#fun fact i drew the 'wait up' page first before all other pages of the comic ahhah (the most fun panel honestly)

[demondinobear-art]

Waterborne poetry event am i right

Little comic about the way back to the event venue ->

No sry im not getting over how cy is exhausted but diona isnt fdshkjh

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Hey! Just finished reading that angsty Percy x reader fic you uploaded, and… it hurt, a lot. So I DEMAND (beg and plead) for something more fluffy and loving, y’know? So how about a Percy x reader that’s about Valentine’s Day, so they’re being extra affectionate to each other? And since the reader is a daughter of Athena, if that’s fine with you, she already knows what gifts to give him. Maybe they even show their true love for each other at the end, if you know what I mean 😉 (I’m leaving all the details up to y o u, if that’s alright).

Is this good? Also, glad to see you’re feeling better!

"Okay, okay, just wait here."

Percy plops himself down on your bed with that crooked smile of his, "Yes Ma'am."

"No peeking!" You yell as you retreat out your room again. Gathering the gifts, you nudge the door open with your foot and look inside to see Percy holding his hands over his face and bouncing on your mattress.

You assemble things in the correct order, all the while checking that he still can't see before clearing your throat and saying, "Open."

His eyes light up, laugh filling your room as you present him with a giant squid plushie. It's almost as tall as him and as he takes it from you and squeezes it, it blocks his whole body. "It's about eight times as big in real life but I don't think they make them that size."

He laughs with joy and fumbles blindly before he can hug you around the squid. You enjoy the moment for a second before wiggling out of his hold, "Okay wait, there's more."

He tucks the plushie under his armpit and happily accepts the custom blue chocolates, a t-shirt with a fake seashell bra design and kiss on the cheek before you reveal a small vile of sand from your pocket.

"What's that?" His fingers are already reaching for it as you push it into his hands.

"Sand, from Athens." He meets your eyes. "We're supposed to hate each other, destined to because of that place, but we don't. This is just a reminder that you're stronger than you know you are," You trace his fingers as he admires you, "That your love for people is stronger than the will of a god."

He laughs, "Stronger than two, actually."

You shove him jokingly before allowing him to envelope you in his arms to kiss you. It's full and deep and he leaves a few more pecks before he'd ready to fully pull away.

"Well now I feel like I didn't do enough." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and produces a small book.

"What is it?" You question, gently taking it from his hands. He opens it for you and you gasp. Intricate drawings of your favorite flower decorate the first page, you flip it and see the same detail given to your favorite animal. Pages and pages of drawings, entrees labeling and describing your favorite things. Fun facts scrawled in the upper left corner of each.

Your eyes feel misty when you look up, "Who drew these?"

"Hazel, Jason helped with the research. Frank helped me spell."

You laugh, wiping at your eyes and wrapping your hands around his neck to kiss him. "Thank you."

He smiles, sea green eyes flashing, "Anything for you." And then he kisses you so hard you fumble backwards and drop the book.

[chronicbeans]

Human Illustrator Wally x Reader (part 2)

Fun fact: I like to listen to music that fits the vibes of what I'm writing and I wanted something more cheery an whimsical for this... but my dumb brain likes sad/creepy music and I couldn't find anything I liked that was truly happy, so I ended up listening to Bo en's My Time while writing this.

TW: None

🐻 When you arrive at the daycare, you quickly show everybody the book. Opening it to the back page, where he signed it, you see his name scribbled down. It is slightly messy, with all the letters being capitals and the "L"'s being slightly sideways. From what you can tell, it fits his silly little personality.

🐻 However, right as you begin showing everyone the book, you remember that some of the kids won't be able to see it that well, if at all... Oh no, now you feel like garbage...

🐻 One of those exact kids, a little girl related to Howdy, the local store owner, asks "Can I hold the book? I wanna see if something I heard works!" You grow quiet, before saying "Sure." To your surprise, all of the kids are watching and whispering "Right... Let's see if it works..." What in the world are they talking about?

🐻 She holds the book in her hands, which you made sure to keep opened to the signature. She runs her hands across it, before she makes it to the signature. She flinches, before gently pushing down on it. Her little face beams with the joy of a thousand summers as she chirps "He cares! I can feel it! I can feel his name! Johnny! Johnny, get over here!" "You're right, Henny!"

🐻 You are shocked, as well as a bit confused. You don't understand and want to investigate, but you want to wait for the children to calm down and let them have their fun. Even a few of the children with no visual impairments are pressing their hands on the book, chirping that they can feel it, too. You have an idea as to what it could be, but you want to check, first.

🐻Henny calls you over "Ms./Mr./Mx. (Y/N)! Come on! Feel it! I know that you probably didn't think to do so because you can see it, which is alright, but it's so cool!" You gently take the book, staring at the signature, before placing your fingers on his name. Your suspicions are confirmed as you grin.

🐻 While writing his name, he must've pressed the pen down hard enough to leave an indent to let all the kids be able to experience his signature. "Wow... Henny, how were you able to tell he would do this?" Henny, as well as the other kids, all start speaking over one another. You can hear Henny's voice over the rest, though, as she practically shouts with pride "My dad is friends with him! He constantly talks about how Wally does things like that for kids! My dad was the one who gave Wally that idea!"

🐻 You look down at her, expecting the other kids to tell her that she is lying, however, they go along with her claims. "I saw Mr. Wally at his store a few months ago with my mama! He tries to do that thing where people dress up as someone else, but his blue hair is very recognizable!" "Yeah! He helped me reach that apple toy on the top shelf! He then got another one and bought it for himself!" "Howdy is so cool for knowing celebrities!" "Doesn't Wally also know Ms. Poppy, that baker? I saw a show where she baked a cake in the shape of one of the bears he drew!" "I heard Mr. Wally gets his clothes from Julie's Joyous Clothes Company and is friends with Julie Joyful, herself!" Slowly, but surely, the talks about Mr. Darling and Howdy knowing each other turns into children's gossip about which famous people Mr. Darling does and does not know.

🐻 You think about the number in your pocket, subconsciously placing your hand over it. You don't know enough to know if any of their gossip is true... But you have the means to find out more about the mysterious, cheerful man. You can also make these kids so happy by having him visit! They can ask him questions about what they want to know, too!

🐻 Mr. Abbott walks into the recreation room, smiling as he asks you "Looks like these kids have Darling Fever, eh, (Y/N)? Do you want to go outside to relax? It is, technically, your day off today. Andy can take it from here." You giggle at the words "Darling Fever", before nodding. "Yeah. I actually want to talk to you about something, if you don't mind."

🐻 The two of you walk outside, sitting on the bench at the front of the daycare. You take out the paper from your pocket, saying "Mr. Darling gave me his number to call if you ever want him to visit the daycare." He gasps, looking at you "He... gave you his number? That's amazing! Wait, why are you trying to hand it to me?" You tilt your head and you hold it out to him "Well... you own the daycare? So it would make sense for you to call?"

🐻 He shakes his head quickly "No, no... he gave YOU his number! He very rarely gives out his number to people. I don't know why, but I think it might be that he doesn't trust many people with it. So, I can only assume he gave it to you because he trusts YOU. If I called, he might be uncomfortable." You look down at the paper, asking "Really...? There is so much I don't know about him. Should I call to see if he can visit? He must be a busy man... I don't want to bother him while he is doing something."

🐻"It's now or never. I know you. You'll be too nervous to call if you don't do it now." You smile, taking out your phone and calling the number on the paper. It beeps a few times, before somebody picks up and says "Hello?"

🐻 You take a deep breath. You can hear the voices of the crowd at his book signing in the background. You must've called during it... You hesitate, before saying "Hello! Umm... Is Mr. Darling there? I am from the Apple Castle Learning Center. He gave me his number and told me to call to see if he can visit?" The man on the other end of the line hums in thought, then says "Let me go get him. He has been waiting for you to call. It might take a moment, so be patient."

🐻 You tense up, feeling your heart race. He has been waiting for you? You look to Mr. Abbot, who places a hand on your shoulder to try to comfort you. He whispers "You're doing great! You got this!"

🐻 The man on the other end of the line suddenly shouts "COMING THROUGH! MR. DARLING'S GOTTA VERY IMPORTANT CALL! OUTTA THE WAY! HE'LL BE BACK IN A MOMENT!" You flinch from how loud it is, but you are shocked when you hear Wally's voice in the crowd, asking "Did they call? Please tell me it's them!"

🐻 It takes a bit, but you hear the crowd's voice die out, before Mr. Darling says a quiet "Thank you, Barnaby." Then, your heart races when he says "Hello? Is this (Y/N)?" You grin, saying "Yes, it is! Umm, I was wondering if you would like to set up a date and time to visit the Apple Castle Learning Center?"

🐻"That would be just lovely. We can talk about it tomorrow. Do you want to meet up at Howdy's Place? I'm friends with the owner. We can sit and talk at the little cafe area near the back. They serve some lovely milk tea. We can talk it all over then. I know you have some phone anxiety from your tone." "Of course! How about we meet there at 12 PM?" "That would be lovely. I'll see you then. Goodbye, (Y/N)." "Goodbye."

🐻 You end the call, looking over to Mr. Abbott and telling him the plan. He pats you on the back, telling you how well you did on the phone. You write down some things you need to ask Mr. Darling about, such as what date and time would be best for him to visit, as well what activities would be best. Then, you suddenly realize something... You never told Mr. Darling your name and there is no name tag on your uniform. The daycare doesn't have enough funds to make them... So how did he know it...?

🐻 You write down at the bottom of the list to ask him about it at Howdy's.

[mrmistopher]

ART FIGHT SUMMARY 2024, SUCKAHS!

Second year of ArtFight and the first year I went all in on it. As opposed to my 4 attacks from 2023, this year I submitted 13! Before that, though, I gotta share others' attacks against me.

First, of course, is the lovely @pixel-exchange of Team Stardust who somehow managed to pump out *4* banger attacks against me this year! We were in a heated revenge war, which he ultimately beat me at, but I don't mind much, with how awesome his stuff was. I love how each turned out. I think my favorite may have been "Alone on the Moon", featuring my astronaut dog gal, Laika.

Second person to attack was @headphones-lifeform of Team Stardust who made this adorable bust of my Star Trek OC, Nurse Telos! He just looks wonderful, mad shoutouts to them!

Third is from a mutual of mine who actually attacked me in 2023; Croconiles from Stardust! (Twitter/Insta) He drew my skunk OC, Stripes, and she turned out heckin' excellent! Love that eyeshadow and the big nose.

Fourth is this hilarious little piece for my boy Werner by fellow Trekkie, @lyroart of Stardust! Love how goofy and weird his expression here is. Perfect for him with how wacky he is.

And lastly, we got this cute wittle pixel art profile for Laika from RevlisFox on Team Stardust. (CharHub) Looks super cute and I could totally imagine having something like this for a little family chart or the like.

Now, to move onto my attacks, firstly I have my revenge war with Pixel-Exchange. Big fan of how the first 2 looked, but the third was admittedly rushed. Still though, mate has some sweet designs.

Second, I have my attacks against LyRo the goat. Drew some of their Star Trek OCs. Calvin had my favorite design (guess why) but I really enjoyed Ena's personality, so I attacked em both!

Next we have my revenge against Headphones. I really liked this design for Niph in particular (guess why) and I really liked the concept for a cave-dwelling crewmate. Felt weird drawing props for once lol.

Next revenge was for Croconiles, with his silly little OC couple, Darby and Animal. Felt like it'd be fun to draw two characters interacting, and I like how they look in my style. Plus I just love the slight texture on his art.

And, the last of my revenges here is one against RevlisFox with this art of a character whose name I forgot. 😰 SORRY the character page got privated, I gotta wait until it's back up again. In any case, this was my final attack this year, and though a simple one, idk I kinda liked how it turned out.

So, moving away from revenges, here's my plain ol' attacks against artists I like!

First are my attacks against Keiiphobix (YT/Insta) of Team Stardust! No joke, one of my new favorite artists on AF. Just wicked good, man! I drew his lil guy, Maurice (ISTG HE IS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING EVERRRRR) and Joy, who is the just spikiest fella ever <3

Next was Callum by PeculiarPossom (Twitter/Etsy) of Team Seafoam! Just a skinny freaky lil possum drummer boy. I can relate to his struggle of being a drummer with no band lol. Fun fact: I was in Canada when I drew this! Shoutout Quebec

After this is art of le bird boy, Matteo, owned by a YouTuber I watch, RedPanda Master! (YT/DA) I initially fell in love with them for their silly lil WoF shitposts, but I thought Matteo was just adorable, and a must-draw! They have some awesome fantasy designs, but a lotta them were too complex for me, so I naturally settled for the easiest and cutest one.

And finally, we come to the end of this longass megapost and arrive at my attack of @asrielwithans on Team Stardust, and no joke this may be my favorite attack I did. Aside from not really capturing the eeriness of Hollypaw, I love how this turned out. I first saw their Warriors fan content last year and I have been obsessed ever since. That Christmas Kids animation has been on loop in my brain for MONTHS. Their stuff is metal, seriously, Warriors fans and animatic fans, go watch it NOW.

Welp.... that's the end of my exhaustive post of my ArtFight activity this year. I definitely shoulda split this up into several smaller posts and I probably shouldn't have rambled so much in between the art but DAMN IT, I love all these artists and I needed to talk about each of em. Seriously, go follow all of them, go comment on their stuff, go share it around. I'm so thankful for the crazy amount of attention I got this year by those who attacked me, and I hope all the artists who I attacked loved seeing art of their characters. Although SeaFoam may have lost this year, I certainly didn't!

[cainluvr69]

Let Me Tell You The Story Of A Rainbow - Chapter 25

Previous Chapter

Mitile: Tycho Lake is pretty, but that's not the only place to go sightseeing in the South.

Figaro: Considering how much of it is undeveloped wilderness, there's all sorts of majestic mountains and oceans of wildflowers just waiting to be seen. How does escaping the bustle of the city and experiencing nature in all its unpolished glory sound to you?

Arthur: In fact, why don't the two of you go on a sightseeing tour through all five countries?

Cain: Sure, I can show you guys around my own top picks. I know where to find some great views and I can take you around to my favorite tailors and shoemakers and food stalls and gift stores. Uh, I'll probably end up adding a lot of destinations to your trip…

Riquet: This sounds so fun… I'd like to go with you! I want to see all sorts of sights I haven't had the chance to see before, too.

Rustica: My. Then may I accompany you as well as your personal musician? I'll play music that suits the sights you see.

Chloe: Omigosh, getting to hear Rustica's music while surrounded by nature's beauty! Now that's decadence!

Nero: Hey, if y'do that, then…

Bradley: It'll be more inspiration fer your drawings than you'll know what to do with, kiddo. It's just th' kinda person you are.

Luca: …!

The look on her face made it obvious they'd just hit the bullseye, and now everyone was looking at her. All the attention she was getting made Luca's face start to turn red.

Lennox: Whether you decide to draw or not… You can always change your mind in the future as many times as you want to. We wizards are blessed with long lives, after all.

Faust: The time we're granted is so long that spending it always in a rush would just be silly.

Murr: Such is what a wizard is!

Luca: …

Luca seemed a little more sure of herself, a little more secure in who she was as she took a breath and nodded.

Akira: (…"Time" means something so different to wizards compared to humans.)

But that's why things were going to be okay.

Akira: (Just like how we were able to experience Luca's own personal wonderland, Aslan and I and every other human in this world can experience the world that wizards inhabit, too.)

Although he and I were a lot closer than most others were, so the fact that we had that closeness felt a little extra special and wonderful to me… Suddenly, the loud clanging of massive bells, like the ones you'd find over offering boxes at Shinto shrines, reverberated through the air. I looked up and saw Roxy spinning and gliding through the air above our group.

One by one, Luca's friends, the magical beasts that had guarded the five pieces of her memory, popped up around us. They surrounded Luca, and I saw them press a brush and a set of paints into her hands.

Aslan: Alright, Luca. Are you ready for the last page?

Luca: …Yeah.

Luca nodded, and her six friends--Roxy included, of course--clustered around her. She smiled as she held her paintbrush up to the sky--she was a flower, in that moment, reaching for the sun. And that was the cue--the tension in a dancer's legs before the first steps, the inhalation before a song's first notes. Luca's performance began, and a vibrant, brilliant world was born from the brush gripped in her little hand. And it really was like a dance, like a song--I watched as the round little bird chased after the echoes of her painting on its stubby little wings.

Cain: Oh, hey! Every time that lil' guy flaps its wings, more fruit ripens on the trees, look!

Riquet: Oh my gosh! I've never seen fruit shaped like this before, and there's so many of them! They look so juicy and sweet…!

Next, Luca drew her brush over the surface of the lake, and the dolphin-y thingy leapt over and dove under the ripples, bringing a very welcome rain to the plants by the water's edge.

Heathcliff: I can see something sparkling in the rain. Is that…?

Nero: It's the lil' guy's treasures, ain't it?

Faust: Yes, I can see some trinkets in there I recognize. Look, the flowers the raindrops fall on are shining brighter now.

Chloe: Look, Count Tail is dancing to the sound of the rain!

Rustica: What a delightful performance. Though I do rather wish I had a pair of cymbals on me right now…

Rustica gazed up at the sky, despondent, when the big purple lizard wheeled through the heavens, followed by loud peals of thunder.

Rustica: Marvelous! What a gloriously powerful sound. I don't believe I've ever encountered music that made my heart dance like this before.

In between the rhythm of the thunder, Luca painted amber clouds on the sky, sitting astride the purple lizard's big back.

Bradley: Ooh. Those're some pretty tasty-lookin' clouds. They're shaped like fried chicken.

Owen: I'd eat them if they were sweet like cotton candy.

Mithra: Wouldn't they just taste like paint? You'd get a stomachache.

The little leaf spirit was scuttling around underfoot, its arms piled high with marbled fruit that had fallen from the trees.

Mitile: Wahh…! Every time it drops one of those fruits, it makes a puddle of water! They're so clear!

Figaro: Ahh…how pretty. Hey, Mitile, try taking a look into one of those puddles.

Lennox: It's like a portal to another location… I can see a beautiful forest that looks like it continues on forever.

It was an eternity that would only last for this one moment. I made a wish that it'd never end, but even that emotion, so powerful it overwhelmed everything else in my mind, was only temporary.

Arthur: How beautiful… I'm sure this is a sight we'll never have the fortune to see again. Don't you think, Lord Oz?

Oz: …Indeed.

Arthur's blue eyes sparkled with the pure innocence of a little kid as he looked up at Oz. One of Arthur's great loves was to find sights yet unseen in this world he had the good fortune to be born into. I watched as he took Oz's hand and pointed towards this and that and everywhere, and I felt myself break into a grin. Even the Northern wizards--Oz included, now that he was caught in Arthur's pace--kept their eyes on Luca's paintbrush and what lay beyond its brushstrokes. That's how much of a wonder it was: taking your eyes off it for even as much time as it took to blink was a waste.

Akira: My heart feels so full. I feel like I'm watching a magic show.

Rutile: Yeah. It's like, I wish we could keep watching forever…

Bradley: Well, y'got 'til she's done here.

Nero: Your heart's as black as soot, y'know that?

Bradley: Even the biggest production in the history of theatre's gotta have a curtain call at some point, don't it?

Nero: I mean, yeah, but…

Faust: I wouldn't say that "completion" is necessarily "the end". That which has a form will continue to persist. Obviously the book itself will, of course, but I'm talking about our memories of it, too.

Lennox: Yes. We'll probably never get to see this creative process ever again, but we can think back on it as many times as we like.

Cain: And don't forget that this picture book's about to be finished because we all worked to protect it.

Arthur: That's also something like a beginning, don't you think?

Riquet: A beginning…?

Akira: For those of us who will read this picture book, its "completion" is a "beginning".

Murr: It sure is! We can't read a book until it's finished. And thus, the world of this picture book begins anew!

Rustica: Put another way, this is but a prelude. The overture before the curtain rises.

Shylock: Indeed. It's like that most indulgent moment before dawn, spent waiting to see what beautiful colors the sun will dye the sky with.

Rutile: I'm sure this is…the happiest moment of all.

White: Snow.

Snow: What is it, White? You're looking uncommonly sentimental.

White: It's what we've been allowed to bear witness to here. I had thought that you and I had long since grown familiar with all the strange sights this world has to offer, and yet… Here is something that we would typically never get the chance to see. Something that… I would have never seen, had you not tied us together. That I can stand here at your side, your hand in mine, watching this…is all because of you.

Snow: …Ohoho. That didn't start now, dearest. I'm just as happy to have seen this sight with you at my side. So worry not. I will never let you go. Though…for every beginning, there must be an end.

White: The curtain has long since been ready to rise.

Luca's paintbrush stopped moving. The world was waiting for the moment when it would first get to see the light. And when Luca said her next words, it was with the solemnity of a prayer. Her inscription in the sky shone with a prismatic radiance. And as a rainbow exists as a refraction of light, unifying anew brings it back to brilliant, glaring white--and that was the color the world was wrapped in as the end of the rainbow rained down on us.

✦✧☾✧✦

When I came to, I was in the still, silent exhibition hall again. My spiffy new storybook outfit was gone, too. I was back in my old clothes again. Based off the golden glow of sunset through the window, it didn't seem like much time had passed since we'd leapt into the picture book's pages. The creeping vines and odd plants and animals were nowhere to be seen; its pages were still open, but now all that was projected from its pages was a simple illusion.

Rutile: …Looks like you finished it safe and sound.

Luca nodded, just a bit, but when all my wizards looked over at her, she fixed her gaze on the floor again. Her silver hair, steeped in the colors of dusk, swayed in the air.

Luca: …I was only able to finish it because Roxy and everyone was there with me. I'm sorry I caused you all so much trouble. And…thank you.

Rutile: We should be the ones saying that. I'm so happy we were able to embark on such lovely adventures!

Arthur: What's most important is that you'll be able to put on your exhibit tomorrow safe and sound.

Aslan: Yes! Thank goodness, Luca.

Luca: Mhm. Thank you too, Roxy.

Luca said that as she glanced around and…all I could do was watch as her little smile fell and shattered across the floor.

Luca: …Roxy? Hey, Roxy…

Akira: Miss Luca…?

Rutile: …Don't tell me…

Luca's wide eyes were darting this way and that. She was lost, confused, disoriented…and desperately searching for her precious, fluffy friend with rainbow wings. She looked and she looked but in the end, all she could do was try her very hardest to keep herself from bursting into tears. Aslan put his hands on her tiny shoulders and pulled her towards him.

Aslan: Even if you can't see them, I know they're still right at your side.

Luca: …

Luca picked the picture book up off the floor and silently closed her eyes.

Luca: …Yeah. They'll always be with me…

She hugged the book to her chest very, very tightly. And when she did, I could've sworn I saw the flickering of rainbow scales around her… I'm sure it wasn't just a trick of the light.

✦✧☾✧✦

The following day was the last day of the exhibition. My wizards were all in attendance, clad in outfits Chloe had made on a rush order, just for today.

Rustica: Thank you so much, Chloe. When we left the book's pages and our outfits went back to normal, I felt rather lonely.

Chloe: Ehehe. They were all so lovely that I couldn't get them out of my mind, so I made them. Everyone looks so good!

Rutile: Oh my goodness, Master Sage. Look how long that line is!

Akira: Looks like Luca's new book is really making a splash!

Arthur: Yes, it seems as though it's been the most popular exhibit of the day thus far.

Akira: Thank goodness! Gosh, for a while there, I really didn't know how things were going to end up… But Luca was able to finish it because she chose to face herself and the real world. She really put her all into it. And…the fact that she was able to get her heart back in one piece was thanks to all of you. Thank you so, so much for helping her!

Snow: Ohoho, but of course! We had Aslan make absolutely, positively sure the event organizer heard all about our contributions.

White: And we played our part as security for the event perfectly. The value of our stocks is going to go through the roof.

Snow & White: Yaaaay!

They cheerily held up one hand each towards me, and swept up in the mood, I high fived them both at the same time. Now that was a satisfying sound.

Next Chapter

[blueberryshelves]

Another book down. Can't wait to start reading book #2.

_______________________________________________

Book Review

Title: Meet Me at the Summit Author: Mandi Lynn Bell

Book Series: Road Trip Snapshot, book #1

No. of Pages: 329

ISBN: 978-1-953388-02-5

Cover design: original cover and pen name before book republishing in 2023.

Synopsis:

For most 19-year-olds, a cross-country trip is an offer you can’t refuse, but for Marly, it’s the last thing she wants after losing both her parents in a car accident. Nine months after their death, Marly would rather stay home working the retail job she hates, than deal with her loss.

It isn’t until family and friends corner her into driving her mom’s renovated 1978 VW bus from Washington to New Hampshire that Marly is forced to face her grief and understand the guilt she feels over her parents’ death. Skeptical, Marly goes on the trip, warily exploring the life her parents knew she always wanted—hiking mountains and living out her photography dreams. On the way, she’ll discover places and people who’ll test her emotions and a guy who pushes at the walls she’s so carefully built around herself. Marly must decide: can she face her deepest wounds and reclaim the life she thought was gone forever?

Meet Me at the Summit is an intimate tale of grief, finding yourself after deep loss, and coming to terms with how life changes when you least expect it. It follows Marly as she both runs from and towards the emotions she has long held back regarding her parents’ death. A deep, insightful look into the coming-of-age theme through a heart-breaking narrative.

The Road Trip Snapshot duology, book 1

_______________________________________________

What did I think of the book?

Meet Me at the Summit by Mandi Lynn Bell My rating: ⭐⭐⭐ 3 of 5 stars

[Spoiler warning!]

I read the companion novel/stand-alone of this series, The Trail to You & Me, at the beginning of July, and fell absolutely in love with it. So, when the other two books of the Road Trip Snapshot series finally came in the mail, I was excited, and hungry for more hiking adventures and romance. I have to say, Meet Me at the Summit is not what I expected. There's a part of me that wishes I had read this book first before the stand-alone for the emotional context, but oh well. This is a coming-age-of story focused on overcoming grief, loss, and finding a way to get life rolling onward again (in this case, through the awesomeness of a hiking road trip, and some romance sprinkled in the later half of the book). There are some tough lessons in this book, such as: sometimes you just have to do what you don’t want to do, or are scared of, in order to heal yourself and get things back together again. Life happens, it’s not always fun and games, and we have to learn to face it and keep living, even if it we’d rather spend the rest of our lives hiding under a pillow from it all. It’s an emotional book, and it’s hard to not feel like tearing up with the main character as she goes through her grief at times. The scene with Marly at the Summit of Mount Washington was beautiful, sad, and possibly my favorite scene of the whole book. The different locations described in the story were a lot of fun to search up, too. As I was reading, I told my partner, “I feel like I’m getting a tour of America with this book”, and he said “Yeah, there’s not much to see here… except everything.��� Lol. Favorite character/s: Ethan, Marly’s uncle. I wish he was in the book more. It felt like he grounded the story nicely as an older adult in the book in the beginning. Dylan, for the fact that he doesn’t let Marly allow her fears to consume her. How he helps her have closure at the end of the story is also touching. What drew me to this book? The cover design (original). I loved the color palette with the orange and blue, and the vibe of the illustration style. When I found out the author had republished the books with new covers, I hesitated on getting the books. I really liked the original covers, so I was over-the-moon happy when I heard I could still get them from the author’s website. Stars: 3/5 because there were just a few too many hiccups with the book that affected the reading experience for me, the main one being that there was a strange lack of detail for some of the characters when they were introduced in the story, like hair color, eye color, clothes, etc., that weren’t mentioned until later on, or at times not at all. Despite this, I would read it again in the future, and I’m really looking forward to seeing what Let the Rubble Fall will be like.

View all my reviews

[pixiemage]

1 & 3 for the fic asks!

[For the Fanfic End of the Year Ask Game]

1. Favorite fic you wrote this year

I have to admit, picking favorites is always hard for me. I love all my stories too much to easily put one above the other lol...but I've gotta say, at the moment There's Not a Word Yet has taken over my brain. I wasn't expecting people to love it as much as they have, only two chapters in so far, and it has been so fun to plan out the big emotional moments even though I haven't reached them yet! (To anyone actively awaiting a continuation of this story, just you wait. I get the feeling you'll both love and hate me for some of the ideas I've gotten since the last update hehehe)

3. Favorite line/scene you wrote this year

Again, picking favorites is hard. BUT I've actually received this number twice, which means I get to pick two different scenes!

To stay on theme, I'll pull the first one from TNaWY as well, just because I can lol...but there's a lil paragraph I adore from the second chapter when Tango's kind of stuck in his own head and processing the fact that Jimmy doesn't remember who he is:

No, it wasn’t the bond that had Tango melting when Jimmy smiled at him, or flushing slightly when Jimmy hugged him, or grinning like a fool when Jimmy complimented his piss-poor building skills. That was all him . That was all Tango. Or maybe it was all Jimmy, he thought idly, raising his head enough to watch Tumble Town’s Sheriff scrunch his nose up at something a colorfully-clad Scott was saying, annoyance and amusement lighting up his face. Maybe it was Jimmy’s fault for being the kind of person that drew Tango in the way he did. Maybe it was Jimmy’s fault for being as warm and blinding and unignorable as the sun itself, his gravitational pull managing to attract Tango into his orbit like a rather smitten and highly combustible comet. Or maybe it was just Tango’s fault for giving in when adoration had begun to float to the surface in the first place. Whatever it was, it had left Tango smitten before he and Jimmy had even had a chance to turn red, and then Jimmy had told him he wasn’t afraid of getting burned by him when Tango was raging after the razing of the ranch, and then - and then - and then –

...something about the phrase "a rather smitten and highly combustible comet" just gives me such a lovely mental image lol. I was so proud when that little piece of text flowed onto the page!

[byooregard]

character thing. goro akechi

hehehe I love you

first impression-- so I knew about him long before I played the game so I can't say exactly what my first impression was but at one point I thought that he and joker were the same guy like I knew there were codenames but I thought joker was his codename. one time I asked my friend crow wait so akechi and joker are two different guys? and my friend crow said to me no beau joker is not goro Akechi's codename and I went okay! and then a year later I was like crow wait where'd you get your name

current impression-- he's everything he's a little freak he makes me wanna cry he's awful I hate him I love him with all my heart I want to pick him up and put him in my pocket I could talk about him forever I drew him in my friends yearbook on their 'draw your babygirl' page cos I've drawn him enough I can do it easily in a thick pen without erasing. I'm a lesbian but consistently my friends will go okay gayboy when I talk about him

favorite moment-- uh. big fan of justice rank six here's my tragic backstory I think we have a special connection wanna race to see who can get dressed the fastest? wait I take that back everything he does in the first bit of third sem is comical he's so insane unhinged. babygirl

idea for a story: uhh lots but let's go for I have this dramatic idea in mind where it's like 5 years post royal and akechi is alive but in max security prison cos he's a supervillain & shits going down in the metaverse so the police try to ask him for help cos he's the only person they know with access to the metaverse but he refuses. UNTIL!! Until makoto niijima, private detective working on the case tells him that the main suspect is one Akira kurusu and she needs help clearing Akira's name because she can't let the police onto the fact that she's a metaverse user. uhh and it's a story full of fun adventure and espionage and it's about fighting against corruption and making akechi deal with his issues and re-evaluate what he actually wants out of life and also he and makoto hang out lots and are weird to each other. I wrote Some of this and put it up on ao3 but it mostly exists in my head cos I Don't have that skill as a writer

unpopular opinion: I bet I have a lot uhhh. going for my stupidest I fucking hate when people call akechi by his given name outside of fanfic. like in a fanfic it makes sense cos any number of reasons but in a meta post? what are you his Twitter stans. /lh . that's the dumbest but yk how it is favorite character no one gets him like I do etc etc

favorite relationship: obvious one is joker and yeah that's my favorite but I think makoto and akechi have something unique and insane going on that gets overshadowed and personally I think she could be a great Sherlock Holmes to his James Moriarty and they'd both enjoy it immensely. I also think before the whole phantom thieves thing they were like weird and incredibly awkward family friends thru sae

favorite headcanon: hmm I'm trying to think of one that can be said in a short post uh. I like people who decide that he joins the shadow ops post canon I think that'd work out best for him. uhh I think that guy is transgender

[mercy-burning]

Page Turner

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N becomes a little impatient while Spencer is reading... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Thigh riding, thigh fucking, cum play Word Count : 2.5k

MASTERLSIT

NOTE: this is just FILTH FILTH FILLLTHHHHH, and it was supposed to be a blurb but i got kinda carried away so it’s a little longer than that... so enjoy your porn with no plot 😊😂 And shoutout to @broken-stardust for beta-ing this for me!! we originally talked about the idea for this fic months ago, so i’m glad you finally got to see it ❤

———

She was in the mood for a little trouble.

Well, it was more like she was in the mood for a good fuck, but at the moment, with Spencer's strong desire to finish this incredibly long book series he'd just discovered, the mood for trouble came as more of a... fun little footnote that would most certainly add to the experience she was looking for.

So she strode up to Spencer, who was sitting comfortably on the couch with his book open and his glasses perched cutely on the tip of his nose, and straddled herself on his right leg wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton underwear and a t-shirt.

"Hey," she said, low and seductive as she planted a wet kiss into his neck. Her hands clutched his shirt, willing herself to be closer and with every intention of him putting the book down and paying her some attention.

Either he truly wasn’t in the mood, or he was teasing her.

"Hey," is all he responded with, clipped and distant. His eyes scanned the pages, albeit slower than usual due to the woman clinging herself to him and begging for attention.

"You've been reading all weekend," Y/N half-whined, pressing herself into him and attaching her lips to his neck again. "Can't you at least take a little break?"

"It won't take me long to finish this book, and then we can, okay?"

She knew it was fair. It was more than fair, actually, but that didn't help the fact that she was still incredibly horny, and if she took care of it herself, it wouldn't have been enough. Maybe that was selfish, but she didn't care.

So she whined for real this time, more like a disappointed child, as she gripped his shirt and pulled herself closer to him. "Spencer..."

She expected him to warn her, to tell her to wait or something—anything—but instead he opted for the exact opposite.

He did nothing.

Y/N promptly decided that wasn't the correct response and rolled her hips, grinding down on his leg for friction. Her tongue drew a messy line up the side of his neck as she circled her hips and sought out the stimulation she so desperately wanted. And at the way his body tensed under her, obviously wanting the same things but holding out in favor of restraint, she knew her plan was close to working.

So she let out a long, content sigh and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it gently and continued to ride his thigh, moving quicker and harder with each second as she felt her body start to unravel. Her lips attached to his neck and mumbled all sorts of little noises that should have gotten him to fucking do something...

And still, even as she felt herself cling to him and her body recover from a short (and quite frankly unsatisfying) orgasm, Spencer remained in his position, still flipping pages in that godforsaken book.

"Spencer," Y/N grunted. She was exasperated, and strongly hoping that she wasn't giving him any satisfaction in her need for attention.

However, instead he seemed a little defensive. "Wh—You're distracting me! I can't finish the book as quickly if you're distracting me..."

"Fine," she sighed, peeling herself away from him and trying one last thing to get him to submit.

Y/N slid the underwear off her legs and tossed it gently at his face, watching it fall into his lap in front of the book.

Still nothing. His eyes roamed the pages, and he was clearly highly invested in whatever story was written on them. And god damn it if he still wasn't the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

So she slunk back to the bedroom and plopped herself down on the bed with only a t-shirt, laying down and crossing one leg over the other. And when she tossed her head to the side with a sigh, she noticed the other books in Spencer's current interest scattered along his side of the bed.

Well, I'm not particularly in the mood anymore, and there's really nothing else to do...

"Why the fuck not," Y/N sighed, reaching out and fishing for the book that had the number 1 printed on the spine.

***

With the final paragraphs of the story swimming through his brain, the book settled closed and neatly on the cushion beside him, Spencer looked down at his lap and noticed the bundle of cotton sitting there, next to a small damp spot on his pants where his girlfriend had been just under a half hour earlier.

He felt bad, ignoring her like that. It was hard resisting her when she was literally there, in his lap and getting herself off on his leg. And while he could practically hear Morgan in the back of his mind, telling him with disappointment in his voice, "It doesn't matter how important you think something is, that is always gonna be the most important thing,"... Spencer really couldn't help it. The book was so good he couldn't put it down. Not even for sex.

And now that he'd finished, he was focusing on what his brain decided it couldn't handle before, remembering her wet, hot breath on his neck and her fingers tangled in his hair as she rode his thigh, begging him for attention.

He was feeling guilty.

And he was going to spend the whole rest of the weekend making it up to her. He swore it, no matter who called, no matter what came up, he wasn't going to pay any attention to it unless it was his girlfriend's limbs tangled with his.

His hand reached for the book so he could return it with the others, but he thought better of it, wondering if Y/N would say anything. Instead, he figured walking in empty-handed and announcing how he was ready to give her his undivided attention for the rest of eternity if she'd let him would be a better option.

Spencer was feeling good about his decision, but when he opened the bedroom door and saw her, he felt even worse about ignoring her.

Because there she was, one foot pressed flat into the mattress and the other crossed over her knee, exposing her bare cunt to the world as she held a book in her hands. She looked statuesque and absolutely delectable, and he'd turned her down for a book he could have easily finished tomorrow morning.

Oh, he was definitely going to make it up to her...

"H—Hey, babe," he got out, trying to get her attention like she hadn't already heard the squeaky door open.

"Hey," she responded, similar in tone to how he'd answered the same greeting earlier, and it made his stomach turn.

Was she doing it on purpose?

Spencer took cautious steps towards her, stepping around the bed and clearing off the books scrambled on his side so he could take their place. "What are you reading?"

Rather than speaking, she tilted the book so he could see the cover and then returned to her position, eyes scanning the pages, and he couldn't tell if she was doing it to mess with him or if she was truly invested.

"Okay... Well, um... I'm finished now, i—if you wanted to, um..."

When Y/N finally took her eyes off the pages, she looked at him up and down as he sat on the bed... She took in his apologetic eyes, the slight pout on his lips that she could never resist...

And then she resisted him. Sort of.

"Eh, sure. Just let me finish this chapter first."

She sounded utterly bored.

And once again, Spencer wasn't sure if it was genuine or if she was just doing it to get back at him. But either way, it made him feel bad about before. He wanted to respect her wishes, grant her the time to finish reading just as she'd granted it to him... But he also wanted to make sure she knew just how sorry he was.

"Oh... Okay." He laid down next to her and watched her face as she read, her eyes occasionally blinking, mimicking the butterflies in his stomach at the sight before him. Even if she was mad at him, she was still absolutely stunning, and he was never going to take it for granted.

His fingers reached out to brush some of the hair from her eyes so he could see her better, and despite herself, she smiled a little, gently leaning into his touch.

That's my way in...

"I'm really sorry, Y/N... For ignoring you. I was just really caught up in the book and I—"

"Babe, it's fine," she dismissed, like it wasn't ever a big deal in the first place. "Trust me, I totally get it now. This is so good..."

As soon as she finished speaking, her eyes were roaming the words again, her bottom lip tucking gently between her teeth as she turned a page.

Oh... so she wasn't just messing with me, then...

Spencer's eyebrows raised and he sighed a little, truly unsure where to go from here. "Oh... Well... I'm glad you like it?"

She hummed, barely acknowledging him, and it amused him to his very core. So much so that he couldn't help but lean forward to kiss her cheek out of habit. And when she scrunched her nose, barely brushing off his touch, he started feeling a bit more devious. So he kissed her again, this time on the jaw, and then again and again trailing down her neck. And he stayed there, sucking small marks into her skin while she remained in her position.

He remembered what he saw when he opened the door, and the thoughts swirling around in his head begged him to utilize it.

He really wanted to be polite and let her finish reading... But also...

Spencer shifted, leaving the bed only to return on the other end, with no pants as he crawled up in between her legs on his knees. Seeing as she wasn't going to move her legs at all, he settled for running his hands gently over them, tracing every dip and curve they took, all the way down to the back of her thigh, which was out and exposed as it was aiding in resting her ankle over her other knee.

When he got close to her exposed pussy, she shivered a little. "You're distracting me..."

The obvious teasing that laced her words sent a smile to his lips. He couldn't see her face for a moment, but then she angled the book down and peered over it, giving him eyes that challenged, Do it and see what happens...

So, without breaking eye contact, Spencer gently ran his finger along the opening of her wet cunt and watched as she flung the book back up to her face, hiding it from view. He played with her clit for a while, circling it gently with his thumb while his middle finger slowly slipped in and out of her.

Y/N whined. "That's not fair... At least when I was interrupting you, I didn't try to give you a handjob..."

Spencer hummed in agreement, removing his fingers from her and bringing them to his lips. "Hmm, I suppose you're right..."

So how am I going to make it even...

He took his dick out of his underwear then, holding it in his hand and resisting the urge to slip it inside of her. Instead, he settled for the small gap between her thighs, a whine escaping him once he realized it was nowhere near the amount of stimulation he'd get from anything else.

His hips snapped forward urgently as he chased some form of release, frustrated at how it felt good, but not nearly good enough.

"Not so fun, is it?" Y/N sang, flipping a page amusedly once he'd let out another exasperated whine.

"What's to stop me from just fucking you?" he hissed, gripping her legs and trying his hardest to be patient.

"You won't... Because you won't learn your lesson otherwise."

Now she was messing with him. She was punishing him for ignoring her, and he breathed a laugh, knowing he should have seen it coming. But he wasn't going to argue with her, not when he was well and truly aware that he deserved this.

Still, it didn't make it any easier.

Spencer's whimpering increased tenfold, though, once she took a little pity on him and squeezed her legs tighter, giving him more friction and bringing him closer to the edge.

"O—oh my g—od..."

It happened so fast. One second he was relieved at this new wave of pleasure and the next he was pulled underneath it, his lower half tensing, pulsing, and burning hot. God, she was warm... And wet, and tight, but in a completely different way than normal, and it all was too much.

Her thighs and lower stomach were covered in cum, and that thought alone was enough to keep him going. He was overstimulated and probably should have refrained, but the silky, warm skin of her thighs just felt so good gliding over his dick, he just couldn't.

By now, Y/N had completely tossed the book aside, watching in awe as Spencer seemed unaware of her actions. His eyes were shut tightly, so focused on coming again, and the head of his cock peeked out through the gap in her thighs with every thrust forward, glistening and nearly red...

And then he was coming again, and she watched as the milky substance spilled out over her skin. A strand of it dripped slowly down the front of her left thigh, and the sight made her whine.

Spencer opened his eyes then, an overwhelming kernel of love and adoration blooming through his chest as he watched her watch him.

And then everything slowed.

He shoved the book off the bed and laid down beside her, looking down to admire his work.

"Fuck," is all he said, in one huff.

He was clearly pleased with himself, a fact which made Y/N beam. "Oh, you like that, huh?"

With a vigorous nod, he reached a hand out to spread some of the mess around, his fingers gliding slowly and softly over the planes and curves of her still-crossed legs.

"We have to do that again... Though, I could do without the 'you punishing me' part..."

Y/N let out a laugh, grabbing his wrist and bringing his fingers to her mouth. She darted her tongue out to taste, slowly dragging the tip along the underside of his middle finger before taking it fully in her mouth.

"Don't give me a reason to punish you, then," she quipped back after letting his finger go with a soft pop and tilting her head to look at him.

That look in her eyes, the one that always gave him butterflies, elicited another heavy nod.

"Deal."

———

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[batstorm93672]

"Let me go ahead, it'll be easier to catch him Batman"

"I said no Jason"

Damian stopped and looked at his father who didn't seem to even get what he said as he kept talking into his comm. Damian looked back down, at his gloved palm. What did it mean being called someone else? It's not the first time. It is never the first time, he was called Steph, Dick, Tim and Jason before. He was always shocked at that moment.

Does his father ever consider the fact that he is Damian? That his name is Damian, that he is his own being in comparison to his other family members? Does Bruce ever take that into account? Or will he always be someone else? His urge and struggle to be worth lest he fails and is no longer wanted, Dick called it abuse, Damian called it normal upbringing.

.

"Tim you have to wait, sometimes things aren't that clear, bad guys have ways of setting traps and even if it feels safe sometimes it's not"

Another name. Not his. Just another name. Damian looked at his feet, kicking some dust about. Batman didn't really notice when he called him different names and even if he did, Damian couldn't tell because Batman got silent after doing so. Never bringing it up and Damian is horrible at trying to bring it up as well so it's never addressed.

.

Damian kept petting Titus as he read his book, Stephanie was on her phone scrolling through whatever, Jason was also reading and Tim was on his laptop. It was a comforting silence until Dick's footsteps drew close. "Hey Timmy what are you reading?" Damian kept quiet "Oh my bad Dames. Thought you were Tim" "Tt. Apparently so does father, might as well be one of you instead of myself" Dick frowned a bit as everyone looked up at Damian "He's doing it again?" "I was called Jason and Tim recently, you two as well on different occasions" Jason put a bookmark on his page as he looked at Damian "How bad is it?" "I... I've been compared enough times, I need to speak with him, I tire of twiddling my thumbs and waiting for him to make the first move" "Are you sure? He's not the best at social conversations with us" "I know, but... Richard-" Damian looked at Dick who kept standing in the doorway "-you have said that communicating with one another is a fundamental part of relationship" "Yeah I did" "So I shall go to father" "I believe in you" Damian got a little brighter with that confidence, walking out towards Bruce's study.

.

Knocking, Damian felt his hands become sweaty as time seemed to slow down.

Cease at once, I am Damian Wayne, son of the Bat and Demon. I must speak to father as one

"Come in"

Damian opened the door, Bruce was going through papers "Damian. Is there something I can help you with? Do you want to hang out?" Bruce always leaped at the idea of his children bonding with him. Most likely his sorta crappy childcare and wanting to redeem himself (Damian thought he was bad at times, but he means well and everyone knows this no matter how much they all make fun of him) "I wished to ask on our outings, you have called me by my siblings names more so the ones who have deemed the name Robin before... if I have done something wrong I wish to know how you want me to improve" Bruce looked surprised "What? No, you didn't do anything wrong. Why would it mean you did something wrong,"

"What else could it be? Obviously I've messed up as the others have before, I just have to do better and prove that I'm Damian the blood son who won't make mistakes and prove my worth lest I become irrelevant"

Bruce looked hurt and he moved the papers in front of him away "Damian, do you feel like that all the time?"

Damian felt his cheeks burn a bit, did he say something wrong? Is this not how he was supposed to feel on the matter? "Is this... wrong of me? I am supposed to be Robin, a perfect warrior for you" "Damian you are my child-" "Why can't I be what everyone wants?!"

Damian wanted to bite his tongue, he didn't mean to shout "I'm sorry--" "Damian, who I need is you. You are my son and I love you. Calling you a different name during patrol isn't my intention, I love every one of you and sometimes I get caught in a moment. I think on something else and I get confused, but that doesn't mean I love you any less Damian"

"I am still useful... right? Why else would you keep me for this long?"

"Because I love you, not just as Robin. But as Damian Wayne, my son whom I love and cherish with all my heart just like everyone else. You don't need to compare yourself with them. I love you as you are son"

Damian smiled a bit and went around the desk to hug his father as much as he could "I love you too father"

[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. 

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[starks-hero]

Right a Wrong || Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You help Bucky make amends and things start to look up for the both of you.

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: angst, fluff, tfatws spoilers! 1×06

a/n: A few people were interested in a second part to Right a Wrong and the finale gave me a little inspiration so ta da! :) This fic can be read as a stand alone but I'll link part one for anyone that's interested. A little rushed so all mistakes are my own. Spoilers below!

|| Part One ||

*gif not mine*

Bucky didn't sleep on the floor anymore, or the couch. Since being with you, falling asleep in a bed had become his new normal. But it was strange. It was soft and warm and comfortable. In a way, it felt wrong. Bucky didn't deserve something this homely or domestic. When he lay down on the silk sheets he felt like they were going to swallow him whole. Or that he'd sink right through the mattress and into the cold floor. It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed his body was completely unaccustomed to the soft, plush bedding beneath him, his back had long since grown used to the stiffness of the floorboards.

In fact, the night you both left the Wilson's and stayed in a somewhat decent hotel together was the first night Bucky had slept in a bed in months. Longer than he cared to admit. But amidst the strangeness of it all, there was you.

His discomfort at the foreign feeling of laying in a soft bed dispersed the moment you crawled in next to him. He'd pulled you to his chest, arms wrapping around you whilst you clung to his side, hands laying lazily across his stomach. And for the first time in years, Bucky fell asleep peacefully. It was the best night of sleep he'd gotten since before the war.

And he owed it all to you.

Buckys feelings for you had only grown stronger since that day you agreed to go with him. Since then he'd sworn that he'd never met anyone as loving or caring as you in his lifetime.

You didn't run, you didn't leave him. When the nightmares came you stayed. You would gently coax him awake and calm his waking mind with soft words of comfort when the night terrors left him terrified and confused. You held him, gently running your hands down his body and through his hair, not showing any disdain for where man met metal. And when you gently kissed the side of his head Bucky swore he was prepared to forgive everyone that had ever wronged him if they had played a part in bringing him to you.

His nightmares had also declined in the time that you two were together, as did most of his self deprecating thoughts. Of course, they didn't go away entirely. But you helped him where you could and understood when you couldn't. You knew that despite how much you wanted to, you couldn't love his demons away. And Bucky loved you all the more for accepting that.

Over the course of a few weeks, when the dust had finally settled after the Flag Smashers attack on the GRC HQ in New York, both you and Bucky focused on the names in the book that Bucky could now recite in order without even glancing at the page. When you'd asked him where he wanted to start, one name immediately leapt to the forefront of his mind. And that name is exactly what had led you both to the quaint apartment block tucked away in the corner of New York City.

"I can't do this." Bucky's voice was timid as you both stood outside the apartment complex. He swallowed and turned to you helplessly.

"Yes, you can." You gently took his hand in yours.

This was it. The first name on Bucky's list. Yori Nakajima. You were both aware that the first was going to be the hardest. But now that you were actually here, standing in front of the home of the elderly man who'd lost his son at the hands of the winter soldier, it suddenly seemed all too real and just a little bit impossible. Bucky's stomach tied itself in a knot.

"No, I can't. I can't." He said through laboured breaths. He shook his head as he paced in front of you. "I can't tell him. I can't watch what that will do to him. I can't-" Bucky's breathing began to grow erratic.

"Hey." You quickly stepped in, stopping his relentless pacing and holding his face in your hands. "It's okay, you're okay." You softly shushed him. "Bucky, you can do this. You have to."

He sighed, calming slightly beneath your touch. "I'm guessing I have to do it alone, too. Don't I?" He asked and you nodded sympathetically. Your thumb caressed his cheek, tracing the stubble along his jaw. As much as you wanted to be there with him you knew he had to do this part alone.

"You can do this."

Bucky smiled softly at your words despite the growing fear in his eyes. He gently caught your wrist and moved your hand to his mouth, placing a tender kiss to your palm.

"Okay," he said quietly and turned to glance at the door of the building. He exhaled slowly.

"I'll be waiting right here," you comforted and he acknowledged you with a curt nod. His hand slipped from yours as he headed inside and you watched him go, your heart in your throat.

Time seemed to drag on forever as you waited, nervously toying with your hands. Bucky had been gone for a little under forty minutes and you couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign. You tried to convince yourself that everything was fine but your mind kept reminding you of the worst possible scenario and what that might mean for Bucky.

You bit down on your lip as you impatiently shuffled your feet. You watched the crowds pass as you stood out of the way of the busy street, leaning against the wall of the alley next to the apartments.

After a few more painfully long moments you saw him amongst the crowd. Bucky's expression was unreadable as he stopped in front of you and you couldn't tell if things had gone well or not. He almost seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Bucky," you tried timidly and he looked up at you. There were tears building in his eyes.

"He forgave me." He managed hoarsely. The frenzy of emotions he was experiencing was evident in his expression. It was almost as if he didn't know whether to laugh with joy or cry. You wordlessly pulled him to you and he welcomed your embrace.

"You did it, Buck," you muttered as you comfortingly ran your hands along his back and he clung to you like a lifeline. "You did it."

He pulled away to look at you, still slightly teary-eyed but features now flooded with relief. The weight of the world seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders and a small smile found its way to his lips as he looked at you in disbelief

You pulled the small red book from your pocket, where it had been stowed away for safekeeping, and Bucky nodded. You were the only one Bucky trusted enough to share it with. You handed the tattered notebook to him and he turned the pages in a flimsy, disorganised motion, his fingers shaking slightly. Pulling a pencil from his pocket, Bucky's smile widened as he drew a line through 'Nakajima'.

He traced the faded name with his thumb one last time before glaring at the multiple other names and initials jot down on the paper.

"What now?" He asked as he glanced down at the open book in his hand.

You shrugged. "One down."

Bucky huffed, shoving the book back into his pocket with a surprising level of caution. "Only a dozen more to go."

"Still, it's a start." You smiled, gently placing your hand against his shoulder and dragging it down his arm.

He smirked, catching your waist and pulling you into him. He captured your lips in a kiss, ignoring the fact that the street was still bustling with people a few feet away from you both. Bucky wasn't always the biggest fan of PDA, mostly because it wasn't exactly encouraged to be all that affectionate in public back in the forties. But this was different. This was you and him and in light of what had just happened, he didn't care who saw. He was going to kiss you as much as he damn wanted to.

"Thank you," he muttered against your lips, slipping his hand into yours as you both stepped out onto the busy street.

"You've got to stop saying that." You shook your head and Buckys hand only tightened around your own.

"Why?" He tilted his head with a bemused smirk.

"Because I told you," you grinned, pulling him closer to you so your shoulders brushed. "You don't have to say thank you, not to me."

Bucky didn't answer, truth was he was at a complete loss for words. He just offered you a loving smile as he wondered how he got so damn lucky.

It had been a few weeks since the final name had been crossed off the list. Some had taken their toll on Bucky more than others, but now it was finally complete and Bucky once again experienced that wonderful feeling of being freed. This time not from trigger words, but from burdens he'd been forced to carry.

Things were finally looking up for you both. You'd managed to carve out your own unique sense of normality. And as both you and Bucky worked in the kitchen of your shared apartment on a particular Saturday afternoon, your new normal seemed to include watching the worlds most deadly ex-assassin baking a cake.

"And you're sure we couldn't have just bought one?" You asked, trying and failing to hide a smirk as you glanced at Bucky's handiwork. The cake was lopsided and the icing Bucky was currently covering it in seemed to be its only saving grace.

"Of course not, doll. Where's the fun in that." Bucky stated plainly. However, given your earlier attempt at cake baking, it would turn out that Buckys idea of fun involved throwing flour and eggs at each other and then making out on the tabletop whilst the cake overcooked in the oven.

But you didn't complain. You were just glad to see him so happy and carefree after everything.

He plastered a finishing layer of cream over the cake, looking awfully pleased with himself as he held it up for you to see with a proud smirk.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle your laughter.

"Get cleaned up." You ordered, motioning to his flour-covered henley. "Sam told us to be there by five o'clock. We're going to be late."

Bucky nodded dismissively as he sucked the stray icing from his fingers, making a point to keep eye contact with you as he did so. He smirked knowingly. Purposely pissing you off just to get a reaction out of you was just too much fun, he couldn't resist it.

"Problem, doll?" He asked and you wordlessly crossed the room and kissed his stupid smirk right off his stupid mouth. His mischievous grin only widened as he moaned against you. The sweet taste of icing lingered on his lips.

"Nope, no problem." You swiped your thumb across the corner of his mouth once you pulled back, wiping away the last of the icing. "You just had a little something on your lips."

He grinned down at you, heart full. You were going to be the death of him but god would he die a happy man if that were the case.

It took every ounce of control and willpower he possessed but he masterfully with-held the urge to shove you against the nearest surface and instead did as he was told, heading upstairs to change with one last peck to your cheek.

Ten minutes later and you were both on the road, cake securely strapped into the back seat of the car. The apartment you and Bucky were staying in was only a short drive away from the Wilson's and Sam was right, the people in the town really were the most welcoming in the world. You and Bucky had never felt more at home.

As Bucky parked the car on the dock, Cass and AJ were the first to greet you, ambushing Bucky. You smiled fondly as you watched him goof around with the boys before greeting everyone already at the cookout. Both boys then turned their attention to you, almost tackling you to the ground with the strength of their hugs. You couldn't quite put it into words, but there was something about how AJ rambled on so fondly about how Uncle Sam had set a place for you and Bucky at their table that made you feel more at home than ever before. Dinner itself was filled with laughter and shared stories. You did sit with the Wilson's, Bucky and Cass sitting to your left and right with Sam, Sarah and AJ sitting across from you. It was perfect. Between the bad jokes and the arguments over things as simple as the salt and pepper, it all blended together into the perfect mess of domestic bliss.

You glanced at Bucky who was smiling widely and laughing as he told a story to both boys who looked to him as if he were explaining the secrets of the universe. He was relaxed, unburdened and above all else, happy. He looked like he had finally found a home, a family.

As the meals were finished and things quietened down, you helped Sarah and Sam clean everything up. Then once everything was done, you simply sat and enjoyed the atmosphere. There was music being played, people dancing, and a little off to your left you could see Bucky. AJ and another kid were comedically hanging from his metal arm. Playful smiles were adorning all their faces. Who knew the worlds deadliest assassin had no issue with being a jungle gym if it meant making kids smile?

"I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

You turned and found Sam grinning behind you. He motioned to you and then Bucky.

"I've never seen him like this, so happy. Feels like I'm looking at the old Bucky Steve use to talk about." He said and you beamed.

"Yeah. He's come so far, crossed off every name in his book. I guess he finally feels like he can move on now."

Sam's elated expression softened as he glanced between you and Bucky again.

"I guess we've got you to thank for that, huh?" He playfully elbowed you in the side but his voice was nothing short of genuine. You laughed and shook your head, pushing back into him.

"I didn't do anything, it was all him. I just stood by."

"That's exactly why it's you I should thank." Sam smiled. Both of your gazes fell back on Bucky who seemed to have started a rather competitive game of tag among the kids he was surrounded by. "You stood by him no matter how bad it got. Not a lot of people would do that. Hell, not a lot of people have done that for him. I don't want to think about what could have happened if he didn't have you."

You nodded solemnly, eyes not leaving Bucky.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so you don't have to worry about that."

Sam nodded with a grin, clasping a hand down on your shoulder. "Glad to hear it. But we should probably stop staring at him now, it's getting creepy, people are going to start asking questions."

You laughed at Sam's comment, muttering a quiet 'Copy that, Cap' as he headed back over to Sarah. As the sun began to set beneath the waves, most of the guests began to take their leave and head home. However, you and Bucky strayed away from the main party for a little time alone. You stood on the dock overlooking the water, Bucky behind you with his arm around your waist and planting kiss after kiss to your neck.

You couldn't explain the warmth that spread within you as you both watched the sun go down. But this was all you'd ever wanted. Bucky pulled you closer against him, opting to use his new vantage point to gingerly kiss your cheek.

"I love you," he sighed, resting his chin against your shoulder. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You grasped his hand and laid back against him, counting your lucky stars that you'd both made it to where you were at that moment.

"I love you too."

He grinned at your words and held you close as he looked out over the golden waves and setting sun. He was finally home.

tag list: @bakerstreethound​ @doozywoozy​ @miraclesoflove​ @the-queer-dungeoneer​ @kealohilani-tepise

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 1/?

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any name (your best friend’s name.)

This is just something I’ve been cooking up in my head during my maladaptive daydreaming. Not really having a plan for this one. ALSO: First post ever on Tumblr! I hope you enjoy it!

I forgot to include the Part 1 when I first posted this lmao F

Warnings: Curse Words, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

As a criminal psychology major, Jason Todd was an intelligent young man waiting to inherit a lot of Wayne Enterprises’ company. Not because Bruce was dying, but because that was Bruce’s promise to him, Graduate, he said, and you can work alongside me, boss and boss. The idea excited Jason entirely. To finally be seen as a colleague to his father was something he always needed from him, but he was too scared to say “Hey dad, am I more than just a sidekick now?” and he knew it.

She, too, was a criminal psychology major. An equally intelligent young woman fighting her way to the top of her class, Jason’s class. And of course, dating isn’t out of the question. Especially when she sees her peers, specifically the one with the white streak in his hair. There was something about him that made her insides twirl in many different ways, butterflies soaring throughout her as if he was destined to meet her. Luckily for her, he sat beside her. Before she could speak to him though, the Professor boomed at the class:

“Good morning class! I am your professor, Thomas Hangre, and welcome to Criminal Psych 101!”

And then began the quick and messy note-taking. She noticed the man beside her didn’t take notes. But, it’s his grade, not mine, she thought.

Little did she know.

When the professor finished, she went to pack up her notes, when the man tapped on her shoulder and outstretched his hand:

“Hey, I don’t think we got a chance to meet before Prof Hangre started spewing at us,” he laughed, “The name’s Jason, you?”

“Oh! My name’s Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, strange man from my criminal psych class, Jason.” she retorted and shook his hand.

“Well well, I can assure you if I was a criminal, Batman would have cracked down on me already, darling.” he stated, almost matter-of-fact-ly.

“You say that like you know Batman.”

“You don’t know if I don’t.”

She laughed at him, there was something about the way he delivered words and sentences that drew her in. This is the start of something good, she thought.

He nudged her slightly in a playful tap, “You want to get something to eat later? We can get to know each other better, and maybe rewrite those very, very sloppy notes of yours, Y/N?” he asked, he seemed shy about it.

“I would love to, Jason.”

They exchanged numbers and packed up her stuff. She figured he still had classes, but she didn’t. So she went back home to her roommate, A/N.

----------------------------------------

“Girl, you do not know the hunk of a man I met today, when I say carved by the Greek Gods and deliver words like a Wayne, I mean it!” she giggled with A/N, they were her best friend.

“C’mon, tell me that guy asked you out, at least to a book club if he’s that hot.” she asked.

“He did! We’re meeting up later at the library to rewrite my notes and chat. Do you think this outfit is cute? I want to make him swoon.”

A/N laughed, “Oh yeah? Girl you’re killing it and you know it. C’mon, red mini skirt, get that man. And maybe see if he has a brother.”

She roared out laughing, “A brother? He is the brother, no man comes from a family where there’s multiple nice ones, you know the saying.”

“Well still, roomies stick out for each other.”

“I know, I know.” she laughed. “Oh and have you seen the latest Bat news, apparently he’s gotten injured.”

“Serves him right for being a bat!”

“Be nice! The man protects us and you know it.” Just then, she looked at the clock, she had 30 minutes to meet up with Jason, so she started panicking.

“I gotta go now, wish me luck.”

“Go, get him.”

-----------------------------------

She pulled up to the library with her bag of hastily written notes and car keys on her lanyard. She was nervous. This was someone who was really cute, and so far, he seemed really sweet to her too. She gulped, getting out of her car. The thing was beaten up to hell and back, so she hoped Jason didn’t see her in it. But he did.

“Hey Y/N.” Jason whispered and she jumped. He laughed.

“Nice beat up car, Y/N. Really living out the broke college kid lifestyle, gotta respect it.” he joked.

“Oh yeah, this is, uh, just aesthetics. I’m secretly very, very rich. Millions of dollars. All my money too.” they both laughed and he lead her inside the library and they both sat down at a desk with two chairs and a computer. This was more luxury than she even had back with A/N.

 Jason grinned and took one of her notebooks and started trying to transcribe what she wrote onto a word document. She laughed, because even though she knew her handwriting was barely legible, he seemed to be managing, and she admired his efforts.

“You know, Jason, I can always transcribe it myself,” she said.

“No, no, it’s okay. If I write it then I can print it for both of us, so you don’t have to pay the printing fee.”

“There’s a printing fee?”

“Yeah, one of my brothers used to go here, my dad says if we all go here he’ll pay the fees since it’s worth it for this college.” he said.

“You have brothers?” she asked, shocked he opened up this quickly.

“Oh yeah I do. 4 to be exact. 3 sisters too. What about you?”

“A twin sister. She’s quite lovely, goes to a different college like a nerd though.” she joked.

He let out a booming laugh, “I think we’re the nerds, Ms. Criminal Psych Major.”

“You have got me there, Jason, you got me there.”

“I know I do, Y/N. So, what high school did you come from, or are you an out-of-city kid?”

“Not from this city, I’m actually from Metropolis. It’s huge and annoying there. Too many people. This is such a smaller city compared to Metropolis. I’m guessing you were a Gotham Academy kid?” she asked.

“Yeah, repping the Gotham Academy to death and back, I met a lot of good people there and I would have to agree, my uncle lives in Metropolis, it’s massive.” he said.

“Your uncle is probably a people-person then, I’m sure as hell not.” she retorted.

“Neither am I, but there was something about you that seemed inviting if I’m honest. I don’t regret asking you this, what is this? A date?” he asked.

“If you want to call it a date, we can call it a date, Jason.” you assured him.

“It’s been a date then.”

“Well I’m glad you thought I was inviting and worth your time, Jason. Really, this is lovely.” you once again assured him.

“Did I tell you that you look nice? Red’s a lovely colour. It’s even my favourite colour. It’s like you can read my mind and dress for the occasion.”

“Man, if I could read your mind, I’m sure it would be a joyride. Maybe I’ll know why you went into Criminal Psych over everything else.”

“That’s a story for another time, Y/N.” he said as he somehow finished typing out the last page of the notes, “I guess this will conclude our date, shame really.”

“Well, that just means there’s room for a second date, Jason.”

“I’ll make sure to tell my brothers about you, then.”

“Is the second date worthy of the Mighty-Jason’s brothers knowing about me?” you are inclined for the answer.

“Well, the first was the minor mention of your name, the second is saying ‘We had fun, I have hopes.’ You know?” he said.

“I know.”

And he printed the document.

[for-fucks-sake-h]

At My Weakest - two

rated: m, mature | word count: 4.2k | story page  

“I wanna taste you again. Like a secret or a sin.”

  - Matthew Perryman Jones 

When Gianna stirred awake, she wasn’t surprised to find Harry laying beside her. What she was surprised about though was the absolute softness of his face. 

The lines of his cheekbone and jaw were still sharp, but his skin was completely smooth. The usual indent between his brows was nonexistent, and his hair was a beautiful curly mess. She found herself reaching out to smooth some stray curls back behind his ear, her fingertips just barely brushing his soft skin. 

He didn’t disappoint once he got her in his bed. Turns out his smug, cocky demeanor could be backed up, and backed up well. He wasn’t short on foreplay, he didn’t rush into it. If anything, he drew out the string of anticipation so ridiculously thin it snapped; until they were all hands and mouths and moans and pleasure. 

It was good. It was fun. It was a much needed distraction.

But it looked different in the daylight. 

What was passionate gasps and needy hands in the dimmed moonlight, was just a sloppy rebound fuck with a friend in the early morning daylight. 

Gianna was careful to slip out of bed, nakedly grabbing her borrowed sweater from the floor before tiptoeing to his bathroom. And when she returned, she was met with green eyes and tousled hair. 

“Thought you left.” His voice was even deeper than usual, the early morning rasp doing nothing to quell Gianna’s increasingly warming skin. “Didn’t think you were a hit and run kinda person.” 

Gianna breathed a soft laugh as she made her way over to him in just her sweater.

“No, but I should probably get my ass on the couch before your sister wakes up.” 

“Y’know she sleeps like the dead.” He watched her as he fiddled with the corner of his duvet, eyes tracing the curve of her hip where the sweater ended against her caramel skin. “Could give you one more before you go.”  

The lightness of his eyes looked iridescent in the morning light, especially in comparison to the blown out brown of Gianna’s staring back at him.  

He sat up just then, the dark emerald sheet slipping down his chest to rest casually across his bare hips. He was a sight with his unruly hair falling over his collar bones and his toned chest and stomach on full display. 

“In fact,” he started as he scooted down the bed until he was right in front of her, his feet meeting the ground as he pulled her closer between his thighs, “was thinking we could do this whenever you want.” 

Gianna’s hands found his bare shoulders, his skin still incredibly warm from sleep and as soft as it looked. 

“Is this my sweater?” Harry asked suddenly as he looked down to where he played with the knitted fabric at her hips, his hands slowly splaying out on Gianna’s bare thighs.  

“Gemma gave it to me last night,” she responded softly.  

“Hm. Anyway… could be a perfect fit for both of us,” Harry murmured, his head tilted up towards Gianna’s, his lips inches from hers. The innuendo was embedded in his tone and the look on his face, and even more blatantly obvious when the most subtle indent of a dimple teased its way onto his cheek.  

It would be too easy for Gianna to take him up on the offer, crawl back into bed with him and let him bring her over the edge as many times as he wanted; as many times as she wanted. But for as sexy and generous as he’d been, she knew it wasn’t the best idea and something she shouldn’t get used to.  

Gianna sighed with a gentle squeeze to his shoulder blade. “H…” 

“G,” Harry rebutted in a playful tone. 

“Probably not a good idea.”  

“I beg to differ. Think it’s a great idea. My best idea yet.”  

“Last night was fun,” Gianna offered gently. “I just don’t think we should make a habit out of it. I have a lot going on and I don’t want to drag you—”

“—Hey, say no more.”  

If Harry’s ego was bruised from the rejection, he didn’t show it.  

Instead, he pushed himself up from the bed as she took a step back, the sheet knowingly falling away from his body as he stood before her at his full height. They were nearly chest to chest, and it took everything inside Gianna to ignore the way her nipples pebbled beneath the soft fabric of her sweater.  

“The offer’s available if you ever want it.”  His lips curled around every word, only making his offer even more overwhelmingly enticing.   

He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, his chest brushed against her arm as he carelessly moved around her to head to the bathroom, completely naked, every inch of his body on display.  

If he felt Gianna’s eyes on him, he didn’t show it.   

A fresh steam of her reworn silk skirt and sheer button down blouse later, and the party was in full swing, guests arriving one after another to her parents home.  

Gianna was lucky to have arrived when she did, the distraction of guests doing her every favor to hold off the inevitable questions from her family. A quick comment that Steve was held up at work was as far into it as she could get before her mother was whisked away by one thing or another. Gianna wasn’t so worried about the lie as she was her delivery of said lie. 

The end of her relationship was the last thing she felt like discussing at her fathers 50th birthday celebration.  

The one thing she didn’t anticipate was the possibility of Steve showing up.  

She saw him as soon as he walked through the front door, his polo shirt and perfectly styled hair immediately catching her eye.  His eyes scanned the room in search of her, and it felt like her heart could literally drop out of her ass.  

Gianna excused herself from her fathers colleagues before making her way toward him, her blood boiling as her heart pounded in her chest.  

“What are you doing here?” She whispered harshly as she pulled him aside, eyes ablaze as she looked at him.  

“You haven’t been answering your phone.”  His response was so casual for someone who blew up their life together without a second thought.  

“Yeah you lost that privilege yesterday, Steve.”  

“Gianna, please. Let’s just talk about this.”  

“You need to leave.”  

“Gianna—”

“Y’alright?”  Gianna turned to look up at the sound of the intruder's voice, her eyes meeting Harry’s expressionless face immediately.  

Gianna was quick to reel in her emotions as well, instead smiling and greeting Harry and Gemma and their parents.  

“Hi guys! Yeah, yeah, all good. Steve was just leaving,” Gianna continued to smile despite the confused look on Harry and Gemma’s parents faces. “He’s gotta work.” 

Steve huffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”  

“Let’s go find Lisa!” Gemma suggested to her parents with a gentle guide on both of their backs.   

“Oh, she’s in the kitchen.” Gianna pointed in the direction of her mother and released a sigh when they headed that way.  

Gianna turned back to Steve the moment they were out of earshot. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”  

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Harry was quick to interject. “Think she told you to go.”  

Gianna watched the anger wash over Steve’s face as he turned to Harry.

“Shouldn’t take me telling you for you to listen,” Harry added with a disapproving shake of his head.

That confidence Harry exuded? Yeah, it came in handy in a wide array of situations.  

“Don’t make me kick you out of here,” Gianna told Steve. “I don’t want to cause a scene and embarrass my mum but I will if I have to.”  

Harry took the most subtle step closer. He really only sort of shifted his weight towards Gianna more, barely enough to even notice, but judging by Steve’s disgruntled face, he noticed.  

Gianna noticed too.  

“We’re going to talk about this later.”  Just the sound of Steve’s voice made Gianna’s heart plummet. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, but it was. 

She watched him turn around with an exasperated huff, a withheld breath escaping her when he disappeared through the front door.  

“Y’okay?”  

Gianna momentarily forgot Harry was still standing beside her.  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Gonna go hide for a bit and collect myself.”  

She didn’t wait for his response before she disappeared upstairs with tears welling in her eyes.  

Who did Steve think he was?  Just showing up at her parents home as if nothing happened? Something did happen. A lot of shit happened.  Many words were exchanged and the way Gianna left their home and didn’t look back said even more then her frustrated, broken words.  

Gianna didn’t know how long she hid in her childhood bathroom, but apparently it was long enough for someone to come looking for her when she heard the softest tap on the door.  

She wasn’t crying, that was a plus. So she braced herself for her mother to be undoubtedly on the other side of the door, but opened it slowly to find none other than Harry leaned up against the doorframe, his face closer than she would have expected.  

His chin was pointed down towards his chest, leaving him to look up at her through his lashes with his eyebrows raised high and the lines across his forehead even more prominent.  

“Just checking on you. Y’don’t have to come out yet if you don’t wanna.”  

Gianna leaned against the wall so that she was standing parallel to him, her body lining up perfectly with his, both of their arms crossed over their chests, the door to the bathroom propped open just enough for them to see each other.  

“Is my mum looking for me?”  

He pursed his lips with regret. “I did hear her say your name a little bit ago.”  

Gianna released a deep sigh as she let her eyes fall closed. “I can’t believe he just showed up here.”  

“Do you know what he wanted?”  

Gianna scoffed. “No clue, probably to torture me some more. As if yesterday wasn’t enough.”  

“He’s got some nerve,” Harry shook his head in disbelief. 

Gianna exhaled again. “I don’t even wanna be here and now I gotta go put a show on for everyone and pretend like everything’s fine.” 

Harry gave her a small, understanding smile. “Want me to go fall down the stairs as a distraction?” 

The tiniest shiver rolled down his spine when she smiled with a shake of her head. 

“I’ll just dive head first. They’ll be so distracted with my broken collar bone that you can sneak out the back,” he added with a completely straight face, intently fighting the twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

Gianna laughed softly as she pushed her elbow against his. “What if you mess up your face? I’ll never forgive myself.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Never mind scratch that idea,” Harry replied quickly, the smile forming across his face regardless of his efforts. 

Gianna’s face softened after a moment, and Harry couldn’t be positive, but he was pretty sure her body moved a half an inch closer to his. 

“Thanks for stepping in with him,” she said sincerely, her big brown eyes steady on his. 

Harry swallowed discreetly, licking his lips in a force of habit. “Anytime,” he murmured, his eyes flicking across her face. 

“You didn’t have to,” Gianna replied mindlessly, her eyes falling across his face. 

“Know I didn’t.” Harry’s voice was soft, because as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he felt like his skin was on fire. 

She was so close. Her perfume invaded his senses the same way it did on the roof, it had seeped into his sheets and lingered on his skin that morning. It was all he could focus on, subconsciously pulling him closer to her. 

Although, maybe not totally subconscious at all. He knew he wanted her. He knew that after one night with her, that he wanted her again, as many times as she’d give herself to him.   

He could tell she wanted to kiss him. Fuck, he was willing her to just do it. It was like every fiber of his being was screaming for her to just connect their mouths, get lost in each other again. But he could tell she was having some sort of internal battle that held her back. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, eyes peering into hers. 

She blinked back at him, the soft furrow of her brows somehow making her more attractive. He watched her mouth open and close, trying to find the words. 

“Tell me,” he murmured. 

He could feel her breath just barely brushing his lips as his eyes pulled down to the curve of her Cupid’s bow first, then the curve of her chest, before traveling the same path back again, ready to dive back into the deep brown of her eyes. 

They were cast down, the curl of her lashes on display instead, and at first Harry assumed in shame or disinterest. But they burned against his own mouth, as she took account of every curve of his lips. 

“G...” he tried once more, hoping that the movement of his lips spurred her on. 

She was about to say something, Harry could see it on every inch of her face, but then there were footsteps entering the room and the sound of her name being called that Gianna snapped back, pulling away from him so quickly that it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. 

“Oh there you are,” Gemma said, relieved. “Your mum's going to go searching for you any minute, wanted to find you first.”

“Yeah, same,” Harry nodded as he tried to casually run a hand through the top of his hair and gently tuck a stray piece behind his ear. Only it didn’t feel casual at all, the only thing he felt was fidgety. “I’ll go distract her,” he added as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and turned to leave. 

The truth was, he felt like he couldn’t breath and he wasn’t even quite sure why. Gianna was hard to read, she was really good at bottling things up which left him completely unsure where he stood. She told him she wasn’t interested, and he understood why. Things could get complicated and that was the last thing she needed in her life at the moment. But then she looked at him like that, and her eyes - reluctant but burning into his skin - said something completely different. 

He wasn’t going to push her, though.  She needed a friend and that was what he was going to be to her.  So he went to Lisa’s side and talked her ear off about a recent show he had watched on Discovery, and watched with a small smirk as Gianna’s mum pretended to be interested.  

Luckily, the rest of the party went on as normal. And even more so, Gianna and Harry didn’t have a moment alone together until the goodbyes. There was the slightest bit of hesitancy when they went to leave a kiss on each other's cheeks, something they and their families always did when parting ways.  

It was a blip of a moment really, but it was enough to have chills running across Gianna’s skin just from the barely there scruff of Harry’s cheek brushing hers. He gave a small, but reassuring smile when he pulled away, a soft squeeze of her arm just before he followed Gemma out the door. 

It was insane, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him the rest of the night. While she helped her parents clean up, while they talked her ear off about their upcoming travel plans, while she finally peeled herself away from them at nearly midnight, while she drove back to Gemma and Harry’s place, while she tiptoed inside and locked up behind her. 

“Hey,” Gemma called from where she was curled up on the couch in front of the tv. “Rest of the night go okay?” 

“Oh, yeah. The usual really.” Gianna sighed as she slipped her studded heels off, her limbs feeling heavy from the long day. 

“I’ll be out of your bedroom in a mo, this is almost over,” Gemma said half heartedly, eyes still trained on the tv. 

Gianna didn’t bother with a response, but instead wandered down the hallway to Gemma’s room to steal some clothes. She couldn’t help but glance at Harry’s bedroom door, the light peeking through the bottom like a temptation. 

She wondered what he was doing in there as she changed, if he heard her come in, if he could sense her in the proximity somehow.  Her fingertips prickled with curiosity and her mind tiptoed along the ledge of “what if” and “maybe” and “why not”.  

He offered.  All she had to do was accept.  

When she stepped out of Gemma’s room with an oversized white tee shirt and minty fresh teeth, she immediately noticed that Harry’s light was no longer illuminating the edges of his door, the room seemingly pitch black.  

Maybe that was a sign from the universe or something.  Maybe, she thought, she should just quit while she’s ahead.  

Her makeshift bed was all ready for her in the living room, Gemma having neatly arranged blankets and pillows on the couch where she was previously sitting.  That was one thing about both of the Style’s siblings, they never made you feel unwelcome. 

“Alright love, let me know if you need anything,” Gemma spoke as she placed her empty tea cup in the sink.  

“Thanks, Gems. Seriously. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Gemma smiled warmly as she walked over, wrapping Gianna in a quick hug before heading for the hallway.  

“Oh,” she turned around quickly, “Harry spoke to Steve after we left.”  

Gianna’s heart stopped, bracing herself for whatever transpired between them.  “How bad was it?”  

“Eh,” Gemma shrugged, chuckling lightly as she continued. “Harry yelled a lot, but he’ll be gone for a few hours tomorrow morning so you can go get your stuff. We’ll go with you to help.”  

Gianna released a heavy sigh, overwhelmed with her friend's generosity. “You guys don’t have to do that.”  

“Too bad because we are,” Gemma quickly replied. “Harry told Steve he was coming with you anyway, just in case he decides to try anything like what went on today. Plus, the more hands means the faster you can get out of there.”  

Gianna gave her a pouty smile.  

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gemma laughed. “You would do the same for me.” 

“I would,” she agreed.  

“Besides, Harry’s the one that made it happen. He just told me the plan before he went to bed.”  Gemma smoothed down the baby hairs sticking up at the front of Gianna’s hairline, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “I love you, get some sleep.”  

Gianna didn’t know what she did to deserve a friend like Gemma, but she was grateful every single day for whatever cosmic blip happened in the universe to force them together. 

“Love you,” Gianna murmured as she watched Gemma head for her room, finding herself standing completely still as she watched her bedroom door close softly at the end of the hall.  

And then she was left in silence with nothing but her thoughts. Which if anyone could hear inside her brain, they’d know they were anything but silent.  

She went to plop down on the couch, letting out a long, deep sigh as she sunk into the cushions.  

Harry didn’t need to put his neck out like that, but he did. His exact reasoning, Gianna wasn’t sure. But he appeared beside her at that party like it was second nature. He took it upon himself to find a way for her to safely get her things from her former home, and she was grateful. He was a good friend. She knew that already, but it was even more prominent now.  

She thought starting something with Harry would be harder on her than not. She thought she didn’t need the added stress.  But he never showed any indication that he would make anything stressful for her. If anything, the only thing he showed was the opposite.  

A distraction, an escape, a good time.   

That was all she needed right now.  And in a way, that was exactly what Harry was offering.  

So she pulled herself up from the couch with purpose, and padded down the hall to the door on the right with her heart beating wildly in her chest.  Her fingers brushed along the grain of wood, a last chance effort to back away with none the wiser.  

But she didn’t want to.  As ridiculous as it seemed, Harry made her feel something that she desperately needed at the moment.  

So she jumped.  

It was the softest tap, her knuckle meeting the wood so lightly she was positive he wouldn’t even hear it.  Her breath was shaky as she did it again, this time the tiniest bit harder, more sure.  

There was no sign of movement behind the door.  She waited with baited breath, tapping her knuckles a third time, squeezing her eyes closed, begging for Gemma not to hear.  

But nothing.  No sound, no movement, no Harry.  

Maybe he had snuck out at some point, while she was changing perhaps.  Or maybe he had decided she was right after all, that this - she - was too complicated for him right now.  

She drew one last small pattern on the door, her temple pressed against the framing before she dropped her hand and pulled away.  

And then in a moment of pure heart stopping relief, the door swung open and a large hand wrapped around her forearm, tugging her inside the dark room so quickly she felt lightheaded.  

Her back was pressed up against the wall beside the door as Harry eased it closed quietly.  Gianna caught her breath, her chest rising and falling sharply as she took him in.  He was in nothing but boxer briefs sitting low on his hips, his hair pulled up in a bun, his skin reflecting against the light of the muted tv in the corner of his room.  His bed was unmade, the spot he was previously occupying obvious, what with blankets thrown to the one corner and pillows propped up against the center of the headboard.  

Harry was looking at her expectantly when she turned her face back to him, but he didn’t say anything, eyes simply scanning the features of Gianna’s face.  

“How’d you know it was me?” Gianna murmured softly. 

“I didn’t.”  His tone was neutral, but his eyes were blazing, even in the darkness.  

She couldn’t pull her eyes from him, and all she could think about was taking the half a step needed to be pressed against his soft skin. 

“Hoped it was,” Harry added after a beat of silence, his eyes falling to her mouth. “Didn’t know, but hoped.” 

The words barely made their way from his lips before Gianna was taking the small step to connect their mouths.  And it was as if  Harry was waiting for it, because his hand immediately cupped her jaw as he took his own step, her back pressing against the wall once more.  

His lips were warm, and they tasted familiar this time. That thought surprised Gianna somehow - this wasn’t the first time, and although it was new, it was comforting in a way she wouldn’t be able to explain if she tried.  

He kissed her with his entire body, every inch of him pressed tightly against her, pinning her to the wall.  His tongue teased her bottom lip, and without second thought, she met him with her own, sparks shooting across her skin in the form of goosebumps and anticipation.  

The soft groan that escaped his throat as he pulled her even closer lit her on fire, his fingers digging harder into the soft curves of her hips.  

“Fuck, I want you,” Harry sighed breathlessly, his lips trailing across Gianna’s jaw and down her neck.  

She scratched her nails down his back, his body only pressing against hers more in response. “Want you too,” she whispered, like it was a confession, as if her actions hadn’t already exposed her.  

His lips burned against her throat, sucking deliberate kisses to her sensitive skin as his hands smoothed up and down her sides, gripping here, pulling there. She could feel him, hard and needy against her pelvis, and it made her stomach twist with desire. 

“This has to stay between us,” Gianna spoke gently up to the ceiling. “No one can know.”  

“Good,” Harry stamped a kiss to her jaw, pulling her face to his by the back of her neck, his lips brushing hers with his words. “Can be our secret.”  

And it was, he made sure of it.  No one would know what went on between them under the darkness of the night, hidden behind the walls of his room, disguised behind their eyes in the daylight.  

It would just be theirs, whatever it was, for as long as Harry could help it.  

But that’s the thing about secrets… they always find a way out.  

a/n: *nervous laughter* Heyyy guysss lol so! There we have it! It’s happening, it’s fine, everything’s fine. The biggest thanks to the best babes @andwhenshesays​ @oh-honey-styles​ @harrytheehottie​ @real-work-of-art​ @haute-romance-quotidienne​ @all-things-fic​ for the comments and laughs and support and encouragement - you guys are the real ones. I hope everyone enjoyed this one! Much more to come *more nervous laughter* lol thank you for reading! I hope you’ve had a great friday! xxx 

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[nik-the-bik]

Henriel Week Day 7: Alternate Ending

"The Fate of Your Soul"

Summary: A "What if Hyde didn't end up dead and Utterson spoke to him after finding everything out?" scenario

Last entry of Henriel week and I am once again thanking @corvidayyy for putting this together because I had too much fun planning these

****

Utterson squeezed the bridge of his nose as he fought off the pain and exhaustion of everything that had happened tonight.

Poole’s arrival, listening into Jekyll’s cabinet, breaking down the door, and the awful, terror infused screaming of Hyde pleading for mercy as the two charged in, pinning him to the ground as a vial of some substance clattered to the floor, the man writhing beneath them.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to escape the echoing shouts of “Not you! Not like this—please not you!” that had made his blood run cold as he called out to Bradshaw to summon the nearest policemen.

By the time the police arrived, Hyde had entered full hysteria, gasping sobs melting into unhinged laughter in a way that was overwhelmingly pitiful, if Utterson only but listened. To see the man struggle only tinged these feelings of pity with disgust. He did his best to keep his gaze averted.

And while his search of the cabinet hadn’t found Henry Jekyll, he did find the letters.

God, the letters. The information within them was all too much for his mind to process, and his head was hurting him worse than it had in years. When he had first finished Henry’s confessional, he had found himself sobbing—something that he probably hadn’t done in three decades. Too many conflicted feelings existed within him to make any sense of them, but as he composed himself with a hot cup of tea (with a healthy dose of bourbon mixed in), he brought himself to reading them a second and third time, desperate to understand.

After pouring through these pages, eyes burning from the strain of reading in the dim study, Utterson could understand nothing but a deep, deep ache in his very soul for the fate of poor old Harry Jekyll.

He pried himself out of his chair, desperate to do something—anything, but sit here for another moment with his thoughts. He turned to his coat and hat, still laying in a heap where he had tossed them after coming home, and prepared himself to step out into the brisk, dark air.

It was not long ‘til dawn when Utterson arrived at the precinct where they were holding Mr. Hyde.

After pacing the outside block a few times, Utterson finally steeled himself enough to enter the building where he almost immediately ran into a gentleman he recognized – the Newcomen who he had assisted during the Carew case. Thinking back to that time made his stomach turn anew.

“Ah, Mr. Utterson, good morning,” said Newcomen, looking tired himself. “I regret to inform you that there is no news yet of the whereabouts of Dr. Jekyll, but we have a full team dedicated to finding your man as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Inspector,” Gabriel muttered, peering around nervously. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Newcomen shifted, doing his best to hide his sudden burst of curiosity.

“I would like to meet with Edward Hyde.”

Newcomen laughed. “No need for that! We have everything under control with him, and before long his time before the gallows will be scheduled—”

“I insist, Inspector.”

Newcomen froze.

“I’d like to speak with him alone, sir,” Gabriel continued.

“-er---alone?”

“Why yes, of course. I’m acting as his legal counsel.”

“You—you—I'm -- sorry, what?” Newcomen was standing there, mouth agape, no longer showing any signs of fatigue. Gabriel, however, felt the exhaustion run deeper than it had before. He sighed, handed the officer his card, and asked to be shown into a private interrogation room.

As he sat in the small, cold, gray room, head in his hands, Utterson couldn’t decide whether he had made the correct choice in coming here or not. The endless ways this encounter could go were daunting, the wait unbearably long, and he suddenly found that he'd much rather be back home in front of the fire. Or in bed.

Utterson’s stomach sunk low at the sound of the door opening. Hyde was escorted in by a pair of officers, who forced him into a chair and chained his hands together and ankle to the leg of his chair. Utterson couldn't bear to watch—the whole proceeding making him nauseous. He kept his gaze on the floor as he waited for the policemen to finish. He gave a curt nod as they departed while they reminded him that they would be in the hall and at his full disposal if anything were needed.

When they were alone, Utterson finally let himself look directly at Hyde.

Before this night, Utterson had only ever seen Hyde on one other occasion. To see him now, it was almost difficult to say that it was the same man.

The Edward Hyde before him was a little taller, a little older, and much more pale and sickly than his previous self. There was also something much more feral about him, with the way that his eyes sharply dashed across the room, unnaturally tense and agitated. His body was tightly coiled inward, breathing shallow, like a snake preparing to strike. He could see his jaw working too, as though he was chewing his words before he allowed them to tumble out of his mouth.

“You, then?” was all that the creature before him managed to grunt out. His voice sounded much raspier too, raw from the screaming that had taken place earlier.

“Me.”

Another interlude of silence.

“Why are you here?”

“I would like some answers.”

“Answers to what?” Hyde asked, eyeing him suspiciously. The words were spit at Utterson like they were poison.

“I’ve read the letter. All of it. And Lanyon’s too.”

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re here?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know all. Henry Jekyll is gone. I can’t help you.”

“Are you sure, Harry?”

Hyde convulsed suddenly, looking as though he had been smacked. When he composed himself again, staring directly at Utterson, he seemed to soften, if only slightly. His eyes, darker than Henry’s, nonetheless held something in them that drew Utterson in.

“I’m quite sure. It’s a hopeless case. You’re pleading for a dead man,” Hyde answered, a little more gravity to his voice than the short, raspy whispers of before.

They stared at each other for another moment, Utterson desperate to find anything, anything at all that would connect the miserable creature before him to the man he used to regard as his dearest friend, his family, his—well—everything.

“Henry Jekyll was not one to abandon hope so quickly.”

Hyde laughed then, a sad, desperate cackle. “Really? Is that so? I guess you didn’t know him as well as you thought! You really think that after all this, after everything you’ve learned, that you even knew him at all? The Henry Jekyll you knew, the Henry Jekyll you WANT, is gone. In fact, he never existed. I’m all that’s left—the miserable, miserable testament to all his sin, his failure, and every twisted thing that he had always been all along. You’re wasting your time and mine, Utterson, and I have precious little of it left.”

Hyde shut his eyes then, turning his face away from Utterson, refusing to even look at him. Utterson was afraid that the pitiable hysteria of before—when they had found Hyde alone in Jekyll’s cabinet, would resurface. He could see that Hyde was restraining himself against some deep emotion.

Utterson brought his hand to his brow and groaned. It was too late, or early, and exhaustion was clutching him like a vice. He continued to watch Hyde, and that usual disgust that his presence typically inspired was beginning to wane, ever so slightly, the longer they sat with each other. Of course, he had to keep reminding himself who this man truly was in order to keep those feelings at bay.

Finally, “What are we going to do, Henry?”

Hyde sputtered. “We? I--”

“The eyewitness account doesn’t help us at all, and the fact that I had previously cooperated with the police to corroborate the testimony—”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“And it has been far too long since I’ve been involved in criminal law—”

“Utterson!” Hyde pleaded. Gabriel paused and brought his gaze back to Hyde. “You can’t, you can’t really be here to—”

“Have you forgotten my promise? I once promised Henry Jekyll that I would ensure Edward Hyde gets his rights, and that is exactly what I intend to do. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do anything to save you, but…”

Utterson trailed off. Hyde looked at him, dumbstruck. It was though he were finally considering the character of the man before him, and not instinctively assuming every man he faced was an enemy. Tears began to brim Hyde’s eyes again, and Utterson was on the verge of letting his own tears spill for the second time in over 30 years.

“Why are you doing this?” Hyde asked, voice trembling.

How to answer? There were so many things to say, lifetime's worth.

Utterson reached a hand across the table and grabbed hold of one of Hyde’s. The smaller man flinched and started to pull away but stopped himself. While it didn’t feel quite right to Utterson, it wasn’t the hand of Henry Jekyll, there was a bewildering comfort in it nonetheless.

“Because the fate of your soul is not sealed yet, but no matter where it goes, I refuse to let it go alone,” Utterson said.

The two sat there in silence, hands held tightly, as dawn broke in the cold London morning outside.