove your fingers gently and bask in the glory of it. But, it only took a moment for the guilt to set in.

You knew you had to do something about this but, with new COVID restrictions having been introduced, you knew that you were stuck for now. You wouldn’t be going anywhere and all you could do is distract yourself from your filthy thoughts about your closest friend.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r  @tellingyouastory  @captivatedbycillianmurphy​  @namelesslosers​  @littlewhiterose​  @ttzamara​  @ttzamara @cilleveryone  ​

@peaky-cillian​

@severewobblerlightdragon​  @ysmmsy​  

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby  @thenattitude

[justhockeythings-blog1]

With You

A/N: So Two in one week huh? I wrote this a lot faster than I thought I would! Also I decided to make my own collage to go with this one! I really really like this one, so I hope you guys do! Feedback is always appreciated!

Request: “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” with Andrei Svechnikov

This was not the end to the season that anyone wanted. You felt your shoulders drop, along with your stomach. Your heart on the other hand had shattered into a million pieces, seeing Andrei’s heartbroken and frustrated face blasted across the television. You sat alone, in your shared apartment, wearing the same Svechnikov jersey that he had cheesily gifted you on your first birthday together. You made it a tradition to wear it every game you watched at home, making sure to send Andrei a picture. It had become as much a part of his pre-game ritual as having Martinook scream in his face. You hadn’t expected this game to be the last time you got to engage in your self made ritual,

You could feel the tears brimming your eyes, if not from the fact that you had so much hope for the boys to move on, for the sad faces of all your friends and your boyfriend as they shook hands with Tampa Bay. You waited until the very last second where the Canes players could no longer be seen before you shut off your TV, sitting in silence. You didn’t bother holding the tears in as you let a few slip, this was your time to be sad about it because the second that Andrei called you, you had to pull it together. You needed to be strong for him.

You knew your boyfriend well, you had seen him at the highs of the wins and the lows of the losses. He was going to take this personal, he had been battling himself all year. Saying how he hadn’t been having a good season, how he needed to improve, staying late after games to put in the extra time. You constantly had to remind him to take time for himself, to not be so hard on himself. There were countless times that you would have to force him to relax, letting his body rest, knowing that he would return to a hard training regime at the next practice. This wasn’t just any old loss though, this was a Stanley Cup elimination game loss. You were going to have to pull out all the stops to make this one feel better and you had a limited amount of time. You assumed that Andrei would be going back home at some point in the off season, neither of you had really talked about it recently. Then again, neither of you had planned on a playoff elimination.

You wiped the last few tears off your cheeks and stood up, collecting the snacks you had laid out, setting them in the kitchen before you went to change. After you came back out, you decided you needed to do something to pass the time until Andrei called, and you began busying yourself with cleaning. It was a habit that you had when you were nervous, you picked something to do and you fixated on it, usually until Andrei stepped in to stop you. It would be no different tonight, the shrill ring of your phone pulling you out of your trance. You glanced around you, seeing the kitchen of the apartment spotless before you rushed to the living room to snatch your phone off the coffee table where you left it.

“Hey.” You breathed out, hearing a slight chuckle from the other end.

“Were you running?” He asked, knowing that it was far too late for that. You, on the other hand, knew that he was avoiding the inevitable but you could hear the sadness in his voice.

“From the kitchen, didn’t want to miss your call.” You explained, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. This was the first sign that he wasn’t going to let on how upset he was in the moment, he had called you rather than facetime you. “How are you doing?”

You knew it was a stupid question but you had to ask. If you didn’t make the first move then odds were he wouldn’t bring it up and judging by the sigh that came from the other end, he was hoping that you wouldn’t.

“You gotta talk about it Andrei…” You encouraged gently, settling back on the couch and tugging a blanket over your legs. “Before you get on the plane.”

“It’s hard.” He began and you hummed, another gentle encouragement that you were listening. “We really thought we could do it. You know? We had them, we outplayed them every game and it wasn’t enough.”

The frustration was clear in his voice. You had seen the statistics and on paper, the Canes had come out on top, but unfortunately that didn’t translate to the ice.

“I wanted us to go all the way, these guys are my family and nobody deserves the cup more than them, and I couldn’t get them there.” You could hear the defeat in his voice and it was like someone took your heart and threw it on the ground.

“Andrei… You cannot put that pressure on yourself. Hockey is a team sport, you all left it all out there on the ice. You did you best and the weight of this loss does not fall entirely on your shoulders. Please.” You practically pleaded with him before you heard voices in the background.

“I have to go.. We are getting ready to board, I love you. I’ll be home late so don’t stay up okay?”

He hung up after you returned his goodbyes, leaving you once again sitting in the silence of your apartment. This time though, the exhaustion of everything set in and you pulled yourself to go to bed. You left a light on in the hallway so that Andrei didn’t have to stumble around in the darkness, slipping into your bed and quickly falling asleep.

~

When Andrei got home, well past three AM, he knew that the house would be quiet but it didn’t make it any less suffocating. It felt like silence was the only thing he had heard since the boys departed the locker room, each one caught up in their own heads. A few of the older guys, who had spent a good number of years in the league, did their best to offer some kind of comfort to the younger men on the team but it was clear that in the moment it was half hearted. Everyone had wanted to beat Tampa, everyone had wanted to make it to the end and hoist that cup. It was their year and they had done everything right only to lose to a team who had a goalie like a brick wall.

He set his bag down by the couch quietly, having mastered the technique of coming home quietly after waking you up one too many times. He carefully made his way down the hallway to the bedroom, smiling a little to himself as he saw you curled up in bed, tucked into one of his shirts. The season may not have ended the way he wanted but at least he still had you to come home to.

Slipping into the bed, he was careful not to wake you as he wrapped one arm around you and quickly fell asleep himself, his mind shutting off for the first time since this morning.

~

When you woke up the next morning it was to the weight of an arm carefully laying across your waist and the sound of gentle breathing beside you. A setting you were very familiar with, but today you couldn’t enjoy it. You had a plan that you needed to get started on before Andrei woke up, which is why you were secretly praying that the late return home would play in your favor.

You glanced back at him, smiling at the peaceful look on his face before you skillfully wiggled your way out of his grasp, pausing on the edge of your bed to make sure he remained asleep. After a few minutes you stood up and grabbed his bag, sneaking out of your room.

First things first was to get his laundry started so you made a beeline to the washer and dryer you guys had, setting the bag down and carefully emptying the clothes, checking all of his pockets to make sure they were empty. There had been a mishap one time of airpods in the washer and you both had quickly learned your lesson.

You felt a small box tucked into one of his pockets, pulling it out and setting it into a small basket with other things you found. You didn’t pay any mind to it as you started the washer, carrying the basket and setting it on the dining room table where he could collect it when he woke up.

Part two of your plan involved slight rearrangement of your living room, a number of blankets and pillows, and a fully charged laptop. After nearly twenty minutes, including a quick peak into the bedroom to make sure that he was indeed still sleeping, you had a blanket fort all made up and ready. Which was the easiest part of the plan, the real trick would be getting Andrei into it.

You moved back to the kitchen, pulling out all of the things you needed to make a real breakfast. Not the coffee and yogurt that you scarfed down on work days. You started the coffee pot, humming to yourself as you carefully dialed Evgeny’s number. It was times like these you were thankful that Andrei had introduced you to his brother and you two had a good standing relationship. You cut Evgeny’s greeting off gently, explaining that you didn’t have much time before Andrei woke up but you needed to know how to make his favorite breakfast.

At some point during your phone call with Evgeny, who thankfully walked you step by step through a homemade breakfast that he and Andrei had grown up on, Andrei made an appearance from the bedroom. He stood back and watched as you worked, hearing his brother’s voice over the speaker.

He smiled to himself, it was no secret to anyone that Evgeny was an important person in his life. When he had first introduced the two of you, he had been a little nervous that Evgeny and you wouldn’t get along. Which would have left him in a very awkward predicament. Seeing you in the kitchen though, clearly taking instructions from his brother over the phone, stirred something inside of him. Whatever he was feeling though quickly screeched to a halt, a small jolt of panic ran through him as he saw the small box on the table, quickly grabbing it and stuffing it into the pocket of his shorts just as you turned around.

“Oh hey! Evgeny, he’s up, I gotta go. Thank you so so so much for all your help! I owe you one!” You hung up with his brother and smiled sheepishly, holding up the plate with your finished work. “Surprise?”

You clearly hadn’t seen the glimpse of panic that crossed his face, quickly replaced by a smile and a look of awe when it registered in his mind what was on the plate. Sure you cooked often, but it now made sense to him why you had called his brother.

“If it’s bad you can blame your brother, but I just… I wanted to do something nice for you, especially since I didn’t stay up for you last night.” You explained, pulling him over to sit at the dining room table and setting the plate down in front of him.

Andrei was speechless, which you had learned was a hard feat to accomplish, as he watched you fill two mugs of coffee, making it the way both of you liked it before coming to sit down beside him. You hadn’t brought up the game yet and he wasn’t sure if you would but in the moment he didn’t care, he couldn’t stop staring at you.

“So is this really all it’s cracked up to be?” You asked, watching as he took the first bite. You had spent twenty minutes listening to his brother rave about it.

“Yes, I mean maybe not to other people but Evgeny and I ate it every weekend growing up. Is this why you called him?” He asked as he ate, reminiscing with every bite. His heart growing with love for you when you nodded behind your coffee mug sheepishly.

“I didn’t know how to make it but I remembered you mentioning it. I figured waking your brother up and dealing with his wrath would be worth it.” You teased, Evgeny had never been anything but nice to you and he probably appreciated this gesture as much as Andrei did.

“Also, I hope you didn’t have plans for the day or at least part of it. I wasn’t sure if you had to do something for the team or not.” You trailed off as he finished eating, grabbing the plate from him when he was done and carried it to the sink.

“I uh, I’m not sure. I think they’ll text me if I need to be there but I don’t think I need to today. Why?” He asked, though you didn’t answer him. You just grabbed his hand and pulled him to the living room, smiling as you looked at him.

He froze, seeing the elaborate blanket fort laid out in the living room, snacks and water already inside of it with your laptop. Part of him wondered if you had done thing last night and he had missed it in his tired state or if you had managed to do all of this, on top of breakfast, this morning. Before he could ask though you were tugging him to crawl into it, forcing him to drop to his knees to follow after you.

“What is all of this?” He asked after you settled in the pillow fort, laying on your back as you smiled up at him.

“This is me forcing you to relax and take a minute to yourself. I know last night did not go how you wanted, how any of you wanted, and maybe there’s nothing I can say right now that will make the thoughts in your head go away. Which I hate by the way, you’re way too hard on yourself but I just wanted you to take a day and not think about the game or about hockey or about what you could have done differently. I just, I know it’s not a lot but-”

Your rambling was cut off, as it so often was, by a quick kiss to your lips. You felt your shoulders drop as his hands cupped your cheeks, melting a little into the kiss before he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours.

“Thank you.”

It was a simple two words, but it was enough. It meant that he was accepting this, your plan to relax and just spend time together. Maybe it worked and maybe it didn’t, but all that mattered was he was willing to give it a chance.

~

The two of you spent most of the day in the fort watching movies, leaving only if you needed to use the bathroom or you needed more snacks. At some point the sun was beginning to sit lower in the sky and you both knew you would need to leave to make dinner, especially considering lunch had been nothing but snacks yet neither of you wanted to make that move.

You rolled onto your side, tucking your body even closer to his when you felt a bump against your thigh.

“That better just be your phone.” You teased and he looked at you confused before he realized that the small box that he had gotten well before the roadtrip was now pressed up against you. He sat up quickly, reaching into his pocket to pull it out, though you still couldn’t see it.

“Hey, I was just teasing.” You pouted, reaching for him as he chuckled and shifted to look at you. It was then you caught a glimpse of a familiar sized box and you found yourself sitting quickly to look at him.

“Andrei…” You began softly, it wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him but you two were both fairly young and had never discussed the prospect of marriage before.

“No! No, I mean. It’s not what you’re thinking, not yet.” He rushed to explain, his accent forcing the words to run together. It was something you had picked up, whenever he was angry or excited, his accent made it hard to differentiate what he was saying.

Instead of continuing his explanation, he opened the box to show you the very thin band, with three tiny diamonds in it. You could feel the breath leave your throat as you stared at it. It was beautiful, there was no doubt in your mind about that and it was your style. Simple, understated, something that you could wear with anything and it would never look out of place.

“So if not… that, then what is this?” You asked confused, looking up at him again with nervous eyes.

“It’s a promise and you don’t have to think of it as anything more than that. No other strings okay? I just. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we haven’t talked about it before, but I wanted to make you the promise that one day, it’ll be a different ring and I had hoped to do it after a winning game, but this… I think this is much better.” He explained quietly, keeping his eyes on the ring, watching as you carefully pulled it out of the box.

This was not at all how he had planned on doing this, in his mind it was much smoother. It was after a winning game, probably not in your living room, and he also wouldn’t be stumbling over his words and half tempted to switch back to Russian. Despite all that though, he didn’t want to wait any longer and there was no taking it back now that it was out there.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too.” You smiled, carefully slipping it on your right ring finger for now and smiling up at him. “ Don’t want to give people too many ideas now do we?”

You heard him chuckle before leaning down to kiss you again. The game may not have gone how you two wanted, the season may have ended early, but one thing was certain for the both of you.

You had each other, now and for the rest of your lives.

[jungshookz]

🧦 stocking stuffers: taehyung’s good at hiding presents and y/n’s bad at finding them

pairing; roommate!taehyung x reader 

genre; sfw!! feat. the usual antics because roommate!tae and y/n are both clowns (also there’s a reference from the fic in here.,., if u kno u kno)

what to expect; “i’ll make-out with you for five minutes straight if you tell me where you’ve hidden them.”

wordcount; 1.5k

                                      »»————-　🎁　————-««

“hey, i could get used to this view.” taehyung whistles lowly as he pushes his bedroom door open, his gaze immediately falling to your ass that’s sticking up in the air 

he’s been looking all over the apartment for you for the past twenty minutes

(the only reason why it took him twenty minutes was because he went on a mandatory snack break when he went to the kitchen to replenish his energy from the exertion of looking for you)  

“-!” you yelp when you knock the top of your head against the base of the bed, quickly bringing a hand up to press against the sore spot, “tae! ...there you are! i was, uh, looking all over for you!”

“and the first place you thought to look was under my bed?” he asks, leaning against the frame of the door and shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants 

“well, it’s... it’s pretty spacious down here, so...” you swipe your arm underneath the bed to emphasize your point, “you could totally fit under here-”

“are you-”

“no, i’m not!” you chuckle nervously, getting up onto your feet before dusting your hands off, “no. i’m not.” you repeat, lowering your voice by a couple octaves

taehyung blinks 

“i didn’t even finish asking the question.”

“well, whatever your question was, my answer is no, i’m not.” you clear your throat, leaning over a little to pull up the corner taehyung’s blanket a little bit before shooting him a sheepish smile

(you ripped it off the bed when you barged in like a rabid dog because you were positive that your presents were hiding underneath the sheets - unsurprisingly, they weren’t.)

“i wasn’t doing anything!” you cross your arms defensively, “that’s my point.”

“you’re acting like you just murdered someone and now you’re just trying to hide the body.” taehyung points out before his eyes widen slightly, “you… you didn’t murder-”

“no, i didn’t murder anyone, dumbass,” you snort, “i was just… cleaning up a little bit! you know how dusty it gets in this apartment…” you sigh, slowly stepping towards taehyung while nodding slowly, “it’s, uh… it’s pretty clean in here! i have to say you’ve done a pretty good job at dusti-“

“if you’re looking for your presents, you’re definitely not going to find them in here-“

“then where else would you be hiding them!?” you blurt out, electricity zinging up your spine as you stand up straight

taehyung laughs lightly before shaking his head and turning on his heel, “do you actually think i’m dumb enough to keep presents hidden under my bed? this isn’t my first rodeo, cowgirl-”

he used to do secret santa with his roommates back when he still lived at the frat house and he learned to hide presents very well because boys are much more aggressive when it comes to tearing a place apart to look for something 

one time he came home to see that the entire couch had been flipped over and cut open (with its stuffing strewn everywhere) which wasn’t a very pleasant surprise

that was a nice couch! 

so if you really thought he was hiding his presents underneath his bed... you must be insane!

“well... i already put my presents for you underneath the tree!” you whine, clinging to taehyung from behind as the two of you make your way down the hallway and out to the living room, “why can’t you put yours out?” 

“i have self-control, so i haven’t even thought about touching or shaking any of the packages underneath the tree,” taehyung teases, “plus, you put them out here on your own accord! i certainly didn’t force you to-”

“but it’s not fAIR-!” you whine, burrowing your face in between taehyung’s shoulder blades as your arms tighten around his torso, “it’s so not fair...” 

taehyung hums in response, reaching down to give the top of your folded hands a loving pat 

you can cry about it all day long but it’s not going to change his mind or make him give in 

...also, are you going to cling to him like this all day?

because if you are, you guys will probably run into some issues when he eventually has to use the washroom-

“i’ll make-out with you for five minutes straight if you tell me where you’ve hidden them.” you perk up, propping your chin up onto tae’s shoulder 

“you think a measly five minute make-out session is going to tempt- how old do you think we are?? thirteen??” taehyung scoffs, turning his head slightly so he can kind of look at you, “nice try.” 

“what about a handjob?” 

“hm, getting warmer-” taehyung jokes as he walks towards the kitchen, reaching down to try to prY you off of him 

“blowjob???” you’re more desperate now as you trail behind him, taehyung letting out a laugh at how needy you’re acting, “sex! i’ll give you the full package!”  

the two of you step into the kitchen, taehyung making his way to the fridge for another snack 

he thinks he deserves an award of some kind for finding you 

and a nice, crisp bowl of cereal sounds good to him right now 

“what do you want?? you wanna put a leash on me?? tie me up??” you slap your hands down on the kitchen island as you watch taehyung grab the milk from the fridge, “blindfold me! use ice cubes-”

“hold on, wait-” taehyung spins around, his eyes widening in concern as he holds up a finger, “did you hear that?”

“huh?” you tilt your head curiously before looking around the kitchen, “hear wha-”

“hello! this is kim taehyung headquarters, you’re speaking to secretary kim. how may i be of service today?” taehyung chirps, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a bright smile

oh god

oh god please 

please nO 

“don’t do this to me.” you whisper, shaking your head slowly, “do not make me do this again-”

“i’m sorry, miss.” tae hums, closing the fridge door, “could you speak up? i’m afraid i can’t hear you...” 

you slump down against the counter, turning your head and squishing your cheek against the cool surface as you give in, “...i would like to file a complaint about kim taehyung to the kim taehyung complaint department.” 

taehyung grins at the sight of you completely giving up, “great! can i get a name?”

“y/n y/l/n.” you mumble, feeling an immense wave of deja vu rush over you 

this sucks

everything sucks 

“alright, miss y/l/n.” taehyung smiles to himself as he pulls the drawers open for a spoon, “i’ll connect you to the kim taehyung complaint department right now. i’m going to put you on hold now, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?” 

“you know, i would mind,” you get up from the counter before propping your chin up on your palm, “but i don’t think you really care-”

taehyung cuts you off as he starts to hum an overly cheerful version of twinkle twinkle little star, his head bopping along to the beat as he pours milk into his bowl 

you continue to glare at him as your eyebrows knit together in frustration 

unbelievable 

you’re dating an idiot 

why are you playing along with this??? 

again??? 

“hello!” taehyung’s head suddenly shoots up, “this is the kim taehyung complaint department of kim taehyung headquarters. you’re speaking to head manager kim taehyung. how may i be of service today?” 

you poke your tongue against the side of your cheek as you think about your response

you knoW that as soon as you say something, he’s going to cut you off

...

nO

you’re not going to let him win this time

this time, you’re going to be the one who gets the last word in! 

you push yourself up off the counter before crossing your arms, taehyung looking at you expectantly 

“this is... miss y/l/n that i’m speaking to, correct? i was told that you had a complaint to make?”  

you give tae a half-hearted shrug in response 

taehyung nods to himself in understanding

ah 

so that’s how you’re going to do this?

you think you’re going to beat him at his own game? 

“i’m sorry, am i correct in saying that your complaint had something to do with christmas presents?” taehyung purses his lips in thought, “because i’d be more than happy to help you find them-”

“woah, woah, okay-!” the smug grin falls from your face as you start bouncing up and down on your heels excitedly, “YES please tell me where i can-”

“oOh, sorry!” taehyung winces, sucking in air through his gritted teeth, “my snack break just started. you know how it is.” he pouts, bringing a spoonful of cereal up to his mouth before taking a bite 

mm!

hits the spot :’) 

“are you fu-”

“pheavse pheel phree to call again la-er-!” he murmurs through a mouthful of cheerios, milk dribbling down his chin 

“oh, you’re disgusting-” you scoff, rolling your eyes before turning on your heel to exit the kitchen, “and your lame kim taehyung headquarters bit is so not funny-!”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 6): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: the search for a new place to settle has begun, but you’re left searching for a reason for Geto to stay.  

wc: 1.9k

tw: none

a/n: shorter chapter, but I have something super-sweet in the works for the upcoming parts because *you know I love sweets and lemons*

masterlist

“I cannot have you like I want to.” 

The words the General spoke the night before ring fresh in your mind as Kaori goes about her task of washing and preparing you for the day. He had left before you awoke, but you know you’ll see him at some point during the day. It seems that his explanation will have to wait, then. 

“You’re very quiet today, Lady y/n,” Kaori whispers, pouring water down your back. “Did something happen?” 

Could you tell her the truth? Could you tell her what the General said and what you did in response? 

“Nothing’s wrong; I’m just tired today.” 

“I’m sure you can catch up on your rest after we see Haibara and Gojo off.” 

“They leave today?” you ask, turning around to face her.

“We have to move quickly these days.” Kaori states, her face grim. “We can’t waste a single day as we get closer to the Imperial Palace.” 

“What will happen when we get there?” You wonder aloud, and Kaori shakes her head. 

“No, you’re not thinking like a warrior, my Lady.” Kaori stands and you do the same, placing the towel around your frame. “The question is not what we’ll do when we get there. It’s what will happen before we get there.” Your frown smooths out into a look of understanding, and suddenly, a headache begins to set in. Any number of things could occur before you arrived at the Imperial Palace, and a great many of those things could be terrible for both you and Geto.

“You needn’t worry, my Lady. Master Geto has a plan for everything. We just need to follow his orders, and everything will work out fine.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your mouth is full of grilled fish when you feel the familiar chubby fingers of Yuji Itadori on your arm. You look down at the toddler with expectation of more food being pressed to your lips - despite it being lunchtime - but instead, he’s holding a dandelion. 

“Make a wish!” You laugh, then close your eyes, searching for something to wish for. When you find it, you send it up to whatever gods are listening, and then blow on the dandelion with all of the breath in your lungs. 

Yuji lets out an astonished whoa and then watches the little spores blow away in the light breeze. “Nobara!” he calls out, running away. “We need more dandy-lions!” The two children dash off into the field, and you wonder about the brain cell they share before Kaori and her other friend hiss your name. 

“Lady y/n, he’s coming,” Kaori points toward the three men striding toward your small group, and you perk up at the sight of Geto. His eyes are on you, and at the contact, he smiles widely. 

“Are you enjoying your meal, ladies?” Haibara asks, trailing behind Geto and Gojo. 

“Yes, the fish is heavenly,” Kaori replies eagerly. “Give the cook our best.” 

“Will do,” he answers, and Geto sits beside you on the blanket. 

“Might I try a piece?” he inquires, and you oblige, feeding him with your fingers just like he has done to you many times. When his mouth makes contact with your fingers, you feel his tongue slide against the tips of them and for a moment, you wish he wouldn’t let go. But he does, and hums as he eats the fish thoughtfully. You smile at him and he returns the expression, placing his hand on yours before turning back to the two men who are left standing. 

“I’ll see you two in a few hours.” Gojo and Haibara take off, followed by Kaori and her friend - who wags her eyebrows at you before leaving the two of you alone in the field. You want to run your hands through Geto’s hair and ask him about his day, ask him about his words the night before, but you keep yourself rooted to where you are. It’s only after a moment of hesitation that Geto closes the gap between you and pulls you into his chest, examining the horizon with wide eyes. 

“What is on your mind, great general?” you whisper, and he looks down at you, lips curled up in a half-smile. 

“Would you believe me if I said it’s you?” 

“I would,” you answer. He exhales slowly, the smile dropping from his face before he returns his gaze to the horizon. 

“I must confess that you have placed me in quite a predicament, little one,” he begins, placing a kiss at the top of your head and smoothing a hand down your spine.

“Oh?” 

“Don’t play coy.” Your laughter peals out across the field like bells in the wind, and Geto chuckles as well, his shoulders shaking as he bends over a little. 

“And this… predicament… Is this the one you spoke of last night?” You were pulling answers out of him, but it seems only right for you to have to search for the truth. Because, somewhere in that truth, you know you’ll find your own version of what you felt for him. 

“The very same one... I want to have you, y/n; I want to make you mine.” 

“And what’s stopping you?” Geto inhales deeply, all of the laughter from before vanishing from his face in an instant. 

“I made a promise to myself on your behalf. I swore I would not take you to bed and - instead - preserve your maidenhood for whomever you choose to be with. My plan has always been to release you to your freedom in the end.” Your shock is evident by the way you lean away from him, but Geto makes no move to pull you in again. He eyes you carefully as you process his words, unsure of how to react. 

“So, I am only a pawn to you.” Realization sweeps over Geto’s features, smoothing them out to a wide-eyed gaze as he shakes his head. 

“No, no, little one,” He reaches a hand out and grazes your cheek with the back of his knuckles, the gesture making you close your eyes and instinctively lean into his touch again. “I want you to be happy. If your happiness is not here with m-- with us, then I will not force you to stay when I become Emperor. You will be afforded all of the privileges of a free woman, as you were before.” 

“But…” You capture his hand on your cheek, pressing a kiss to his palm. “What if I have found some happiness here with you?” 

“I would be elated to have you accompany me, if that is the truth.” 

“Why would I lie to you?” The side-eye Geto gives you makes you chuckle, and you lean into his arm again, thinking about the warmth of his body and how he feels so familiar now. He always smells like fresh rain, and the way spoke to you never bordered on disrespectful or harsh. At least, not anymore. “Geto, I--” 

“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupts, holding a finger up to your lips. “But I haven’t divulged everything yet.” You wait for his second round of speech, holding your breath. “Should I be overcome, and my father wins the war… I am also saving your maidenhood so you can be spared. If it comes out that you have lain with me, I know my family will not hesitate to have you murdered.”

“Your father wouldn’t do such a barbaric thi-” 

“You don't know my father. Nor do you know my half-brothers. They are ruthless, y/n. And if my father will not have you punished for being the mistress of a traitor, I know that my brothers will not hesitate.” The breath escapes your lungs slowly and Geto looks down at you again, fixing you with his onyx eyes. “And so I ask you this: would you be satisfied with possibly losing your life for being with a traitor to the crown? Or would you rather resist the temptation, and live a long life with few regrets?” Your hand flies to his chest, right above his heart, and you answer confidently: 

“Whichever way the wind blows, I will not regret taking this chance to be with you.” At this, Geto hastily pulls you in for a deep kiss, holding onto you as if the source of life itself is wrapped in the sinew of your bones. 

______

“Safe travels, brother.” You observe Geto and Gojo - equal in stature but differing in composure - clasp arms before Geto turns to Haibara and repeats the motion; pulling him in and whispering something in his ear. Haibara pulls away and laughs, smiling widely before they climb onto their white horses. A group of soldiers are waiting for them as they ride off into the horizon, leaving the entire camp behind as the hooves of the beasts kick up massive amounts of dust. 

You shield yourself behind Geto’s broad frame as they depart, and the other members of the gathered crowd disperse easily, leaving the two of you standing in the field with Nanami. “Master Geto,” Nanami begins, and Geto turns away from the disappearing figures to face the youth. 

“Yes, Nanami?” 

“It has come to my attention that Emissary Noritoshi made it back to the Imperial Palace, and was immediately thrown out upon the Emperor’s realization that he had not secured a deal with you.” 

“Will they be sending another emissary, then?” 

“Within the week, sir.” You examine Geto’s face as he wraps an arm around your waist protectively, squinting his eyes. 

“Send for a scout tomorrow morning. I need to know if this emissary is any different from Noritoshi in his tactics.” 

“Shall I call upon Yuuta, sir?” 

“Yes; he would fare well. Thank you, Nanami.” Nanami bows slightly to Geto, and then to you, departing just as quietly as he had arrived. “And you…” Geto squeezes you closer to him. “You need to get some rest. We will recommence training tomorrow morning, after breakfast.” A groan escapes your lips at the thought of Geto making you fight with a rake again, but you follow him back to the tent anyways.

As you undress for the night, you wonder if Geto is really focusing on his plans or if he’s trying his best not to watch as you disrobe and expose yourself for his eyes again. But when you sneak a glance over your shoulder, he’s wholly focusing on his maps and diagrams, left hand propping his chin up as he faces away from you. Sighing, you dress in your night clothes and slide into bed, wishing that you could just feel his arms wrap around you before you drift off to sleep.

Some god heard you, you realize, as Geto pushes away from his desk and stands, wiping his face in exhaustion. Your body tingles with hyper awareness as Geto trims the wick of the lamps around the tent and shuffles over to the bed, yawning while tossing his haori and hakashita off. The moment he slides in next you and places his large arms around you, you jolt a little, and you feel his warm breath on your skin as he chuckles. 

“Easy there, y/n. I’m not going to hurt you.” You turn to face him in the semi-darkness and place both hands on his face. 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you answer, and he hums, pulling you in for another kiss before tapping one to your nose. “Quite the opposite, actually.” Geto replies with a rumble in his chest, hands sliding further down to your ass. But the temptation is quickly overcome when he pulls his hands away, placing them behind his head as he lays on his back. 

“You cannot tempt me that easily, little one,” he breathes, exhaling through his nose. “Sleep well; goodnight.” You roll onto your side in defeat, but a small smile plays across both of your faces as you fall asleep, the wheels of imagination and desire turning around and around in your minds. 

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover​ @jotazinha​ @just4readingfics​ @mxhi​ @sammytamaki​ @brownskinnedgirll​ @keelyshayee​ @leanne-tamashi​ @vabybizzle​ @amaris9​ 

[bloodycassian]

heavy is the head - Cassian x reader-  reader has to deal with Night court forces in a battle with Spring. Part two likely.

"Look who's come to plead for help." Cassian drawled, looking you up and down. Rhys gave him a sharp look that he shrugged off. You held back your fighting words and approached with false confidence.

"And look at the male who lost a fight to a giant fish." You retorted, giving him the same judgmental look.

"The levithan-" He began, and you swore you saw the Shadowmaster roll his eyes.

"Enough. We have matters to discuss." Rhys silenced him before he could continue. You gave him a sweet smile and turned to the high lord. 

You noted how the shadowmaster smiled. His dark hair glinting in the pale light of the meadow. They all looked alike, the dark hair that reflected the moonlight like a river. The dark wings that blended into the night far too easily. The sight of them made you shiver.

You began before one of them could bring up anything else. There was no other reason for you to call the meeting, it was pain. You were desperate. And if Rhys was so adamant about keeping all of Prythian safe, he would listen. "Spring court presents more of a problem than we thought. Tamlin's son is preparing to invade." You reported, extending your palm for them to see the evidence you'd brought. 

A fragment of an arrowhead tipped in faebane. You kept it wrapped in a leather cloth for a reason. "Where is he getting these?" Azriel asked, his shadows running over your palm and the arrow there. The tinginging feeling they left behind made you sick to your stomach. “That’s out of my pay grade, shadowmaster.” You said with a bitter smile.

 “You’re the next heir to the throne.” Cassian laughed despite himself. He wasn’t a fan of Summer Court after the blood rubies sent to them by the previous ruler. They had recalled them, but the message still stung.

“I am the throne. My father’s time is coming quickly.” You said with a clipped tone, not sparing them any room for further questions before continuing. "Summer court cant risk any more ships to the southern border. We are losing more and more soldiers daily just to hold the line." 

"Perhaps you could train better-" Cassian was full of fight tonight it seemed. And you were willing to oblige, you bared your teeth at him and cut off those words before you could 

"Perhaps you could allow us some help. We are allies if I recall correctly?” You tapped a finger to your chin, earning an eyeroll from the two generals. Rhys just leveled you a cool glare.

"Reluctantly." He admitted, then looked to the sky. "Cassian..." He called. You felt there was some other conversation continuing in their heads based off Cas’ reaction. It was predictable, him acting like such a child. But it still hurt, nonetheless.

"Rhys- No..." He whined, his wings flaring out a bit. You watched the sharp tips of them as they so expertly avoided catching his hair or head. You wondered what it was like having such an advantage. You wondered what all Illyrians thought of the wings, if all of them loved them or if they had mixed opinions. 

You knew a few Peregryns from Dawn court that resented being born with wings because it meant they had to serve in the army. Some even ‘went missing’ to other courts to avoid being enlisted. You wished you had that option at all. But Tarquin would likely send the entire army after you if you had done so. Being his only child meant good training, as well as being very well known throughout Prythian. Just like Kova.  

"We can discuss this later.” Rhys said with a sharp tone. Cassian’s look of betrayal made you wonder what the actual conversation would be about. “Now I need you to pledge forces to our Summer ally. We can't risk Kova moving north." 

Cassian was silent for a long moment. Contemplating. He knew he couldn’t tell Rhys no. Especially in front of a different Court member. But his battle instincts told him hell no. Do not give forces over to someone who dosen’t even know how to handle them. "Cassian." Azriel said softly, his shadows circling his brothers. 

He compromised. "Two legions. I will lead them tomorrow." 

You hated the reluctance in his voice. "Two legions are a sacrifice. You don't know the terror that child brings-"

"Two legions or nothing. Your choice." Cassian said firmly.

"Cass-" Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. "We will consider more options. For now, we will give you what we can spare in weapons as well as the legions." He held a hand up to Azriel when he made to argue. 

"Thank you, your highness." You gave a half assed bow, and he was gone before you rose. You smiled to yourself at the faint echo of a growl in the meadow. 

+

You donned your most threatening armor and set out to greet the Illyrians. The far hills of Summer court were donned with swaying brown beach grass that hissed in the wind. The ocean spray shimmered above the dark ranks of warriors. The sun did not glint off their armor like it did on yours. 

Cassian's look of distaste said all you needed to see to understand that the Illyrians were not ones for following orders. "One hundred Illyrians. All with weapons that they will take care of." He gave a sidelong glance to the males to his left. They tensed, but did not scare from their general. Whatever they had done must not have been too awful if they were still standing.

Azriel squinted against the Summer sunlight. His shadows seemed more highlighted than ever against the beating sun. "Welcome... I will guide us the rest of the way to the camp." You said, loud enough that the entire crowd could hear you. 

You marched forward, and none followed. 

A male spat on the ground where you had been standing. His wings were gray and tattered, face a strange pale color that didn't match the rest of the Illyrians. A man who had seen too many days for what Illyrians were used to. 

"We dont take orders from a Summer court-" Cassian did not let the male continue. He took the crossbow from his hands, and gave the soldiers around him a nod. They parted around the male. His face went white as a sheet. Cassian's frustration turned his expression into that of a wild wolf. He knew that there would be some to stand against him in helping.

"ninety nine soldiers, I must have miscounted." Cassian announced, and waved the forces forward to follow. You smiled to yourself, and led them through the tall pine and larch trees that made up the forest border with Spring. 

Cassian carried the crossbow the entire journey from the hills to the camp. Summer soldiers did not hide the way they stared at the winged males. Some even moved their setups to be further away. You didn't blame them, but embarrassment ran through you at the message it sent. 

"Half of you will flank Tamli- Kova’s…” You corrected yourself and spat the name. Cassian wondered what kind of hatred lie there. There was obviously something beyond just enemy courts. “-forces from the shoreline. The other half will follow the second front into the border.” You ran a finger across the map. Cassian was thoroughly impressed with your planning. He noted the details of which fronts were where and what diversions were being made by specific groups. 

“Az will lead the flank. I’ll take the front.” He spoke with the confidence of a male who had never lost a battle. He knew Tamlin’s upfront ways on top of it all. He would have trained his son to do the same. 

“Dismissed.” Cassian announced, and the Illyrians went straight to the long dinner table. Az followed, giving his brother a long look before departing. Cassian knew that look. The one that said ‘watch your back. I’m not watching it for you.’ After centuries of giving each other that look, it was enough to rattle him. What exactly had he been doing to warrant that from his brother? He stared at the map on the table. 

He felt your presence before he heard you. Like a snake creeping around, waiting to strike. “This is a good plan.” He approved, then stole a glance to see your reaction. 

“I would hope so. It’s our last push to keep them out of Summer territory.” You collected your pawns from the table and tried not to look at him. He watched you move with fluid grace that was common in Fae.. but you were different somehow. Like you moved with extra care. It made him uncomfortable. Why did it bother him so much? He tried to shake himself from the stupor he felt around you.

He took crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his wings flare at the frustration he was “If you had boats to help that would ensure you winning this.” 

“You mean us winning this?” He bit his tongue. He didn’t like the idea of allying with someone with a reputation like yours. It was dangerous even getting this close. As if you could read his thoughts, you rolled your eyes. “Like I said, we can’t risk any more.”

“But you can risk my people?” The words stung with accusation. With a underlying tone of shame and history there. He tried not to think of himself as fully Illyrian after what they’d done to his mother. But he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the brutality of the culture. It made him what he was. It forced him to survive instead of dying in those camps alone, freezing to death.

You were silent at the simmering question. He smiled bitterly. “You can say what you want but I brought them here. Now you need to make sure your side keeps them alive.” He didn’t look back when he left you standing there in front of your battle map.

“Heavy is the head...” You thought.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Three

Previous Parts | Part One | Part Two

Series Masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Summary | one of the many things that you had never had the chance of doing was disposing of a body; luckily for you, you know just the right person who can tend to your aid.

Warnings | mentions of death, disposing of a body, mentions and aftermath of murder, mentions of rape, mentions of sex, swearing, mention of suicide

The smell of the carcass had your nose turning up, and the sight wasn’t much better. There was blood staining your lovely dress, that Lee had taken off hours prior. Now it was ruined, with the red digress of your husband; he always had to taint everything, and it still appeared to apply despite him being deceased.

Your eyes wallowed with water, as you thought of the mistakes you had made. There were so many, and marrying Simon had been of the greatest, considering that his treatment of you had been beyond disgraceful. And now, the red of his departed insides was sticking beneath his nails, causing you to gag.

This part, the slashing and ripping apart of his limbs, using your trusty shovel, had been worse than actually committing the initial crime. Killing him had been bliss, but this, reminded you of the possible consequences that you would be forced to partake in.

“Oh no.” You heaved, feeling nauseous from the pungent aroma, grasping at the top of your chest in sickness. You dropped his hand, that felt ironically lighter now that he was dead, letting it fall with the other parts of his distorted, and broken, body.

The worst part of all was, now that you had control of where his palms were permitted to go, and the power had you feeling complete. It had you basking in your own glory, but now, you were lost, grieving the path that you had lost regarding the man that you truly were infatuated with.

Walking backwards, and closing the shed door, you abandoned the sections of Simon, hurrying back into your empty home, and going towards your lined phone. Without caring about the prints of blood that you were padding onto the numerical keys, you dialled a woman that you knew to be in the business of cold body abandon.

For a minute, the line rang, leaving you antsy and picking at your stained nails, chipping away at the surrounding skin. All you could smell was the reminder of blood, that smothered you in a hermit of remembrance.

A remembrance of the times that he would splatter your body with his self, claiming that you were his wife, and even bragging about it to the fellas that he worked closely with. But you were nothing more than a shadow in his eyes, a prize that followed him around the house, flaunting her terrified doe eyes at his silhouette.

His greatest flaw was, aside from his poisonous and lingering touch, that smothered you in the cruelest of ways, was that he thought he was aware of everything that went on around him. It was as though he thought he were the sheriff...

But behind his turned back, your shadow would dance with the image of Lee Bodecker, in a private and disclosed matter. He was the true sheriff of the town, the wine who could order you to do anything, and you would wilfully comply.

Lee had, and never would hurt you. That was the definite difference between the polar pair. He was a lovely gentleman, and Simon, well, he was more like a rat swimming out of the sewer.

All these thoughts and actions of adultery were fair play, you slept with Lee behind the now scathed and chopped up back of your husband, whilst he bedded as many women that were actually willing to slumber with.

You were not dumb to his pattern, each night when he went out, he was pursuing a dame, but that never bothered you, because while he was out, the sheriff would make a stop, and check you over, in more ways than one.

Finally, you running with your thoughts was disrupted, for the ringing ceased. A upbeat and facade of a ‘hello’ rang though your ears, making you breathe a much deserved intake of relief.

“Hey Sandy.” You replied, holding the phone aggressively against your ear. Anything she had to say, you were willing to listen to, after all, she was a master in the ways of murder, as you knew and were trusted peculiarly with that detail of secrecy. “I need your help.”

The sound of Simon’s body parts beating around the trunk as sandy surpassed over a bump in the road reverberated through the entire vehicle. It soothed the initial silence that was exhibited in it, and nervously, you licked your thin lips, hoping that you would reach the ‘middle of nowhere’ soon.

It wasn’t that you and Sandy didn’t get along, in fact, you got along great, which was one of the reasons that she insisted to husband Carl that they leave you alive. But it was the fact that there was an unspoken gesture that waded through the air, like a muting toxin.

“Does Lee know?” She asked, finally breaking the silence like ice. It was a relief to hear voice, deep down, you were insecure that she was silently judging you for the entire ride, or at least, how far you had gone so far.

“No, and I intend for it to have a cap kept on it.” You slunk your shoulders, whilst thinking of Sandy’s sibling. He was far too good for you, he was the sheriff, and now, you deemed yourself as nothing more than a murderer.

The fact that you were a survivor of all sorts of horrid extremes wouldn’t matter to the boys in blue, they would not see you past your crime, and you feared that sheriff Bodecker would not either.

“Son of a bitch had it coming to him anyways.” Stated Sandy, being heartless to her admission. “The sight of you and that prick drove my brother insane. We all knew what he was doing to you, yet, they wouldn’t charge him, all because you were simply married to him.”

“What would you have done if Carl had dared lay his hands on you in an in-consensual manner?” You asked, plucking away at the trim of your clean skirt. Before you had left to go on this joyous trip with Sandy, you had changed, all in favour of the neighbours, and anyone else you happened to pass.

“I’d have done the same darling.” She comforted you, looking away from the road for a moment, to send you a quick and sincere smile. Things within the car were falling into their previous rhythm, it being apparent that the two of you were good and well adversed friends. “I wanted to kill Simon too, you know? But with the threats I have made in the past, it would have been far too suspicious.”

“Yeah.” You agreed, suddenly feeling guilty that if it were found to be known that Simon was butchered, Sandy would be interrogated, most likely from her own brother. “How is Carl?” You changed the subject, shifting under the grip of the seat belt.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you how my lovesick brother is?” She replied, laughing lightly at your warm face. “He’s still head over heels for you girl, and yet, the other man won your heart.”

“I wouldn’t say won it, I’d say he manipulated it.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest to pave down the swell of tension inside. “I’d always told myself, and you, that I’d choose Lee Lee, but high school was a long time ago, and I can’t go back to sneaking kisses with him under the bleachers when your back was turned.”

“Trust me, I knew all along.” She smiled, thinking back to the simpler times. “And though, I know when he was training to be a deputy, he’d told you he had no time for a relationship, and he didn’t exactly expect you to wait for him. But you may as well have, considering the two of you continued to fornicate like wild rabbits.”

“Please stop.” You groaned at her words, covering your face with your clear and evidence free hands. “And we did not fornicate like-“

“My bedroom was right beside yours when we got that apartment, and before then, well it was against Lee’s. Trust me, when I say that I know off by heart how you sound in bed sweetie. And god, did I grimace as I heard you mewling my brother’s name.”

Breathily you laughed, thinking back to the times that were spoke of. “Sandy.” You spoke her name, earning a radical hum in reply. “I love Lee.”

“Trust me darling, I am well aware of that. The two of you are like Romeo and Juliet, except you’ve killed someone else rather than taken your own life. And then, there’s never been anything holding the two of you apart-“

“Okay, you’re trying to make a point here Sand. Nothing like Romeo and Juliet, I got it.” You nodded your head, before leaning it back into the plumpness of the head rest. “And then there’s you and Carl, Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Sweetie, you’re a killer too now, so I wouldn’t make comparisons. You’re just lucky that the first suspect for Simon’s disappearance will be a man, and then we’ll see where I am on that list. And you know me, I will always protect you, it’s what we do.”

“It is what we do.” You repeated, watching the road ahead, and tapping your feet in tune with the floundering of Simon’s own rolling feet.

Tags;

@charmed-asylum @brynthebulldozer @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @acciosiriusblack

[robininthelabyrinth]

LWJ, LXC or LQR parenting little A-Yuan, and the other two witnessing the adorable/heart breaking/heart warming moment. Bonus points if the scene is mirrored post-canon and WWX joins the observers.

part 3 of the LJY-adopted-by-LQR fic part 1 and part 2 (now also on ao3) 

 1

Lan Qiren was studying, or so it appeared – if one ignored the small child riding on his shoulders.

“You appear to have an accoutrement,” Lan Xichen commented. “I didn’t know you were so fond of hats, Uncle.”

His uncle ignored him, turning the page.

Little Lan Yuan gestured at Lan Xichen to be quiet. “Don’t interrupt,” he whispered loudly. “Uncle is studying!”

“Is he, now?” Lan Xichen asked, forcing himself not to smile. “And what are you doing?”

“Guarding!”

“Oh?” And now it was getting especially hard to control himself. “What against?”

“People who interrupt!”

Lan Xichen surrendered and departed, and he even managed to get mostly out of range before he started laughing.

(A good thing: if Lan Jingyi, fast asleep at his uncle’s side, had woken up, his uncle might have asked him to help put him back to sleep, and experience suggested that might be disastrous to both life and limb.)

2

With Lan Wangji injured – much better now, no longer confined to his bed, but still not well – and their uncle still recovering as well, much of Lan Yuan’s physical training fell to Lan Xichen.

They met every morning to go through training, Lan Yuan serious as he followed Lan Xichen’s instructions, Lan Xichen seeking to be generous with his praise even as he corrected the mistakes in his form.

He was painfully aware of the gaze that followed him as he moved through the routines.

When Lan Yuan finally succeeded in running through the entire routine perfectly the first time, Lan Xichen praised him and gave him the rest of the day off to go play with little Lan Jingyi, who was engaged in his own form of training as he skipped the stage of ‘walking’ in favor of going straight to ‘hurtling forward at top speed’. After, when Lan Yuan was out of sight, Lan Xichen turned and walked, head held high and heart hurting, back to the jingshi.

His brother poured the tea – he insisted it was good fine motor skill practice, and refused to let Lan Xichen serve – and they drank it.

Lan Xichen cleared his throat, and Lan Wangji looked at him in silent question.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Xichen said, and his brother’s eyebrows went up. “You should have been the one to have that moment with him.”

He bowed his head before he could see Lan Wangji’s reaction. It was his fault, after all, that Lan Wangji was here and not out there; that the joy of teaching the young, of those very first precious moments that would never again be repeated, had fallen to Lan Xichen instead. His uncle, desperate to save Lan Wangji from the consequences of his own actions, had proposed the punishment – not nearly so severe in his version, increased by the furious elders of their clan – but he as the sect leader had had to agree to it…

“I’m glad.”

Lan Xichen looked up.

“There is no teacher I would want for him other than you,” Lan Wangji said. “Not even me.”

“But –”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “I am glad.”

“…as am I,” Lan Xichen said. “As am I.”

3

“There’s nothing to be done about it,” Lan Qiren said, looking down at his tea.

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised: they were no longer eating, so speaking was not forbidden, but he and his uncle often preferred to sit together in comfortable silence. It had been uncomfortable for a long time, but they were past that now, he thought, and so there was no need to speak – and yet, he had spoken, and so strangely, too.

“Regarding?” he asked.

“Sizhui,” Lan Qiren. “You were worrying.”

Lan Wangji fell silent, because he was. His ward’s first night-hunt, and he wasn’t even permitted join in – a group night-hunt, of course, with carefully selected prey that was all but harmless, carefully supervised by adults, with even the swords they used blunted, and yet it worried him.

They started so young.

“I had thought –” he started to say, then hesitated.

His uncle waited.

“I have recovered fully from my injuries,” he finally said. “I could have gone along to supervise.”

Why didn’t you let me go?

“No,” his uncle said. “You couldn’t have. Not because you are too weak, but because you are too strong.”

“I do not understand.”

“If we love our children, we must let them grow without us,” Lan Qiren said. “In places we cannot see nor reach, nor even understand. It is the fate of all parents, in time.”

Lan Wangji swallowed. They were not speaking only of Lan Yuan, now Lan Sizhui, nor even of Lan Jingyi, his name now permanently inscribed within their family book beneath his uncle’s. And yet…“He is only my ward.”

“No,” his uncle said firmly. “You love him, and so he is your son.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said, looking back at his uncle, who had raised him alone and suffered so much grief on his behalf. “He is.”

[heliads]

Forever

Based on this request: “you're dating and it's kinda the first night you spent together, so you wake up in each other's arms and he refuses to let you go. Then he keeps cuddling you and tells you how much he loves you and that he wants to be with you forever? 😊 Just some fluffy Bucky. And maybe his pov too.”

masterlist

Three months, two weeks, and four days.

That was exactly how long Bucky had known Y/N. It wasn’t that long of a time, at least not compared to the decades since he was born, but it was a good enough time to feel like it lasted for forever. Bucky doesn’t always have the best memory; sometimes, dreams feel more like reality and scraps of times from years long gone confuse themselves with what happened yesterday. This being said, Bucky clearly remembers every detail of the moment he first met you.

It had been a rainy day, the dismal chill familiar of foggy Octobers out in full force. The glass and concrete of the tall buildings around him were barely lighter than the dark gray sky, clouds pressing in around the tops of the skyscrapers. Bucky had shoved his hands into his pockets, the cold weight of his metal arm especially present in the freezing air.

Then, he had seen her. It seemed cliché, too imaginative for a supposedly stone-cold soldier such as himself, but the woman walking towards him looked like a ray of sunshine. She was dressed in a warm coat, flickers of a yellow dress darting out from underneath its folds. Her eyes shone despite the dimness of the day.

Bucky wasn’t used to speaking to civilians. He shouldn’t be, anyway. There are always spies dressed up as friends, malice hidden behind innocent smiles. Bucky should have kept walking, ignored the woman, and maybe even forgotten her in a few minutes once their shadows had passed each other by. Yet something in him told Bucky that leaving her behind would be the greatest mistake of his life.

He was preparing himself to open his mouth and speak when he saw the young man behind her. This man is in dark clothes, hood pulled up to hide his face. He draws out a small knife from his pocket, quickly cutting the strap on the woman’s purse before attempting to run past her and melt into the crowd to make his getaway. However, this man hadn’t intended on someone interfering with the theft, especially not someone who’d been trained in combat for the last 70 years.

Bucky moves quickly, with the dangerous efficiency of a deadly soldier. He steps to the side, blocking off the thief’s escape route. His metal arm flies out of his pocket to rap sharply on the man’s right hand, sending the knife clattering to the ground. Bucky’s right arm grabs the purse. The thief blinks up at him in terror, then takes off in a flash when he realizes Bucky isn’t looking for a fight. Or at least not now.

Bucky bends over to grab the knife, idly flipping it over in his hands. It’s cheap, probably purchased at some sporting goods store from the camping section. The thief most likely just needed the money, and so Bucky ignores the retreating man to hand the purse back to its grateful owner.

The woman beams at him. “Thank you so much! Oh, my name’s Y/N. By the way.” Her smile could light up the entire world. Bucky shifts slightly. “Bucky. I’m Bucky.” The woman ties the strap of her purse back to the bag and slings it over her shoulder, this time with slightly more care. “Well, I appreciate it, Bucky. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost my purse. I’m about to go into a pretty important meeting, and I would have needed my keys.” Bucky glances over his shoulder to make sure the thief isn’t coming back. “No problem.”

The woman smiles at him one last time, then moves forward to start heading on her way again. Before Bucky can back out of it, he calls out to the woman. “Wait, Y/N?” She walks back to him. “Yeah?” “Can I have your number? I know we just met and all, but-” She cuts him off with a grin. “Absolutely. Here it is.” She fishes out a pen and a slightly folded sticky note, scrawling out a series of digits onto it before handing the note back to him. “Thanks.” Bucky takes the note, looking from it to the departing woman. Did he really just do that?

It turns out asking Y/N for her number was one of the best things he ever did. He calls her soon after that first meeting, and she answers happily. Their first date is to a small restaurant in some corner of town, the second was walking through a park, and things just got even better from there. Bucky feels like he can finally let his guard down around her, and have a chance to be the smiling man he was before all the traumas of yesteryears had come crashing down around him.

The night is cold when he wakes. For a second, Bucky can’t remember where he is, and he jolts upright in a panic. His eyes feel clouded over, and he sits there, chest heaving, until the details slowly start piercing themselves back together again. There are faint patterns of moonlight dancing in through the thin, filmy curtains. The bedroom door is faded white, open just enough to let the air flow through the room. The blankets, now rumpled and in disarray, are wrapped around him in an effort to stay warm in the late January chill.

He’s in Y/N’s apartment. That’s right. They had arrived late last night, stumbling up the stairs due to a combination of alcohol and exhaustion from too many nights spent up until the early hours of the morning. This is Y/N’s apartment. It’s alright.

Y/N is lying next to him, starting to stir and sit up. He must have woken her. She looks up at him through eyes just starting to open, one hand unconsciously rubbing her face. “Nightmare?” Bucky just nods. “Yeah. Sorry to wake you.” Y/N flashes him a smile, bright despite the darkness of the night. “Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll go make you some tea.” She starts to swing her legs over the side of the bed, but a sudden, unidentified panic hits him and Bucky reaches out an arm to stop her.

“Wait. Don’t go. Not now.” Y/N glances back at him. He must look troubled, because her eyes soften and she pulls the blankets back up around her, settling back into bed. “I can do that too. Is there anything you want to talk about? Something in the nightmare, maybe?” Bucky sighs, pulling Y/N close to him. “It’s one I’ve been having a lot recently. There’s some problem, you get hurt, it’s my fault. It’s like I see you die over and over again, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

Y/N reaches out to him, gently placing a hand against his cheek. Her palm feels cool against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere. That I can promise you. I know your work comes with all kinds of threats and dangers, but I know that as long as I have you I’ll be safe.” Bucky can’t help but think back to his nightmare again, and he finds he can’t look Y/N in the eyes. She notices this, and a slight line works its way into her brow.

“But that’s not exactly what happened this time, is it? You saw something different.” Bucky nods reluctantly. “I-” His voice breaks off. “I am not a good man. You know that, don’t you? If you knew half the things that I’ve done, that I’ve seen in my head, you wouldn’t-” Bucky finds he can’t finish his sentence. Y/N presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to be you, Bucky, a man with a good heart. Maybe things haven’t always made themselves easy for you, but all I ask is that you try. Try to be proud of yourself and accept that times won’t always be good.”

Bucky breathes out slowly. How is that despite everything, despite the monster he’s become, Y/N is still here? It had taken all of his courage to tell Y/N who he truly was, that he was the Winter Soldier who had murdered innocents. He couldn’t look her in the eyes as he said it, sure that he was about to hear the sound of her footsteps heading towards the door and carrying her out of his life, but she had stayed. She was the one thing he could count on.

That’s why tonight’s nightmare had scared him so much. Yes, there had been the usual assortment of HYDRA villains and tragic memories, but Y/N had been at the center of this dream. She had stood over him, a twisted smirk replacing her usual happy smile. She had laughed at him, asking why he had ever thought she would want to be with him. She deserved better, didn’t she? Even he knew that.

The worst part is that some part of Bucky’s mind believed it. Why would she stay, anyway? He could only promise her darkness. Yet he reaches out to her now, fingers curling around the loose fabric of her nightshirt. “Stay with me. Please.” Y/N tucks her head into the space beneath his chin. “I will. I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.”

Bucky stays there for a moment, breathing in and out, letting himself enjoy this one instance where he can be at peace. “I love you, Y/N. I hope you know that. You’re the only person who I think has ever understood me. I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t have you.” And it’s true- even on the stormiest of nights, she was there to usher in the light. When he needed to smile, to laugh, even, she was there. How did he ever get lucky enough to know her, to have her in his life?

Y/N smiles, and even in the darkness, he can almost see the happiness in her eyes. “I love you too, Bucky. Always have and always will. I think I knew that even when I first met you.” Bucky laughs quietly in spite of himself. “Forever. I always knew that there would be some girl who’d come around and I’d want to stay with them forever. I think you might be that girl.” He pulls Y/N closer to him, and cherishes the feeling of her arms around his. “I would be honored to be that girl. Only if you’ll stay with me forever too.” And he will. 

[saksukei]

mingyu college au

other college aus; jun wonu

You had heard your best friend ramble on and on about this boy named kim mingyu and how he's the heartthrob of the entire university,,,

he's the captain of the volleyball team,,, he's a biology major with environmental studies as a minor and he's also in like the japanese club and he speaks japanese super fluently,,, and everyone is like wow sIMP!!!!

but,,,, you don't even know the dude cause your department is on the other side!!! culinary majors have their own little bubble,, and even with business as a minor,, you had never even seen this kim mingyu,,

and today,,, you were running towards your building,,, your alarm had betrayed you,,, making you late for your very important ‘making a dish from scratch’ exam

And you most definitely needed to score well

but!!!! before you even knew it

you bumped in to someone's chest and fell back on your butt,,,, your samurai steel knife box went flying in the air

“can't you watch where you're going?” the person you bumped into, hissed. “or are you so short that you can't see?”

you looked up to see a melanin skinned, brown haired boy, a playful smile on his face,,,

“aren’t you going to help me up? Or are all tall people brain dead?” you retorted,, causing him to snicker, as he offered his hand,,,

“who are you and why have I never seen you here?” the boy asked, handing you the box.

“i–” just as you were about to introduce yourself, you came to the sudden realization, “my exam!” and you sped off, without saying another word

The boy, or otherwise known as Mingyu, smiled to himself, on the way back to volleyball practice.

almost a week later, you were assigned with collecting signups for this annual cooking competition that your department was holding

you wanted to collect plenty of signups because those that did would have a good name in the department and you def wanted it

you turned around to grab something

and iT HAPPENED AGAIN,,,,,,

you bumped into someone's chest bUT

instead of falling back, they caught you in their arms??

and you looked up to see the same melanin skinned tall boy

the same guy that you had previously bumped into and oh boy, the grin on his face

“so are all midgets blind?” he teased

“i might be blind but at least my height isn't my only personality trait–” you snapped, as he removed his arms from around you.

“alright kiddo, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he ruffled your hair.

and you were just like

KIDDO? THE FUCK YOU MEAN?

“why are you here?” you asked

“I'm actually here to sign up for the cooking competition–” he smiled. “my friends have been forcing me to take part in it, so I am.”

“you? And cooking?” you let out a laugh. “sounds like a joke.”

“i bet that I can beat you, a culinary major–” he responded.

“yeah sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you repeated the same sentence he used, a grin on your face.

“bet?”

“oh you're on,” you replied. “what does the winner get?”

“all the glory and the loser has to be their servant.”

“get ready to lose,,,,,, um– wait what's your name?”

“kim mingyu, the one and only,” he winked as he walked away

aND BOI WHERE YOU SHOCKED because you always expected mingyu to be different but he was like ,,,,,,, this

not that you were complaining though

the entire next week, you kept on seeing mingyu at campus and he'd have a teasing smile on his face that basically just said, ‘get ready to lose’

he also sneaked up from behind and hid your knife box, putting it where you couldn't reach

and you were just like, “that bastard is so lucky I don't stab him”

soon it was time for the competition and you were super excited because you were sure kim mingyu would lose bec clearly you were a culinary major this was nothing for you

and almost half the uni was there ,,,,, because everyone found out that you two didn't get along and had a bet going oN

wHICH WAS DRAMA FOR THEM

and mingyu's fanclub wAS ALSO THERE AND YOUR BEST FRIEND WAS LEADING IT SMH

You, mingyu and nine other contestants were going to have a cook off and you had almost 130 minutes to make éclairs with different fillings

and you were like,,, this is a piece of c a k e for me

mingyu's station was behind yours

the timer started etc

and you started getting on with making the choux pastry and everything was cool

till you realized that something was wrong with your dough ,,,,,, like it didn't have the consistency it was supposed to have

and yOU PANICKED BEC CLEARLY THERE WAS A LOT ON THE LINE

and you took a peak at mingyu's station and his dough looked ,,,,,, PERFECT

and you on the other hand were about to have a mental breakdown bec if you lost,,,,,, your department would make so much fun of you like you were a culinary major for fucks sake

and mingyu noticed that you were having a breakdown but he didn't say anything

eventually you somehow managed to get it together but your dough was still pretty bad and it wasn't fluffy at all

the different fillings turned out great though

the timer rang

you turned around to look at mingyu's dish and it looked fucking brilliant and you were just so ready to be embarrassed you couldn't even look him in the eyes

so you just tried to hold your tears in as you presented your dish to the judges which were senior culinary majors

and they pointed out that the consistency of the dough wasn't good but like aside from that your dish was pretty awesome

and mingyu

they couldn't even taste his dish

becAUSE IT WAS TOO SALTY

apparently he added salt instead of sugar

and so he walked off with a sheepish smile on his face and yOU WERE SO HAPPY BEC EVEN IF YOU DIDNT WIN YOU TECHNICALLY BEAT HIM

buT SURPRISE YOU DID ACTUALLY GET 2ND PLACE

While mingyu got last

but the more you thought about it,,,, something was off

mingyu had the perfect dough, he wouldn't be that stupid to add salt instead of sugar right??

after the clean up and everything, you saw mingyu and you went up ahead to talk to him

“hey you won the bet! Great,” he smiled. “so ma'am,, what may I do for you?” he bowed, jokingly

but you were annoyed

“tell me the truth, mingyu,” you demanded, sternly. “i know you aren't that stupid to add salt instead of sugar.”

“no,,, I actually am,,, that stupid” he joked,,

“mingyu, please tell me honestly.”

He sighed, “i just saw you holding your tears back in and that's when I knew this meant more to you than it did to me, so I just did what I had to do,” he admitted.

“mingyu,,,,, that's just–” you were shocked to say the least. I mean, you knew he was nice but this was just, over the top for you

“look– you still won the bet,” he reminded. “and besides, I couldn't beat you even if I tried, you're a culinary major,,,,,, a pretty short one at that too.”

“did you just,,, insult me again?”

“how's it going down there, shortie?” he teased, a playful smile on his face

“why don't you look out for that aeroplane you tall freak,” you replied, a smile finding it's way to your lips.

mingyu chuckled.

“in all seriousness though, thank you mingyu, it means a lot,” you told him, truthfully. “besides, betting is stupid anyway.”

“really?” he asked. “because i can bet that i can make you fall in love with me in two weeks,” he replied, a smug expression on his face.

“dream on,” you hissed.

“what– scared you're gonna lose?” he taunted.

“oh you're on, kim mingyu,” you shook hands

and in the moment, mingyu pulled you closer, and bent down to your level

“but just so you know– I won't lose this time,” he whispered, that damned grin on his face.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So as close as I am to fully escaping Hades for the first time, I figure I might take this opportunity to write down a couple of things I'm scared of from this ending. The story is so good so far! But I have seen good stories before! And there are patterns, right, patterns it's so easy for even good stories to fall into, so yeah, I have fears, and they mostly come down to Hades himself.

(Yep, this one got long again! People seem to be enjoying my game-reaction rambles, so, for your enjoyment under the cut: themes of separation and reunion, predictions for what Zagreus is the god of, and a whole lot of discussion of familial abuse dynamics, how they're depicted in fiction, and the work it takes to change them in real life. Stay warned! Stay safe!)

(ALSO, I still haven't made it past the first couple of chambers in the Temple of Styx, so no spoilers in the reblogs/comments please! Yes, even though the whole post is me going on about predictions and hopes and concerns about the path the story might take. I WILL GET THERE SOON.)

It has been really interesting watching some of the stuff the game is doing with themes of parting and reunion, and how that corresponds to life and death. So many of our social links are about reuniting estranged loved ones: Chaos and Nyx, Eurydice and Orpheus, Patroclus and Achilles. Hades is estranged from Olympus, Persephone left. And every time we leave, or try to leave, it is both an attempt at a parting (and Meg and Than are so hurt by that goodbye, or lack thereof) and an attempt at a reunion with our mother. Every time we die it's a reunion, every time we die it's fun, it's great, we get to go back home and check in with all of our friends and be impressed by whoever made Employee Of The [Timeperiod] and sell fish to the cook and put down yet more rugs. (My Zagreus has something of a rug addiction. What can you do.)

It's at the point where I feel pretty secure in stating that Zagreus is going to discover eventually that he is both life/death/rebirth god, and god of partings and reunions. Both halves of both of those things. People leave each other when they die and re-find their loved ones in death; you go away from one group of people to come back to another; you have to depart to return, and I really think that's where we're going to end up with Zagreus. He's going to reunite his various friends with their loved ones, he's probably going to restore communications between Hades and Olympus and even Persephone, he's going to reunite with his mom, and he's going to come back to the Underworld before he leaves to see everyone up top all over again. And of course the vehicle for all of this coming and going is death, because death is the ultimate departure and reuniter. (This is absolutely a religious concept containing a whole bunch of "oh hey our culture has a lot of Christian influence, doesn't it", Greek trappings aside, but that's fine, it's a game made in 2018 not 300 BC, these things happen. They keep calling the Underworld 'hell' and 'infernal'. It's all good.) Of course he's a cthonic god. Of course he bleeds, because you have to bleed in order to die, and Zagreus has to die again and again and again. That's his whole thing.

Thing is, though, looking at those themes, I am also continually aware of the fact that some partings are for a really good reason. Some partings should not end in reunion.

Yes, of course this is about Hades the abusive dad. I have been talking about Hades the abusive dad basically non-stop since I started playing this game, where did you think this post was going.

There are a few things I'm nervous about, separate but related, and at the core it all comes down to, I'm not okay with it if we learn why Hades got to be this way, and Zagreus forgives him as we-the-audience are meant to do, and Hades promises to do better, and nothing concrete about the situation is forced to change. Actual, meaningful, practical, logistical, non-hypothetical non-metaphorical change, not just for Zagreus but for Hades himself.

Because I know how this story tends to go, in fiction. Fictional abusive parents (especially in fantasy/sci-fi stories) tend to come in two types: 'coerced their offspring into actual murder with a side of physical abuse and optional unethical lab experimentation', or 'this was here to create character conflict, we didn't mean for it to read as actually abusive, this parent just has flaws to make them a good character, we swear!' Hades isn't the first type--we have never once seen Hades strike his son, or anybody, or even come out from behind his desk--which means that the fear is, always, always, in every piece of fiction, that he's the second. That the writers are going to decide that the right response to his abuses is remorse, forgiveness, and one really good conversation. That they don't realize it's abuse in the first place.

And, like. They have to know, right? They have to. They can't have done this by accident. (Sometimes, writers get so close by accident.) They can't have done so well at drawing out this situation simply by going, 'well, people are meant to fear this god, so they'd probably react like this, and I guess based on what I've seen in other stories or vague acquaintances they'd then do this,' and never put the name on the situation. Every single time we leave to the tune of a Hades word-flash, he's being dismissive, insulting, and sometimes downright cruel. He is cruel. They have to know!!!

But oh boy have I been consuming media for a lot of years, and oh boy have I run into a lot of writers who don't know.

Reconciliation is such a loaded word, but stories about dysfunctional families really do love it. Stories based around themes of reunion are primed for it. And of course, it's nice, it ties a happy ending off with a sweet little bow, everyone gets to be with the people they love and the family is safe and nobody gets hurt, but so rarely have I seen stories that show the actual work required to rebuild those relationships in a realistic or meaningful way. So rarely do stories trying to build that happy ending actually let the victim of abuse set and maintain boundaries. The character never gets to actually just cut the damn ties to the thing that hurt them. The character so rarely even gets to be safe.

And it's so hard in this game specifically, because "THERE IS NO ESCAPE", because every single thing about this game says that the story's not over when Zagreus gets to the surface, that no matter what he's going to have to come back. It's so hard, because this is a game about reunions. I am not going to get an ending where the abused kid trying to flee his toxic home and abusive dad actually gets to leave and stay gone, not in this one. And that hurts (I have watched and supported and done my best to help multiple real-life friends get the fuck out of homes like that, and stay gone, I have seen how hard it is, how complicated, how awful, and there are never stories for that), but I can live with it, if I get an ending where Zagreus is at least safe. Where things change. Where they really change.

Which is why I need actual, concrete, material changes in the logistics and power structure of the Underworld for this ending to be okay. Understanding why Hades is Like That doesn't cut it. Remorse doesn't cut it! Because look, even if Hades wants to do better, even if he admits he's at fault and tries to be better, he is still set up in a position as an all-powerful tyrant, and trying to become a better person is hard. There is nobody around who can keep him in check when he starts backsliding, which he will. Even if he doesn't want to, he will.

Because people are people, and it's really difficult to break patterns! Especially if everything around them stays the same. Hades is going to slip at some point, be cruel, be callous, be tyrannical, no matter how much of an effort he's making. Not to mention, it is STRESSFUL to face your own crimes and improve, it sucks, it feels bad. And what do habitual abusers do when they feel bad? What's the only coping mechanism Hades appears to have established for dealing with his own shit? That's right, it's inflicting suffering on everyone else around him. (This is why it doesn't really matter what circumstances drove Hades to act this way, why it can't matter--I believe that he is suffering, but he copes with that suffering by inflicting additional suffering on everyone around him, everyone who relies on him, and that's still true no matter what made him feel bad to begin with.) So then we just get a great old guilt-->lashing out-->more guilt-->more lashing out merry-go-round of abuse even as Hades is trying to change. That's how these things work. And yes, change is possible, improvement is absolutely possible, but the environment needs to change first. The system that enables and rewards Hades for acting this way can't stay in place. Things need to actually change, with people who are around to support Hades in his growth and also check his power, people who have power of their own to stop him. And however it happens, for this story with this protagonist with these goals to feel like a happy ending, Zagreus needs to be safe.

It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if those changes were mostly based in magic and fate and, idk, divine mind-control. (This story has been so grounded in actual human dynamics that a fantastical solution to a realistic problem would feel like a letdown, but if it actually solved the problem I'd be okay with it, more or less.) It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if the responsibility for bringing Hades to heel fell upon Zagreus and Persephone, if the two family members who he hurt badly enough that they felt the need to run away from him entirely now had to shoulder the burden of helping him fix himself. (There are definitely ways to write that dynamic better and ways to write it worse, and I think I trust these writers to land on the 'better' side of the scale, but I still don't love the implications.) I think I'd be pretty into it if Hades took a vacation off to Olympus to Work Out His Shit with his own family, while a coalition of Meg, Nyx, Thanatos, Zagreus, and Queen Persephone took over running the Underworld in his absence. I think we might end up getting some combination of those things. I'm hopeful. I think these writers might know what they've written. I think they might have a sense for what it'll take to fix.

But yeah, I'm nervous. (Nervous enough that I might switch to God Mode just to get through, combat has started getting really tedious instead of fun, I want to know what happens next, and this is a game and there is no shame in making it more fun for myself by making the boring parts a little quicker and easier.) I've seen so many stories go wrong. This one has done so much to earn my trust. We'll see if it breaks.