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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 1 month ago

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Let's be Frank, so we can makeout

Pairing: Dr. Frank Langdon x Sr.Resident!Reader

Author's note: I'm trying something new with formatting. I can't decide yet if Frank is hot, so they're on and off in this fic. It's LONG AF.

INT. ON-CALL ROOM – NIGHT

The clock ticks past midnight. The overhead light is off, just the warm glow of a desk lamp humming in the corner. Scrubs tossed over the back of a chair. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and coffee gone cold.

FRANK LANGDON sits on the edge of the cot, running a hand through his hair, jaw clenched. You stand across from him, arms folded, leaning against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

YOU (quiet, sharp) You always do this.

FRANK Do what?

YOU Pretend like it’s fine until you decide it’s not. Until you shut down and I’m left trying to figure out which version of you I’m waking up next to.

Frank lets out a tired laugh, more bitter than amused.

FRANK Right. Because you’re so emotionally available. You love to play the victim when things get messy.

YOU I’m not playing anything, Frank. I’m tired. Tired of being some in-between thing for you. One second we’re all in, the next you’re pushing me away like I’m the reason you’re miserable here.

FRANK Don’t make this about the hospital.

YOU Everything’s about the hospital with you. Who gets the best case, who’s on Langdon’s level, who’s chasing chief— (beat) I’m not your competition, Frank. But you treat me like I am.

Silence. Frank stands slowly, the space between you suddenly too small, too loud.

FRANK Maybe we’re just bad at this.

YOU No. We’re just too stubborn to admit we want different things.

He nods, barely, like it costs him something. You look at each other—years of tension, passion, and what-ifs sitting in the air between you.

FRANK You staying here tonight?

YOU No. Not tonight.

You grab your bag, your scrubs sleeve brushing his arm as you walk past. He doesn’t stop you. The door clicks shut behind you.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – TRAUMA BAY – MORNING

The hospital hums with that chaotic early-shift energy—coffee in hand, eyes half-awake, pages already going off. FRANK stands on one side of the group, jaw tight, scrubs freshly pressed. You’re on the opposite side, lips set in a neutral line, trying to look like you slept.

DR. ROBBY, smug as ever with a clipboard in hand, steps into the center of the bay with a grin.

DR. ROBBY Alright, folks, welcome to the pitt. These are your senior residents—Dr. Langdon and Dr. [Y/L/N]. Learn from them, don’t flirt with them, and for the love of God, don’t interrupt them during a trauma unless you’ve got someone actively bleeding out.

A ripple of nervous laughter from the med students.

You glance toward Frank. He’s already looking at you, but it’s that unreadable, guarded look he gives patients before telling them bad news.

DR. ROBBY (CONT’D) We’ve got two second year residents and three med students. You’ll be shadowing on rotations, and if you’re lucky, Langdon might even remember your names by the end of the week.

FRANK Don’t count on it.

The students laugh again, and Robby raises an eyebrow like he’s clocking the tension between the two of you—but he doesn’t say anything.

He hands off the list and claps his hands together.

DR. ROBBY Alright. Let’s make some memories. Or at least don’t kill anyone before lunch.

The group starts to disperse. You turn to grab a chart when one of the second-year residents, a perky-looking girl with a glasses, stops you.

DR. KING Dr. [Your Last Name], sorry—just wanted to say I’m really excited to learn from you. Everyone says you and Dr. Langdon are like, the trauma dream team.

Your jaw tightens. You manage a smile.

YOU We get the job done.

Frank brushes past behind you, just close enough for his arm to skim yours again. You don’t turn around, but your whole body goes stiff.

He pauses only long enough to say—

FRANK You taking the first trauma, or should I?

YOU I’ll take it.

He nods and walks off, already barking orders at a med student. You stay where you are for a second too long, the buzz of the hospital around you not quite loud enough to drown out the tension still hanging in the air.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – TRAUMA BAY – LATER THAT MORNING

EMS BURSTS THROUGH THE DOORS with a patient on a stretcher—mid-30s male, multiple GSWs to the abdomen and chest, semi-conscious. The place snaps into action.

EMT GSW, multiple entries. No exit wounds. BP’s dropping—he started crashing in the rig.

You and Frank are already gloving up. You reach the patient first, pressing your hands to a bleeding wound.

YOU I need two units of O-neg, chest tray prepped, and someone call the OR—now!

Frank moves to the head of the bed, cutting the shirt off fast.

FRANK He's got diminished breath sounds on the right. We need a chest tube, stat.

YOU Then do it.

FRANK Don’t tell me what to do—I am doing it.

You glare at him, and for a split second, the trauma fades and it’s just you two again—charged, combative, dangerously synced.

You shove a tray toward him harder than necessary. He grabs it without missing a beat, intentionally brushing past your side—shoulder colliding with yours.

YOU You’re in my space.

FRANK Then move faster.

You don’t—if anything, you step closer. It’s tight quarters, the trauma team dancing around you two, pretending not to notice.

You press gauze into a deep abdominal wound, blood coating your gloves up to the wrists.

YOU You missed that bleeder. He’s tanking.

FRANK I see it. Clamp.

You both reach for the same clamp and your hands collide. You don’t let go. He doesn’t either.

YOU Get out of the way.

FRANK You get out of the way.

A beat. You’re inches from his face. Breathing hard. Covered in blood and too close.

DR. ROBBY (O.S.) Hey! Are we saving this guy or circling the drain on your personal lives?

You snap apart.

Frank shoves the clamp into your hand. You dive back in. The moment’s gone—but not forgotten.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – HALLWAY OUTSIDE TRAUMA BAY – CONTINUOUS

The patient’s been stabilized and wheeled off to the OR. The trauma bay buzz has dimmed, but you’re still riding the high—adrenaline in your veins, blood still drying on your gloves.

You rip your mask down as you walk out, Frank a few paces ahead. You catch up, your tone sharp but not loud.

YOU What is up with you today? You’re so irritable.

Frank doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t even look at you.

FRANK We just saved a guy with three holes in his chest. Forgive me for not being chipper.

YOU No—this started before that. You’ve been acting like I personally offended your entire bloodline since morning rounds.

He stops walking. Turns slowly, eyes narrowed.

FRANK You wanna do this here? Right now?

YOU I’d rather not do it at all, but you keep shoving into me like I’m in your way. I’m not one of your med students, Frank. Don’t take your ego out on me.

He steps in, voice low but intense.

FRANK You're the one who turned last night into a war zone and then strutted in here like nothing happened.

YOU Because I have to. Because we don’t get to take personal days just because our situationship’s in the ICU.

FRANK Right. Forgot how easy it is for you to compartmentalize.

YOU Don’t act like you’re the only one bleeding in this.

The tension simmers between you—burning-hot silence in the sterile hallway. A nurse walks by and shoots you both a look before disappearing around the corner.

Frank exhales sharply, scrubs ruffled from the case, jaw ticking.

FRANK We need to get our shit together.

YOU You think?

He takes a step back. Less hostile now, but the walls are back up.

FRANK I’ll take the next trauma. You need air.

He walks off without waiting for a reply. You watch him go, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something else you’ll regret.

EXT. PITTSBURGH MED – LOADING DOCK AREA – LATE AFTERNOON

The sun’s starting to dip behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the pavement. You lean against the wall in your wrinkled scrubs, a cigarette between your fingers. You don't even smoke that often—but today? Today demands it.

You take a long drag, exhale like it might clear your head.

The door creaks open behind you. You don’t turn around—you already know who it is.

DR. ROBBY (O.S.) You know, for someone who acts like she has it all under control, you really suck at hiding your meltdowns.

You glance sideways. Robby walks up slowly, holding a to-go cup from the cafeteria, sipping it like it’s anything better than sludge.

YOU It’s one cigarette. Don’t tell Langdon, he’ll think he got to me.

DR. ROBBY Pretty sure the entire trauma bay knows he got to you.

You shoot him a look, but it’s half-hearted. Robby leans on the wall beside you, not asking permission.

DR. ROBBY (CONT’D) You two gonna keep throwing surgical trays at each other until someone loses a hand? Or you planning on actually talking to him?

YOU We talked. Last night. And this morning. And mid-trauma. (beat) We just don’t know how to stop breaking each other.

Robby takes a sip. Nods slowly.

DR. ROBBY Yeah, well, you’re both too damn stubborn to walk away and too obsessed with each other to quit. Classic senior resident mess. Happens every year.

YOU We’re not some cliché.

DR. ROBBY Sure you’re not.

He’s quiet for a moment, then glances at you, more serious now.

DR. ROBBY (CONT’D) You’re a good doctor. But if you let whatever this is spill over into the job? You’ll tank both your reputations faster than you can say “co-chief.”

You flinch, just barely.

YOU He’s gunning for it too.

DR. ROBBY I know. That’s the problem. You’re both excellent. And chaotic. It’s kind of entertaining, but also a nightmare for everyone else.

You put the cigarette out with the heel of your shoe and cross your arms, eyes on the sky.

YOU What would you do?

DR. ROBBY You really want advice from the guy who’s been divorced twice and lives off vending machine pretzels?

You smile for the first time all day.

YOU I’ll take what I can get.

Robby finishes his coffee, tosses the empty cup in the nearby bin.

DR. ROBBY Talk to him. Not in a trauma bay. Not in the stairwell. Talk like you don’t want to win for once.

He walks back inside, leaving the door open behind him. You linger in the quiet, letting the words settle, and finally—finally—you breathe.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – TRAUMA BAY – EARLY EVENING

Another call. Another rush. A construction worker, mid-40s, fell from scaffolding. Suspected pelvic fracture, possible internal bleeding. The trauma bay is alive again—gloves snapping, vitals shouting, the whole rhythm kicking into gear.

You’re already moving with purpose, snapping into leadership like muscle memory.

YOU Let’s go—two large bores, draw labs, get a pan scan ready. I want blood hanging before imaging. Who’s with me?

One of the new interns—Whitaker, nervous but eager—steps up.

WHITAKER I—I can insert the second line.

You glance at him, firm but not cruel.

YOU You only get one try. Don’t fish.

WHITAKER Yes, Dr. [Y/L/N].

You catch Frank watching from across the gurney, lips tight but unreadable. He doesn’t say anything—he lets you lead. He lets you.

You work in tandem: you’re at the abdomen, Frank at the airway, both moving like you’ve done this a thousand times. Because you have. Even when you’re not speaking, your instincts match.

FRANK He’s stable enough to move. We’ve got time for CT.

YOU Let’s go. Everyone move with a purpose.

The med students shuffle out, wide-eyed and exhilarated. The gurney rolls off toward imaging, and the trauma bay finally quiets.

You turn, wipe your bloodied gloves on a towel, and glance at Frank. He’s not looking at you—he’s checking vitals on the monitor. So you step closer.

YOU Hey.

He looks up.

YOU (CONT’D) Can we talk? After shift?

Frank searches your face for a beat. He doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t smirk. Just nods.

FRANK Yeah. Okay.

You nod back. That’s it. No flare. No dig. Just a quiet truce.

Then you turn and walk out of the bay, head high, ignoring the way your heart’s starting to beat a little too fast.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – LOCKER ROOM – LATER THAT NIGHT

You check the time. Shift change is creeping closer. You’ve reviewed your charts, followed up on orders, even looped back with Whitaker to debrief his first trauma line. But Frank’s nowhere.

You poke your head into the on-call room. Empty.

Check the charting station. Nothing.

You finally corner Dr. Robby near the vending machine.

YOU Where’s Langdon?

Robby doesn’t look up from the vending machine, punching a selection like it’s personal.

DR. ROBBY He went home.

YOU What? His shift wasn’t over for another three hours.

DR. ROBBY (avoiding eye contact) Guess he needed a break.

YOU Robby.

DR. ROBBY You wanted space. Maybe he’s giving it to you.

He grabs his snack and walks off without waiting for your reply. You stand there, unsettled, then head to the nurses’ station, where Dana is signing off her charts.

YOU Do you know why Frank left early?

Dana doesn’t even pause her scribbling.

DANA Nope.

YOU You’re lying.

DANA I’m ignoring.

She tears off a sheet, hands it to a med tech, and turns to leave.

DANA (CONT’D) Let it go for tonight.

You don’t.

INT. PITTSBURGH MED – MED STUDENT WORKROOM – MINUTES LATER

You pass by the small conference room where the med students are huddled over sandwiches and trauma notes. As you walk by, you catch a few murmured voices.

WHITAKER (O.S.) I’m just saying—it was weird. Dr. Robby just pulled him mid-shift and told him to clock out. Didn’t even let him finish the case.

You stop in your tracks.

JAVADI (O.S.) Frank Langdon? No way.

SANTOS (O.S.) Javadi, I saw the drawer. He had oxy stashed in there. Said it was from his back, but still—why bring that into the pit?

Silence.

WHITAKER (O.S.) You’re not gonna report him?

SANTOS (O.S.) Are you? I like my GPA where it is.

They laugh nervously. You don’t.

You back away from the door slowly, stomach dropping like the ground’s been pulled out from under you. Your heart is hammering. All that blood in the trauma bay, all the tension, all the looks from Robby and Dana—they weren’t about you.

They were about him.

INT. FRANK’S APARTMENT – NIGHT

You bang on the door harder than you mean to. It’s late, but you don’t care. Your hands are shaking, your chest is tight, and every unanswered question from the shift is clawing at your throat.

The door opens. Frank stands there in a t-shirt and sweats, hair damp like he just got out of the shower, but his eyes are sharp—too alert for someone who supposedly needed rest.

FRANK What the hell—

YOU Don’t lie to me.

He pauses. The breath he takes is too slow. Calculated.

FRANK Come inside.

YOU No. Say it here. Did you get pulled because they caught you with pills?

His mouth opens—then shuts again.

That’s all you need.

YOU (CONT’D) Jesus, Frank. What the hell are you doing?

FRANK It wasn’t—

YOU Don’t say “it wasn’t a big deal.” I’m not a med student. I’m not Robby. You don’t get to gaslight me.

FRANK It was from my back. I’ve had that bottle since last year.

YOU Bullshit! Then why hide it? Why sneak it from the pitt?

A beat. He looks away.

FRANK Because sometimes I don’t sleep. And when I do, I wake up like my whole body’s still in the OR. And I’m exhausted and I’m angry and everything feels like it’s caving in—and I needed something to get through the shift.

You stare at him, heart pounding.

YOU So you put us at risk. You put patients at risk.

FRANK I didn’t take anything on shift. I swear to God.

You want to believe him. But you’re still standing in the hallway. Still frozen on the fact that Robby and Dana covered for him. That a med student saw it before you did.

YOU You should’ve come to me.

FRANK I didn’t want you to look at me like this.

YOU Like what?

FRANK Like I’m broken.

Silence.

YOU I don’t think you’re broken. (beat) I think you’re fucking reckless. And I don’t know how to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there in the doorway, jaw clenched, pain flickering just behind his eyes.

You take a step back.

YOU (CONT’D) You need to fix this. Not for me. For yourself. Because if Robby doesn’t report it, someone else will.

You turn and walk away.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

INT. ON-CALL ROOM – TWO NIGHTS LATER

It’s nearly midnight again. The hospital is quieter, the chaos subdued to soft monitor beeps and distant footsteps. You’re sitting on the cot, reviewing labs, pretending to care about numbers you can’t focus on.

The door opens.

You don’t look up.

FRANK (O.S.) Hey.

Your stomach clenches. You close the chart.

YOU Is this where you tell me you’re fine and I overreacted?

FRANK No. (beat) I’m not fine. And you didn’t overreact.

You finally look at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, looking more like himself than he did the other night—but still not all the way there. There's a rawness in his face you’ve only seen a few times. After a bad code. After his father died. After your first fight.

YOU Did you talk to Robby?

FRANK Yeah. I asked for help. I’m getting it.

Silence.

He walks into the room slowly, stops a few feet from you like he’s testing the gravity.

FRANK (CONT’D) I’ve never let anyone in the way I let you in. It scared the shit out of me.

YOU So you self-destructed.

FRANK Yeah. I’m good at that.

He looks down. Then back up.

FRANK (CONT’D) But I don’t want to lose you. Even if we’re a mess. Especially because we’re a mess.

You stand, heart caught in your throat.

YOU I can’t fix you.

FRANK I don’t want you to. I just... want to be next to you while I try to fix myself.

A pause. Then, quietly—

FRANK (CONT’D) I miss you.

That’s what breaks you.

You cross the space between you in two steps and kiss him—desperate, rough, too full of everything neither of you knows how to say. He kisses you back like it’s the first time and the last time all at once, hands tangling in your hair, your scrubs, anything to hold onto.

You pull back just enough to breathe.

YOU Don’t make me regret this.

FRANK I won’t.

He kisses you again. And this time, it feels like maybe—just maybe—you’re starting over.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfic #the pitt headcannon #dr frank langdon #dr frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon fanfic #dr frank langdon imagine #dr langdon x reader #dr langdon fanfic #dr langdon imagine #frank x reader #dr frank x reader

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artvscvntymullet · 20 days ago

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CHAPTERS OF US - ARTHUR TV

content warnings : a small argument, but nothing really !

word count : 2500 words

A/N : i literally owe my lungs to @smzyyx thank you for the suggestion of the fic, literally saved my writers block !! check her page out guys, the fics fucking slay each time

masterlist here !!

THE BOOKSTORE :

It had been raining all afternoon, soft and rhythmic, the kind that seemed to quiet the whole city into stillness. You’d ducked into the bookstore partly for shelter, partly because the smell of old pages and quiet corners was better than whatever your day had planned for you. Your fingers skimmed along a familiar row — fiction, alphabetised by author — looking for something that felt right.

You weren’t expecting company.

But the second you rounded the corner into the next aisle, you stopped short, nearly colliding into someone.

“Ah—shit, I'm so sorry, are you OK?,” came the voice before anything else, warm. A little startled, but still amused.

You looked up and caught him — tall, curly-haired, wearing a navy jumper and the kind of slightly sleepy expression that meant he’d probably lost track of time in here. He had a copy of The Secret History tucked under one arm and the faintest dimple in his left cheek.

Your eyes met for a second too long.

“No harm done,” you said, offering a polite smile as you stepped back.

“Do you always approach people like that? Full speed in the fiction section?” he teased.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Only when they’re standing between me and my next book.”

He followed your gaze and nodded toward the book in your hand. “Rebecca. Classic, eerie and a bit tragic.”

“And you’ve got The Secret History,” you countered, tilting your head. “Lots of murder. I’m sensing a pattern.”

“I like a little drama,” he said with a shrug. “Have you ever read it?”

You shook your head. “It’s on my list.”

He smiled then, a genuine one — soft, but bright enough to stay with you. “Arthur,” he said, offering his hand.

You gave him your name, took his hand for a brief second. It was warm, grounding.

“Well,” he said, stepping aside, “I’ll let you get back"

“Thanks,” you said, though you lingered a moment longer before walking away.

Neither of you asked for numbers, no flirting past that moment. But as you turned to leave and the bell over the door chimed, you caught him glancing up from his book — just once — like he was trying to remember the shape of your smile.

THE PARTY :

Chris, Arthur Hill and George’s flat was loud in that cosy, mismatched way they always managed — too many people, music spilling out of old speakers, and the scent of takeaway and cheap wine in the air.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but then, from across the room, you saw Arthur.

He was leaning against the kitchen doorway, cup in hand, in conversation with someone you couldn’t see. He was wearing a jacket this time, charcoal grey over a white t-shirt, curls messier and mullet longer than you remembered. When his eyes landed on you, he did a double take, his expression flickering from surprise to something softer — recognition. That same dimple.

“Well, well,” he said, pushing off the wall and weaving through the crowd toward you. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You smiled, raising your drink in mock salute. “Plot twist, huh?”

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said with a grin.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

He gave you a look like that was the most stupid thing he’d heard all night. “Hard to forget someone who nearly ran into me with a copy of Rebecca.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed.

“How do you know George?” he asked, stepping a little closer, the music made it easier to justify the space between you.

“Mutual friends, we went to uni together for about ten minutes before I dropped my major and switched to lit.”

He raised a brow, interested. “Ah, that explains the bookstore.”

“And the overuse of grammar in texts,” you added.

He grinned again. “I should get your number, then. For, you know… literary debates.”

“Oh, definitely, philosophical questions like: is it morally acceptable to turn corners of pages?”

His expression turned mock-serious. “I swear no one does that.”

You reached for your phone and handed it to him. He typed his name in — Arthur TV — and hesitated for a second before handing it back.

And just like that, the story shifted.

THE FIRST DATE :

He picked you up on a Friday night, wearing a button-down that made him look handsome and charming. The bar he chose was tucked between two shops, dimly lit, the kind of place with jazz humming softly under the clink of glasses.

“I’ve been wanting to try this place for ages,” he said, as he pulled your chair out. “Figured if the food’s bad, at least the company’s good.”

You smirked. “Confident.”

He held up his bottle in a toast. “Optimistic.”

You talked for hours — about books, music, the worst dates you'd ever had, your dream cities, and why you both moved to London. At one point, he leaned forward and asked, “What’s something you’ve never told anyone on a first date?”

You thought about it. Then said quietly, “I write. Poems, mostly.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t tease. Just smiled, warm and sure. “I’d love to read one someday.”

After dinner, he walked you home, your fingers brushing now and then until he laced them together.

At your building, he stopped. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low, careful. You nodded, heart racing.

The kiss was soft, slow. When he pulled back, he whispered, “Told you I was optimistic.”

THE SIX MONTHS :

Arthur was pacing in front of the oven, a dish towel slung over his shoulder like it meant something. You leaned against the counter, sipping wine and trying not to laugh as he peered into the pot for the third time in two minutes.

“I feel like I should be worried,” you teased.

“You should be,” he muttered. “This was supposed to be ready twenty minutes ago, and I think I burnt the garlic.”

You crossed the room and bumped his hip lightly with yours. “You’re adorable when you’re stressed.”

“I’m trying to be romantic,” he said, looking genuinely flustered. “You deserve candles and perfect pasta and a playlist that doesn’t shuffle wrong.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, on your tiptoes, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. “I already have everything I wanted. You, me, our song playing quietly, something probably edible on the stove.”

He exhaled, turning in your arms. “You’re very forgiving.”

The pasta turned out slightly overcooked but warm and comforting, like everything else he gave you. He lit two crooked candles anyway, and when you teased him about the uneven wax drips, he grinned and said, “It’s called charm.”

Later, after the plates were stacked haphazardly and you’d changed into his oversized jumper, you sat curled up on the couch together, legs tangled.

“You know,” he said quietly, tracing circles against your knee, “this is the longest I’ve ever been with someone and not felt the need to run.”

You turned your face toward him. “Have you been tempted?”

“No,” he said without hesitation. “That’s the thing. I feel like I could build a life with you.”

You swallowed hard, heart fluttering like he’d handed you something too delicate to hold. “I feel that too,” you said.

THE ARGUMENT :

It was small. At first. He forgot to text you back one evening — plans left in limbo, a dinner reservation gone cold, your new dress, wrinkled from waiting on the couch too long.

You told yourself not to be upset. But when he showed up at your door with breathless apologies and no real reason, you couldn’t help it. “I just waited, Arthur. For hours.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry—”

“But you could’ve said something. Anything, you always do. So what changed tonight?”

He paused, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, guiltily. “I lost track of time. Today was a mess. I just shut down a bit.”

You stood still, arms folded. “If you’re going to shut me out, I need to know. I can’t guess when it’s me, or when it’s everything else.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” he said, too fast, too rehearsed. “I just needed space.”

“That’s fine. But space doesn’t mean disappearing.”

The silence after that wasn’t cruel, just heavy.

He left that night with a quiet, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” and a hesitant brush of your hand.

THE MORNING AFTER :

It rained the next morning — a gentle, persistent drizzle that made the morning feel softer, but bleak somehow.

You heard the knock around 9 am.

When you opened the door, Arthur stood there holding two coffees and a paper bag of pastries, curls damp from the walk. “I didn’t want to text,” he said quietly. “Didn’t feel like enough.”

You stepped aside without saying anything. He set the coffees down, turned to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “You were right. I got overwhelmed and instead of saying that, I disappeared. I won’t do that again, promise.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I don’t need you to be perfect. Just present. With me.”

He stepped closer, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I am. I want to be with you, always.”

You melted into him then, burying your face in his jumper, and he held you like he never wanted to let go.

You ate the pastries cross-legged on the couch, your head on his shoulder, your fingers tangled.

THE MOVE IN :

It started with little things. A draw. A hoodie here, a toothbrush there.

And then one night, over takeaway, Arthur looked up and said, “So, do we keep beating around the bush, or do you just move in already?”

You blinked. “Are you sure? I snore sometimes. And I leave tea mugs everywhere.”

“I'm positive. I want to trip over your shoes every morning and argue over who takes the bin out”

You moved in three weeks later. The first few weeks were bliss and chaos — mismatched furniture, your books invading his shelves, arguing over duvet covers and whether it was acceptable to have fairy lights in the living room (yes).

There were nights of falling asleep mid-conversation and mornings of lazy coffee on the balcony, feet in his lap, sun warming your cheek.

One evening, as he watched you reading on the couch in his hoodie, he said softly, “Feels like home now.”

THE PROPOSAL :

It wasn’t a grand gesture.

It was late autumn, chilly and crisp, and he took you back to the little bookshop where you first met.

He led you to the very same aisle — fiction, alphabetised by author — and said, “Do you remember this spot?”

You smiled, heart catching in your throat. “You mean when I nearly knocked you over?”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a worn copy of Rebecca. Inside was a folded slip of paper and a tiny velvet box tucked between the pages.

You stared, Arthur knelt.

“From the moment we met, every chapter’s been better than the last. And I want the rest of the story to be us — every folded-over page, everything life throws at us, every quiet Sunday. Will you marry me?”

You didn’t speak right away — just nodded, eyes glassy, before whispering, “Yes. Yes. Of course.”

When he slid the ring on your finger, it felt like the final sentence of one chapter — and the first line of the next.

#uk youtubers #arthur tv #arthur frederick #arthur tv x reader #arthur tv fluff

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phykios · 2 months ago

Text

Academic Dishonesty for Fun and Profit [read on ao3] 15k, rated G

Does Percy like his job?

Of course.

Well, mostly.

Kind of.

See, the thing is…

Percy is on his computer, which is half the problem.

There were a lot of things he could have been doing right now. Like grading, or finishing next semester’s syllabus, or responding to the avalanche of emails from anxiety-ridden freshmen and overbearing admins. Or grading. Gods, he has a lot of grading to do. Why hadn’t he listened to Paul when he said there was so much grading!

But to be fair, he is, technically, actually working right now, proctoring his Latin 3 exam. Never mind that he can definitely hear the kids in the front row whispering the answers to each other. Absently, he notes that Jamie has made leaps and bounds since her first Latin class—she’s the one supplying the answers this time around, rather than Junie.

But to be frank, the Minotaur could parade through the exam room in his tighty-whities and Percy wouldn’t care. Or even notice. He’s too busy refreshing his email over and over again, tapping Riptide against the wooden table.

Fucking ADHD.

He can’t focus on anything else, except for the fact that the mid-April soft deadline has long since passed, and he still hasn’t heard anything. Which could mean nothing. These things take time. Or it could mean he was rejected. Which would suck, of course, but it would also make things a lot simpler in terms of his immediate future. But there’s been no change to his application status since last December. So here he is. Not paying attention to the final. Refreshing his email.

Quickly flipping over to the Mythomagic subreddit, he refreshes that page, too. Nothing new.

He refreshes his email again. No news.

“Professor?”

Only years of battle training keeps him from jumping out of his seat. “Mm?”

Sierra, one of his straight-As, is standing before him, brandishing her exam. “I’m finished,” she announces, proudly.

He can see that. What, does she want a medal? “Great,” he says, “you can leave it on my desk and head out.”

“Actually, could I ask you a question?”

“...Sure.” He set down his pen, cautiously. “What’s up?”

She beams. “I was just wondering when you were going to post our last weekly quiz grades.”

Internally, he groans. “I'm working on it—promise.”

“Totally!” she chirps, “but have you gotten to mine yet? I was just wondering how—”

“I’m sure you did fine,” Percy interrupts, gently. Behind her, another student drops off his paper, and, blessedly, leaves without comment. “I’ll try and get the last of the quiz grades up in the next few days. Sounds good?”

Sierra nods, clearly disappointed. “Sure thing.”

But she doesn’t leave.

Percy rolls his tongue behind his teeth, counts to ten. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah, so, a couple weeks ago, you mentioned the possibility of some extra credit? I’ve been reading Cicero, and I thought that maybe I could…”

But what Sierra was imagining she might do with Cicero, Percy will never know. Because, looking out of the corner of his eye, he sees that his email has just refreshed. And the subject reads “Application Update.”

His heart starts racing.

“...And so I have about three pages of an essay already written comparing him and Catullus and contemporary views on homo—”

Percy lifts a finger, and she falls silent, her jaw closing with an audible clack. “Sorry,” he says, tongue numb in his mouth. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I just… gotta read this real quick.”

Fingers trembling, he moves his mouse, the cursor hovering shakily over the unread email. The email preview isn’t very long, a simple, “Thank you for your application to the…” which tells him literally nothing. He has to open it. All he has to do is press down, and open the email.

But his thumb won’t respond. The email remains unbolded, unread.

Just click already, he internally chides his thumb.

His thumb does not click.

Oh, for the love of—“Sierra?”

“Yeah?”

“I will give you one point of extra credit right now if you open this email for me.”

She blinks. “Seriously?”

“Two if you read it out to me.”

“Okay!”

Percy scoots out of the way, pressing his eyes into the palms of his hands. He might actually be sick.

He barely has a chance to hope that he didn’t leave anything embarrassing open on his computer, before her soft voice quotes, “Thank you for your application for the Campbell Fellowship for Bronze Age Research at the American Society of Underwater Archaeology. Attached is a letter about the status of your application.”

His heart is beating so loud, he’s surprised she can’t hear it. “Is that it?”

“Well, there’s also the letter.”

With his face covered, she can’t see him roll his eyes. “Can you read the letter as well, please?” Undergrads. Di immortales.

There’s a beat where Percy thinks he might actually explode, and then, her voice barely audible over the blood racing in his ears, he hears her read: “We are pleased to inform you that—”

“Wait.”

Pleased?

He stands. “I got in?”

“Uh—”

Perhaps a tad rudely, he yanks the computer out of her hands, bringing it up to his face. For once in his life, his dyslexia doesn’t act up, entirely cooperative as he reads for himself, in neat, tidy, Times New Roman: We are pleased to inform you that the ASUA has awarded you the Campbell Fellowship for Bronze Age Research for the upcoming academic year.

He gapes.

“Professor?” Sierra asks, shyly.

He’s in.

He’s in!

“I got it!” He shouts. Every head in the exam room shoots up, staring at him.

“You got it?” echoes Sierra.

Brandishing his computer, he can only gesture to the screen, excitement bubbling up in him like a Coke about to explode. “I got the fellowship!”

Fifteen pairs of eyes blink at him, uncomprehendingly.

“Uh, I’ll be right back.” Inelegantly, he plops his computer back down on the desk, snatching up his phone. “Give me—give me five minutes. Stay put.”

Bounding up the steps of the lecture hall, he already has the phone to his ear, dial tone ringing, and he barely makes it out of the room before his wife picks up.

“Percy?”

Now, Percy’s wife is a legitimate genius. She has known him almost her entire life, and in that time, she’s become a master at picking up the little nuances of his voice, the change in tone indicating the little undercurrents of emotion, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. She also knows that he knows that calling her in the middle of the workday is generally not helpful, as she’s usually in a meeting or deep in the zone, and taking her out of it is bound to mess up her flow for the rest of the day.

But of course, Annabeth is a genius. She knows him inside and out. And she knows he wouldn’t call if it weren’t extremely important.

“Annabeth—”

She doesn’t even let him finish. “You got in?”

He grins. “I got in!”

Over the phone, she gasps. “He got in!” Through the tinny connection, he hears her office cheering.

And in the empty hallway, he jumps for joy, punching his fist in the air.

***

Because his wife is brilliant, Percy doesn’t even realize that their walking date ends at the Greek Embassy until the three of them turn the corner. It’s just one of her many talents, making sure that Percy gets to his appointment on time.

Percy wouldn’t exactly call it the perfect weather for a walking date. Gray clouds blanket the sky, enveloping the tips of skyscrapers in mist, and through the alleyways, the wind howls, whipping at their jackets, sending Percy’s messy hair into further disarray. Even Annabeth, who has recently taken to keeping her curls in a short bob with a rotating collection of headbands so that they don’t get in my gods-damned eyes so I can see what I’m working on, isn’t faring much better. Still, he’s out with his wife and daughter, enjoying a leisurely walk down the streets of New York, and it’s hard to be in a bad mood with that kind of positive energy around. “Alright,” he announces, slowing to a stop outside the consulate. “Here we are.”

Automatically, Annabeth looks up, appraising the exterior, and Percy merely grins, awaiting her judgment.

She frowns. “That’s the embassy?”

Percy nods. “Uh huh.”

“But it’s so… nothing.”

He shrugs, readjusting his backpack, gripping the strap before it slides off his shoulder onto the wet pavement. In his other hand is his eldest daughter’s, squeezing it tight as she twirls around, her sneakers making little whirlpools beneath her feet. “That’s what I thought.”

Now, technically, it is a Tuesday, and Junie should have been in Pre-K, wowing all her teachers and outperforming all the other kids by a mile. But, well… turns out the genes run a little bit deeper than just looks. The teacher had not been exactly sure how Junie had managed to flood the classroom via the little sink in the corner, but it seemed pretty clear that she had. She hadn’t been expelled, exactly, but it had been suggested she seek education and enrichment somewhere else. Honestly, Percy and Annabeth were a little charmed by it. Apples and trees and all of that. But they did worry that it heralded things to come.

“I mean, there’s nothing,” Annabeth says again, craning her neck upwards. “No decoration, no sculpture… There’s nothing there!”

“Nothing but pilasters.”

She gags.

“At least the one in Boston is next to the bar from Cheers.”

She blinks at him, uncomprehending, and Percy makes a note to himself.

“So how long do you think this will take?” she asks.

“Dunno.”

“Because if it’s not that long we can just wait out here for you.”

He shakes his head, kissing her on the cheek. “Don’t waste the rest of your lunch break on me.” Besides, his back itches in the way that means it’s probably going to rain soon. “I’ll pick up Lucie from my mom’s place, and I’ll have dinner ready by the time you get home.”

Percy is long-since immune to the domesticity of such a statement. Or at least he thought he was, because the way Annabeth grins at him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a stronger kiss, makes him want to do a little jig with Junie, right here on the sidewalk.

His daughter certainly seems to agree, if the way she spins faster is any indication.

Annabeth slides her own bag off her shoulder, and pulls out a bulky file folder, handing it to him. “One last check?”

“Hit me.”

“Award letter?”

“Check,” he says, thumbing through the pages.

“Proof of insurance?”

“Check.”

“Background check?”

“With fingerprints, and without allegations of underage terrorism.” That had been a fun and nerve-wracking experience, getting his fingerprints taken. He had been sweating bullets for a week, expecting his brief career in monument-related arson to have the FBI kicking his door down.

“Visa application?”

“Plus immunization forms, birth certificate with apostille, and two hundred dollars cash.”

“Passport?”

He blinks. “I thought you had it.”

Annabeth snaps her gaze to him, eyes blazing. “Are you serious?”

“Kidding!” Reaching into the folder, he pulls out his shiny new passport, flapping it in the air. “Kidding.”

She swats at him. “Seaweed brain…”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, kissing her again. “It’s all good, promise.”

“Don’t be an idiot in front of the ambassadors, or whoever it is you meet in there, okay? Save your dumbassery for something less high-stakes.”

Scoffing, he slips the passport back into the folder. “Excuse you, my dumbassery is only reserved for the lowest of low-stakes operations.”

“Just go and get your stupid visa.”

Percy crouches down. “See you soon, Honey Dew,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Go have fun with mommy!”

Junie’s only response is to kick water in his direction.

Yes, he stands and watches them leave, smothering a laugh, even as it begins to drizzle on him, until they turn the corner.

After checking in with the security guard at the door, he is directed to sit in the hallway, on a low, uncomfortable wooden bench. The floor is not marble, but it has the same kind of glossy shine to it, in a black and white checkered pattern that makes his eyes hurt. Tapping his foot, he casts his gaze around for something to focus on, and finds very little but blank walls, dim, yellow lights, and a fake marble statue in the corner of the winged, headless Nike (he knows that one on sight—Cabin 17 had made their own replica with an intact-head and placed it on their cabin roof after a series of Hermes-related pranks gone awry).

Directly across from him, mounted on the wall, is a large, nearly-square painting. From his vantage point on the bench, Percy can make out a brown landscape, a blue, cloudy sky, and… not much else. There are lines of white blobs, dots of red and green and blue, and it takes Percy an embarrassingly long time to realize that they are people. Okay, the blue blobs are cannons, and the white are soldiers, he presumes. The subject begins to take shape, clues falling into place before his eyes.

Percy is, after all, quite familiar with sieges.

He checks his watch. He made sure to arrive five minutes before his appointment, but it’s been fifteen minutes, and so far no one has come to collect him.

Returning his attention to the painting, for lack of anything else to do, he stands, leaving his folder on the bench, and walks over for a better look. He can see much more clearly this close, can much more easily make out the lines of attackers and defenders. The white-robed people, armed with curved swords, are defending some kind of castle on a hill, with walls and towers and… columns.

He frowns, tilting his head.

In the center, towards the top of the canvas, is undoubtedly a temple of some kind. He counts eleven columns, gleaming white, in a row, with a gaping hole in the middle, filled instead with a circular building with a terracotta roof. Beneath the temple, on the slope, are even more columns, and a wall unevenly dotted with arched openings.

There is something eerily familiar about the image that he just can’t quite place.

What the hell is it?

But he doesn’t have too much more time to dwell on it. “Mr. Jackson?”

An older woman with a shock of white hair strides towards him, her heels (her very tall heels, dang) clacking against the not-marble.

“Yes. Ms. Georgopoulou?”

She shakes his hand, firm despite her age. Her wrists have so many bangles, maybe it’s a covert kind of weight training. “Yes,” she nods. “Please, follow me.”

He takes a step to follow, before remembering that he left all his shit on the bench.

Swiping it from the bench, he turns, grinning sheepishly, only to see that she is already halfway down the hallway. Percy has to actually jog to catch up with her.

Several turns and one staircase later, Percy is in her office, seated on a leather chair that has seen better days, all but twiddling his thumbs while she painstakingly types in his application information. Which seems kind of a waste of time to him. On Paul’s recommendation, Percy had filled out his application on the computer, as he did not want to subject some poor admin worker to his terrible handwriting. If she’s just going to retype everything, why don’t they make the whole system digital?

Ms. Georgopoulou types slowly, precisely, her bracelets occasionally scraping against the ancient-looking keyboard. Every so often, she will gaze at him over the thick, brown rim of her glasses, appraisingly.

He stretches his mouth in a not-quite smile, feeling, once again, like a little kid who’s been sent to the principal’s office, waiting for the inevitable scolding or dressing down or disappointed sigh at his “antics.”

Squinting, she takes another look at his passport. “Ah!” Then she beams, years shedding from her face. “Perseus?”

He pauses. Only monsters call him by his first name.

Surreptitiously, he slips his hand into his pocket, fingering his pen, tensing his legs just in case he has to make a run for it. Wouldn’t be the first time an old lady turned into a demon, but boy does he wish it happened less often. It’s not even surprising at this point anymore. “Yes?”

But then, she does something maybe even scarier than spit venom at him.

She starts speaking at him in Greek.

He’s sure he looks like a dumbass, sitting there, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Um,” he starts. “Uh, I don’t—I don’t speak Greek.”

Which is true. He technically speaks ancient Greek because of magic genetic fuckery. But modern Greek? It’s about as foreign to him as Korean. Except he’s actually picked up some Korean just from the restaurant down the block from his mom’s first apartment. So really, it’s about as foreign to him as, like, Martian would be, or something.

Ms. Georgopoulou hmms at him, a wordless judgement, and goes back to her typing.

It feels like an eternity before she talks to him again. “You have somewhere to say?”

Percy nods, grateful for English. “I’ll be living in, uh, Piraeus.” Though he imagines he’ll mostly be living on his boat, or whatever island he ends up closest to for however long it takes to re-survey whatever part of the ocean he’ll be in.

More typing. She flips through Percy’s sheaf of papers, frowning. “Where is your proof of insurance?”

For a heartbeat, he panics.

Oh gods, did he forget the insurance?

He snatches them out of her hands, his own trembling as he thumbs through them. There’s no way he forgot the insurance. He and Annabeth double-checked, triple-checked—

“Here we go!” Percy brandishes the lucky paper, relief so intense it almost makes him dizzy. “Got my insurance right here.”

Thankfully for his nerves, the meeting wraps up fairly quickly after that. Percy hands over the cash for the visa fee (no card, no check, cash only, because of course), and is summarily shown the door, letting him know that he will be notified about the status of his visa application in no less than fifteen days.

More waiting. Joy.

Still, Ms. Georgopoulou is nice enough to lead him back out of the labyrinth of the consulate, rather than let him embarrass himself further by getting lost. Walking once again through the hallway with the painting and the checkered floor, he spies that same painting out of the corner of his vision, the one with the siege and the temple and all the little blobby figures—and it hits him, all at once.

“Oh!” he exclaims, stopping dead in his tracks. “It’s the Acropolis!” Because what else would it be?

Ms. Georgopoulou eyes him, oddly. “It is,” she agrees, with a tone that she probably uses on her grandkids. Her dumb grandkids. “See?”

She gestures to the label, and Percy has to squint to read the tiny letters.

The Siege of the Acropolis, reads the caption, once he manages to make the letters fall into place. Painting by Panagiotis Zografos, under the guidance of Yannis Makriyannis.

So he’s off to a great start.

***

Frederick Chase takes them all out for dinner the evening his visa arrives—by which he means all of them, including his mom, Paul, Estelle, and Junie and Lucie. They get a big corner booth in the back of a fancy, Japanese-Spanish fusion restaurant that one of Percy’s grad student colleagues had recommended, for which Percy is infinitely grateful, as Frederick had suggested a Greek restaurant at first, before Annabeth commented that Percy would soon be eating his weight in Greek food, and would probably prefer something else for the time being.

Some concern had been expressed about the littles one finding something to eat, but Estelle had taken to the chicken katsu with aplomb, and Junie had eaten enough of the tempura green beans that Percy wasn’t too sure there’d be room for dessert.

She sits in Percy’s lap now, painting water trails with her straw on the wood of the table, while his mom holds Lucie so Annabeth can run to the bathroom. Frederick, on his third glass of wine and more animated than Percy can ever remember seeing him, is regaling them all with stories from his own research trips, a handful of which had taken him to the Mediterranean.

“Let’s see,” he begins, counting off his fingers. “I’ve been to… Sardinia, Malta, Samos, Samothrace, Lemnos—oh, Lemnos!” The wine in his glass almost sloshes over the rim, and Paul has to move out of the way of his elbow. “Lemnos was wonderful. Such a lovely, remote island with all these incredible volcanic formations, and did you know that ANZAC used the island as a staging ground for the Gallipoli campaign?”

“Oh, really?” Asks his mom, genuinely interested.

“That’s what I was there for—I wanted to see whether the Axis had used the geography in the same, or set up their bases and commands in roughly the same places, as part of a broader investigation into how the Axis built off leftover infrastructure outside of Germany. In any case, I had a letter from the Ministry of Culture, I had all my permits, I even had the Deputy Ambassador notify the local Air Force base when I would be arriving.” He pauses to take a sip of wine. “All I needed was one historical map from the 1910s—just one—but the local commander would not let me look at it!”

Paul gasps, a little theatrical. The wine must be hitting him, too. “No!”

“Oh, yes. The man would not budge. Kept citing national security concerns. I told him, in not so many words mind you, but I told him that I had come all this way to see this darn map, and that the Greco-Turkish war had been over for almost a hundred years at that point, and not only was there no reason to keep the contents of the map classified, but satellite technology made the whole thing moot anyway, so what was the harm in letting me take a look?”

Chuckling, Percy spears the last of his potatoes, popping it into his mouth. He’s heard this story before, heard all about how Frederick managed to convince the stodgy Greek Air Force commander to let him study the map by promising him a citation in his article.

“So,” he goes on, “I am arguing with this man for what feels like hours, until finally he’s called away for something or other, and that’s when I realize.” Frederick leans in, a savage glint in his eye that Percy instantly recognizes as Annabeth’s war games face. “I don’t know what they were doing with it, I don’t know why it was there, but there, on his desk, was the map—and there, in the corner, was a copier.”

“Wait,” says Sally. Percy takes a drink of water. “Did you—”

“Make an illegal copy of a classified map from 1917 and smuggle it back to Virginia? Of course.”

Percy spittakes so hard it nearly comes out on his daughter’s head. Estelle thumps his back while he coughs, spots appearing in his eyes.

“Alright there, Percy?”

“Yeah,” he wheezes, “I just never heard that version before.”

Frederick blinks, cocking his head. He looks so much like his daughter it’s actually scary. “You haven’t?”

“You told me you managed to convince him by promising to put him in your article!”

“I did?”

“Yes!”

“Oh.” He flushes slightly, sheepishly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “Well, I, ah, must have given you the, um, undergrad version.” At Sally and Paul’s concerned look, he rushes to assure them, “Don’t worry, it was declassified the next year!”

Looking plenty worried, his mom shifts her concern from Frederick to Lucie, a grin creasing across her face. “Aw, sweetheart,” she coos, “looks like someone needs a change.”

Suppressing the last few coughs, Percy shifts Junie to Frederick, who is more than happy to take his granddaughter from him. “I got it,” he says, standing. “If the waiter comes back, make sure to order me some matcha brownies, yeah?”

Luckily, they’re already in the back, so it doesn’t take too long for Percy, kiddo and new diaper in hand, to make his way to the bathroom, and summarily run into Annabeth, who is just coming out of the women’s room, flicking her hands clean of water. “Oh!” She laughs, “fancy meeting you here.”

“Come here often?”

She grins, then shifts her attention away. Not that Percy is upset by that. “Hi sweetie,” she coos, wiggling her fingers. Lucie laughs, and Percy falls in love all over again. “Everything okay?”

“Just time for a diaper change.”

Annabeth steps aside, with a grand sweep of her arm. “Be my guest.”

The bathroom does not have stalls, and Percy breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not his fault that men’s rooms don’t generally have changing tables, and it’s nice not to get weird looks while taking care of his daughter. Or when Annabeth comes up behind him, and wraps her arms around him, hugging his torso, face buried in his shoulder blades. Like she is right now.

“I love you,” she mumbles into his back.

“I love you, too.” He cleans and changes Lucie with all the speed and grace of someone who’s done this a million times, and as he looks at his daughter’s face, feels the warmth of his wife pressed up against his back, the muffled noise of the restaurant and all of New York city in the distance, the sounds of the city as familiar as a lullaby, he is struck with an almost painful pang of longing. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Annabeth tightens her arms around him. “It’s only for a few weeks. We’ll be there before you know it.”

“I can’t remember the last time we’ve been apart for so long.”

“Apart from being kidnapped by a rogue goddess?”

“Yeah, exactly. I can’t remember it.”

She snorts.

Picking up his clean kid, he bounces her in his arms, and is rewarded with a giggle. She’s just about old enough to transition out of diapers. She’s growing up so fast. “It just feels so real, now,” he says, quietly. “The visa, the plane ticket… I’m really going.”

“You are.” She comes around to his side, her hand never leaving his arm. “You’re going to go to Greece for twelve months, dazzle the crap out of the other archaeologists with your million shipwreck discoveries, and not have to deal with any grading or any undergrads the whole time. And we’ll be right there with you, the whole time.”

“Almost the whole time.”

“Almost,” she conceded.

“I just—I don’t want to waste this opportunity. I’m not…”

“What? Not smart enough?”

He shrugs.

In response, she rolls her eyes, then gently cuffs him upside the head. “Ow!”

“Percy,” she says, dead serious. “Do you know how many people apply for things like this?”

“I dunno… a few?”

“Try at least thirty per cycle. These are really prestigious grants. People apply from all over the world, in all stages of their careers. And you, seaweed brain,” she pokes him with her finger. “Beat out the competition.”

He feels the grin stretch across his face, slowly. “I did, didn’t I?”

“We did.” She kisses him. “Half of that proposal is mine.”

“The better half.”

“Of course.”

“Your name should be on this visa.”

“And it would be, if I could breathe underwater.”

“I can’t wait for you all to join me,” he says, eyes going misty.

Annabeth kisses him again. “We’ll be right behind you.”

They’re in the bathroom so long, dessert has already come and gone, but his mom manages to snag a matcha brownie for him before Paul gobbles them all up. Frederick leads them all in one last toast, to Percy’s great academic finds or whatever, but the true highlight of the night is when Annabeth nudges Junie, who, with a gasp of almost-forgetfulness, pulls out the little thing he’d seen her working at for the last few weeks, proudly presenting it to him.

“I made this for you, daddy,” Junie announces to the table. “I hope you like it!”

In her hands is a friendship bracelet, patterned with the Greek wave in blue and light green. Some of the waves are uneven, the crests a bit clunky, but in the center, Junie had woven an evil eye symbol in white.

“I love it,” he croaks. “Thank you so much.”

“Mommy helped with the mati, but I picked the colors.” She points at the band. “Blue is for the ocean. The green is for honey dew!”

He cannot stand it—he hugs his daughter, and doesn’t stop himself from crying.

***

Percy, who in the last seventy-two hours, has suffered air travel, jetlag, a mattress as soft as a concrete slab, the Athenian metro system, and one really, really steep hill, now faces his final challenge of the day. Swallowing his fear, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair, and steps up to the front desk of the library.

"Ah, signomi," he stammers, the word strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. The syllables are pretty close to ancient Greek, but the way they fit together is just… weird. "I have an appointment with, um, Aristides?"

The older lady at the front desk peers up at him over the rim of her glasses, her wrinkled hands resting on the pages of a yellowed book. With her red-dyed hair, large frames (are those Chanel?), enormous jewelry, and heavy eyeshadow, she reminds Percy of every school librarian he's ever had.

She leans in, hand to her ear, one eyebrow cocked. "Eh?"

"Aristides?" he repeats, a little louder. It echoes throughout the main hall of the library, and he does his best not to wince.

"Ah, Aristides!" She perks up, babbling at him in Greek. "Edaxi," she says, "one moment, please," before rising from her seat, and floating across the hall, where she disappears behind a large, wooden door.

Unsure if he should sit at one of the tables, Percy elects to stand, hands gripping the strap of his backpack, tapping his heel against the floor. An older patron in the corner of the room, his table piled high with books almost tall enough to wall him off from the world, glares at him.

It's a beautiful little library. The attached museum had been a beautiful little thing, too, and if it weren’t the middle of the night on the east coast, he would have called her up himself, and shown her around via video.

He channels her now as he looks around, observing. The outside had been all neoclassical, almost beating you over the head with it, with perfect, fluted ionic columns, tapering gently at the top. Inside, beautiful, grand, wooden bookshelves surround the room, their contents locked behind glass. Some of them he can read instantly, of course—the library has a hefty collection of ancient Greek literature after all—but the rest swims in front of his eyes, scratchy gold lettering blurring together with blue and red leather. Wandering over to something that won't make his head hurt, he stops in front of a glass display of a book, open to a delicately printed page of text.

It’s in Greek—ancient Greek, thank the gods—and to his delight, it’s the first few lines of the Iliad. Instantly, his shoulders unwind, and he relaxes enough to lean down and take a closer look, quietly mouthing the familiar words to himself. Percy doesn’t even bother with the label, instead tracing his eyes over the floral linework in the header illustration. He sees ram heads, fish, and pumpkins in the little cornucopia, and some kind of gorgon mask in the big, illuminated “Mu” that begins the poem. His master’s thesis had been a new translation of the Aeneid, but during that process he had come to appreciate the art of old, fancy editions of epic poems. It was kind of cool to see a physical, non-magical link to his past. He might be living proof of the Olympian gods, but plenty of mortals had dedicated their lives to carrying that legacy forward on faith and passion alone. And now Percy will carry it forward, too, without using his sword this time. It’s pretty cool, if you think about it.

A quiet voice behind him breaks the spell. "Mr. Jackson?"

Percy turns, and is greeted by a well-dressed man, probably in his early 40s. He looks as Greek as Greek can be, with a great beak of a nose and thick, wavy, salt and pepper hair. “Percy,” he insists, reaching out to shake his hand. “Thanks so much for meeting with me, Mr. Yiannopoulos.”

“Please,” he returns, in a perfect American accent. “Call me Ari. Come on, let’s talk in my office.”

His office is huge, definitely bigger than Percy’s apartment back home, and covered wall-to-wall with books, in so many languages that it makes his head spin. As Percy closes the door behind them, Ari sheds his suit jacket, tossing it over a spare chair squashed between two teetering piles of books. He gets the sense that this guy and Frederick would get along famously.

“You get settled in alright, Praetor? No problems with the apartment?”

Percy sets down his backpack on the 70s-era linoleum floor. The things he’s picked up from Annabeth still astound him. “Yeah, it’s fine. But getting here was a journey, let me tell you.”

“I’d bet,” says Ari, evenly.

“That hill is killer.”

“They’re building a new metro station in the neighborhood, but it won’t open for another few years probably.”

“How do you stand it?”

Ari shrugs, sitting down behind his desk. “Practice, mostly. But I live on campus here.”

“Heh, must be nice.” Percy sits in the chair opposite him, zipping open his backpack and rummaging around for his documents folder… until something occurs to him, and he suddenly shoots his head up. “Did you just call me ‘Praetor’?”

“Took you long enough.”

He blinks. “You’re a Roman?”

“Yep.” Ari rolls up his sleeve, revealing the familiar, stark harp symbol, with twelve lines beneath it, signifying twelve years of service. “Third generation legacy.”

Something in his brain might be broken. Or maybe it's jetlag. “You’re a Roman… but you work for the Greek government?”

Ari raises his brow right back. “And you’re a Greek, but you teach Latin.”

That does not at all clear anything up for him. “Did you know who I was when I applied?”

He shakes his head. “I only learned you were coming after the review committee circulated the applicants. I saw your name, and I had to basically beg my supervisor to let me be your liaison.”

“Okay… Why?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Percy doesn’t think he looks particularly glad. “Because, Praetor, you,” Ari glares at him, as sharp and pointed as the finger he’s thrusting into Percy’s face, “have a bad habit of attracting attention.”

Percy frowns. “Wait… Is this about the Gateway Arch? That was, like, fifteen years ago—”

“The Arch, Mount St Helens, the sinkhole in Rome,” he counts off his fingers. “Do you even know how much paperwork I had to do when you and your friends collapsed the Necromanteion in Epirus? Oh, and then you all decided that the best course of action would be to march on Athens and stage a battle on the Acropolis!” Ari slams his hand down on his wooden desk. “The Acropolis is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the entire world! We had to close the site for days! My bosses were about to have me crucified!”

Percy would scoff, but Ari is a Roman. He knows exactly what he’s talking about vis-a-vis crucifixion. “Well,” Percy counters, “my bosses were going to have me—and also you—obliterated if I hadn’t gone there.”

Ari glares again, a wolf stare so perfectly intimidating it could only have been taught by Lupa. It probably works on the skittish undergrads and beleaguered government employees he has to deal with on a daily basis. But Percy has also trained at Lupa’s knee. He’s faced the Titan king and the goddess of Earth. He has stared down Athena while hiding underneath a pastry cart—and has seen the exact same look on his two year old when she doesn’t want to be put down for a nap.

Sensing, perhaps, that he is outmatched, Ari blinks first. “Fine,” he grinds out, “but I’m giving you an assistant.”

“What? I don’t need—”

“Oh, yes you do. A grant this big comes with serious scrutiny, which will fall on my shoulders if you decide to trash another priceless heritage site.” He turns to his computer, quickly typing something out. “I’m sending you his resume right now. You are not to leave him behind or waste his time with useless data entry.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, he knows his way around a boat.”

Percy gapes, his whole day suddenly upended. In all his time preparing for the fellowship, he had not expected that he’d have a permanent hanger-on. Especially one he knows nothing about! “You can’t just saddle me with some mortal assistant and call it a day!”

Ari levels him with another look. “Don’t be stupid—I’m sending you a legionnaire.”

“A kid?”

“Yep.” Ari finishes typing with a final clack that brokers no argument, before swivelling back to face him. “You can pick him up from the port when you head out Thursday morning. He’ll be waiting for you at Terminal B.” From a desk drawer, he pulls out a folder, sliding it across to Percy. “I’ve booked you two tickets for an overnight ferry to Crete. You’ll have one day to settle in Heraklion before you start your first survey. Any questions?”

Flabbergasted beyond speech, Percy can only take the folder.

“Great.” He stands up, and goes over to open the door to his office. “I’ll be checking in with you next week. Have a safe trip, Praetor.”

***

“How’s the kid?” Annabeth asks.

Percy groans, dropping his head back.

Over the Iris Message, Annabeth snorts. “That bad?”

“No,” Percy admits. “He’s actually been really helpful.”

“Then what is it?”

In truth, there isn’t a lot to complain about Arthur Taylor. A son of the Roman god Portunes, Arthur had spent the better part of his childhood sailing around the world with his mortal dad, before they settled in San Francisco when he was fourteen. After two years in New Rome High School, he had tested out of most of the classes, and was given permission by the Senate to take his senior year off for a long term Legion assignment—which, apparently, just so happened to be babysitting Percy.

Still, he’s a good kid. He’s an excellent sailor, knows how to operate the very expensive diving equipment that Percy had to rent for appearances’ sake, and, to be quite honest, keeps Percy from going insane by giving him someone to talk to.

There is just one slight problem.

“He keeps calling me ‘Mr. Jackson’!”

Annabeth, the heartless woman that she is, just laughs at him.

“I’m serious!” He whines. “It’s weird!”

“You know that I’m Mrs. Jackson, right?” She flashes the ring at him for good measure, like he’d ever forget one of the best days of his life. “What’s so bad about that?”

“It makes me feel so old.”

“I’m older than you.”

“And you’re aging beautifully.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans. Then she yawns.

Percy frowns. “It’s not that late over there.” It’s only 8 AM here, and Annabeth seriously lives up to the night owl stereotype.

“No, but I haven’t really been sleeping well for a few days,” she admits. “Taking care of all three of us is hard work.”

A pang goes through him, cutting through the gentle morning sun filtering through the window. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Sally’s pitched in a few times, and my dad has started sending me those fancy microwave meals.” She shrugs a shoulder, her t-shirt sliding down and showing some skin. Percy tries not to stare like a teenager. “We’ve been getting by just fine.”

“I know.” And he does. Annabeth wouldn’t let a little something like her inability to cook stop her from being the best mom ever. “I just miss you guys so much.”

Smiling softly, she leans forward, and he copies the movement. “We’ll be there next week,” she reminds him, “which means we’ll see you in just three weeks.”

“What if I just cut my survey short and met you in Athens?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time. Besides, yesterday you told me you were onto something?”

Was it only yesterday? Gods, Percy’s sense of time is shredded out here. They’ve only been surveying for a little over two weeks, but it simultaneously feels like forever and no time at all. The only way Percy can really mark the passage of time is by his twice daily IMs back home. “Maybe,” he hedges. “I talked to some sharks the other day, and they said I should try and find this nymph who’s lived in this part of the bay since the twelfth century.”

“Any luck yet?”

“Not yet, but they said she liked to scare the tourists sailing back and forth from Chrysi.”

“Is that daddy?” Junie waddles into view, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“Baby, you’re up so late!” Annabeth hoists their oldest into her lap, so she can get a better view. “What’s the matter?”

“Hafta go potty,” she mumbles. “Heard talking. Hi, daddy.”

“Hi, Honey Dew,” he says, almost tearing up. He misses his family so fucking much. “Are you being good for mommy?”

She nods, her eyes still droopy. “Miss you.”

“I miss you, too, kiddo. But I’ll get to see you in just a few weeks! And then we’ll have our big boat adventure!”

Smiling, she snuggles into Annabeth, burying her face in her t-shirt. “Adventure,” she repeats, dreamily.

“Come on, let’s go potty so you can go back to bed.” Annabeth took their daughter’s hand, waving at Percy from thousands of miles away. “Bye, daddy! Have fun on your survey!”

“Good night, baby!”

“Night night,” his daughter says, clumsily flopping her arm.

“Night, Percy,” says Annabeth. “Talk to you in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

Annabeth blows him a kiss through the IM, and he catches it, rubbing it on his cheek, before swiping a hand through the image of her sticking her tongue out at him.

Good timing—from above, he hears Arthur ring the horn to signal they’ve arrived. Percy emerges from below onto the deck, shading his eyes against the bright morning sun. “Morning, Captain!” Arthur calls from the wheel. “We’re coming up on site 23B.”

“Excellent.” That’s the other great thing about Arthur. Aside from all of his other skills, he is also a whiz at deciphering their legacy data. “How’s the weather looking?”

“Another perfect day.”

They are currently cruising off the southern coast of Crete, cruising easily over the most perfect, bluest ocean Percy has ever seen in his life, beneath a bright, clear sky. It’s hard for the weather to not be perfect here.

“Alright,” Percy says, “if that’s the case, do you think you can head back to Ierapetra and pick up some more supplies?” Their little galley kitchen may be powerful, but it’s still pretty small, and they need to restock every few days.

“Sure thing,” says Arthur. “Any requests?”

“Just clear out their entire stock of peach juice for me.” It may not be blue, but it is delicious.

Arthur opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but then closes it, ducking his head, embarrassed.

“What is it?”

“Um,” Arthur hedges, hands gripping the wheel, “would it be okay if I took some time to go check something out in town?”

Percy frowns. “Sure. Is everything okay?” They haven’t been accosted by monsters yet, but he figures it’s only a matter of time. “Do you need backup?”

“What? Oh,” Arthur flushes. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to sight-see a bit.”

“Sight-see?”

He nods. “There’s this house—supposedly, in 1798, Napoleon docked in town, incognito, for a single night, before he headed on to Egypt for the Mediterranean campaign.”

The kid’s been all over the world, has docked in every continent except Antarctica, but he’s practically bouncing to go check out some random house that maybe has a connection to the Napoleonic wars. Grinning, Percy makes a note to introduce Arthur to Dr. Chase at some point. “Sure,” he says. “Have fun.”

Arthur beams. “Thank you, Mr. Jackson!” And he looks so excited, Percy can’t even bring himself to be annoyed with the whole “Mr. Jackson” thing.

And if Percy decides to give the boat a little push after he dives in so that Arthur can get to shore faster… Well, there are multiple benefits to this decision. Arthur gets to shore faster, and Percy gets to have some time to himself.

Hey, just because having the kid around keeps him from going crazy doesn’t mean he doesn’t need some Percy-time.

Percy lets himself sink further down, enveloped by the warm, crystal clear blue water. Eyes closed, he tilts his head up towards the surface, breathing out a stream of bubbles, his t-shirt gently wafting in the calm undercurrents. A school of something swims past him, tickling his arms and face like a soft breeze.

Yeah. This is the life.

For a few solid hours, he just lets himself be moved around by the will of the ocean. He moves in something approaching a circle, simply drifting around the island of Chrysi. Dappled sunlight drapes like lace over the rocky seafloor and patches of seagrass, while parades of colorful fish stop in their tracks to look for a second at the weird obstacle in their migration path, before continuing on around him. Eventually, the current takes him by the waist and draws him further from shore, into the deepening dark of the sea. Beneath him, he can sense the slowly sharpening descent of the ocean floor, stretching further and further, past the hunting grounds of squids and octopus until, he knows, some hundreds of meters further south, the ground suddenly gives way to a steep, sudden cliff. And what lies beyond, no one knows.

Which is crazy to Percy. He’s seen the surveys, read the topographical maps, and even asked his dad, but despite the seventy or so years of dedicated surveying and the literal thousands of years of nautical travel and trade, there are still, somehow, unknowns in the Mediterranean. There are creatures down here even his father doesn’t know. There is magic here older than the gods themselves.

And there is also a nereid staring at Percy from behind a tall rock.

He yelps, tripping on himself. Yes, tripping underwater. It happens, and it’s just as silly as tripping on land. “Ahem. Hello?”

The nereid pokes her head out further. She’s pretty in the way that all nereids are pretty, by virtue of being an immortal in a pantheon full of pretty people, but there’s something distinctly different about her. Her skin is pale, her hair somehow sticking to her face, like she had just emerged from underwater… despite still being underwater.

Percy chances a swim closer. She doesn’t immediately run away, but she still seems pretty shaken up by the appearance of a sudden stranger. “Hey. Uh, I’m Percy. What’s your name?”

Her eyes widen, and she squeaks, blushing blue to the roots of her glossy, black hair. “My lord!” She bows, nearly tumbling into a full front flip, her long, skinny tail flipping against the rock with a thump so loud, Percy can feel the vibrations.

Oh good. She knows who he is. “Hi.”

“Hello! Good morning! Um, afternoon? My lord!”

The water ripples out from around her, shaking so hard she’s starting to cause her own localized whirlpool. “Percy is fine. Please.”

The nereid nods, sharply. “Lord Percy!”

Well, that’s about as far as he’s going to get.

She stares at him, starry-eyed, but still nervous. Also, she doesn’t look like she’s about to make off with him and drag him to her undersea lair, so that’s a plus. “So… what’s your name?”

“Eunice, Lord Percy!”

“Great—wait. Eunice?”

“Yes!”

Eunice. Huh. Well, he’s heard weirder. “Eunice. You live around here?”

She nods, her hair whipping in the current.

“I’m looking for—”

“For shipwrecks! Yes! Your father told us!”

“Right.” Oh he’s well aware. He’s had random nereids accosting him all summer to tell him about the incredibly fascinating sunken lobster fishing boats off the coast of Maine they had found, and how about they go check them out together, just the two of them? “Well, actually, I was talking to Kostas the other day—”

“The squid?”

“The shark.”

She nods. “I know him well! We are good friends!”

That had not been Kostas’ version of events. “He said you might know something about a bronze age wreck around here?” Specificity is important, he’s learned. There are so many shipwrecks around Crete, mostly from the last forty years, and specificity means he’s not wasting time chasing Cold War-era fishing vessels.

In lieu of an answer, instead she turns and bolts into the deep, almost smacking Percy in the face with her tail.

He stares after her.

Then, just as quickly as she left, she swims back, beckoning with one webbed hand. “Please, Lord Percy! Follow me!” And then she shoots off once more.

O… kay.

With only some trepidation, he swims after her.

She’s fast, and the further they go, the more she blends into the environment, but the sea puts his senses into overdrive. He can easily follow her bubble trail, weaving in and out of spiky rock formations, inching ever closer to—where else—the edge of that underwater cliff. Because of course. “Hey, Eunice,” he calls out. “Where are we going?”

“We seek the edge of the Minoan Crown, my lord!” She sends back. Which means absolutely nothing to him.

But it’s not like he can get lost, so, onwards and upwards. Or downwards, as the case may be.

The water grows colder, blacker, heavier. Pressure curls around his ankles and wrists like weights, but Eunice is not stopping, so Percy swims through the water as thick and heavy as molasses. He can still breathe down here, but something about the water is just… different. Awkward. Like it almost doesn’t fit in his lungs. More disconcertingly, he feels like he can barely see, the darkness is so impenetrable.

“Nearly there!” Eunice calls cheerfully. Percy wipes his brow, suddenly sweaty.

“Nearly there” turns out to be something of an overestimation, but eventually, she makes a right turn, and comes to a hard stop, Percy nearly barreling into her.

“Here, prince,” she says, approaching a dark shape in the dark(er) water. “Look.”

This deep, in this thick, complete darkness, he’s essentially blind. Still, he can sense that they are in an underwater cave, some five thousand or so meters beneath the surface. He has an impression of spiky stalagmites and packed sand. Cautious, he swims closer. His eyes essentially useless, he closes them, reaching out with his feelings instead.

The water here is still, unnaturally so. There is no life, no movement, aside from the gentle wave of Eunice’s hair. A cold hand brushes against his arm, and his eyes snap open as he jerks away in shock—not at the touch, but at the fact that he can suddenly see.

Eunice is softly glowing. Her skin, already so pale, is translucent, enough that he can see her bones, but now he can also see the bioluminescent spines protruding from her forearms, casting the cave in an eerie, almost ultraviolet light. “Be at ease,” she says, her voice lower, suddenly confident. “I shall be your light.”

It’s not great. He’d rather have a flashlight. But it’s more than enough to see the smooth, wooden curve of the keel which rises up out of the packed sand of the cave floor, about six inches from his face. He places a hand on a plank, running his palm over the whorls and grain of a piece of wood which had somehow, miraculously, survived all this time.

“Whoa,” he breathes, a stream of bubbles escaping his mouth. How has the wood not completely disintegrated by now?

“You must take care, my lord.” Eunice waves a hand, redirecting the current. “This cave has never known the anemoi, and a hero’s breath is a dangerous thing.”

He frowns, and then it clicks. “This cave is anoxic,” he says. “There’s no oxygen down here.” And no oxygen means no wood-eating organisms. No wonder the keel is so intact.

She tilts her head at the unfamiliar word, frowning delicately, a personality change equal parts eerie and sudden.

“Nevermind.”

With his portable nereid spotlight in tow, he swims around the exposed body of the ship, his astonishment growing with every look. Not only is the keel intact, but so is the deck, as is the single exposed mast, rising up into the black water, a thick length of rope—rope!—attached to the top. Turning and swimming down, he examines the spot where the ship emerges from its sediment casing. If the wood and the rope had survived this long, what else might there be? A sail? Some paint? What if the ship’s cargo survived, too?

“Eunice,” he says, remembering to pull his face away. “How long has this thing been down here?”

She shrugs. “I cannot say for certain, for I had not yet come into being when this vessel came to rest in this cave, its passengers long since drowned.”

The question is out of his mouth before he has time to register that it might be a little bit rude. “How old are you?”

But she doesn’t seem to mind. Eunice smiles, her mouth full of long, sharp teeth, glinting in the light of her spines, and Percy shivers. He vastly prefers the awkward, nervous Eunice from earlier. “I am old enough to have guided the Argo safely through the clashing rocks, to have been challenged by Cassiopeia, and to have mourned the swift-footed son of Thetis, pouring honey and ambrosia over the silver casket of the greatest of warriors.”

So, about as old as the Trojan War, then.

Which means this ship is even older.

He places his hand on the wood, and closes his eyes again, focusing, a trick he’s picked up from Leo.

Machines have stories, and so do ships. How they’re made, how they work, how they’re broken. Percy just has to be willing to listen.

“It’s not a cargo ship,” he says, mostly to himself. “It was a warship.” He can hear it, the furious beat of drums, the rhythmic grunt of oarsmen, the sharpening of blades and the readying of bows. The wood, hewn from a cedar tree, is warm beneath his touch, even here in the freezing cold dark. “And it was sailing north.”

“North?”

“It was… running away from something.” Limping away from battle. The captain had cut his losses, and had ordered his men to retreat. “There was a storm.” No doubt his father and uncle had been fighting again, this sad little warship caught in the middle of an explosive family dispute they had no part in. Percy hears the crashing of thunder, the howling wind, the mighty crack of a mast as it splits apart. “And then it sank.”

An all-too common occurrence. But where did it come from?

Percy frowns, stretching his senses further.

He sees round shields and horned helmets, and people exhausted by constant war. There is the spicy, floral red lotus, and the earthy, woody papyrus. A mighty river floods in an endless cycle, giving life in a barren desert. And in him is a spirit that covets this bounty, a feeling of envy so hot and sudden, it almost knocks Percy off his feet.

He has to—he has to write all this down. If this is what he thinks this is, then this could be the find of a generation. Maybe several generations. Frantically patting his pockets, he pulls out Riptide, converting it to normal pen mode, before he stops, and smacks his forehead, groaning.

Di immortales, he left his notebook with Arthur on the ship!

***

“Absolutely not!”

“Ari—”

“No!”

“Ari, this could be huge.”

“You’re talking about causing an earthquake!”

“A small one!”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“How else am I supposed to get it out of the cave?”

“Arthur, tell me you think this is a bad idea.”

“Um…”

“Iuppiter dique te omnes perdant, Percy, you’ve gone and corrupted him.”

“Look, it’s not Minoan or Mycenaean, it’s not Egyptian—it’s unlike any other ship I’ve ever seen before. The cave is anoxic, so the wood is so well-preserved, and Eunice says that it’s been there since before she was, so we’re talking 12th century, at minimum.”

“CE?”

“BCE.”

“...And it’s not Mycenaean?”

“Mr. Jackson thinks it could belong to the Sea Peoples!”

“Arthur—!”

“Sorry!”

“...The Sea Peoples. Really?”

“I mean… yeah. I think so.”

“...Let me make some calls.”

***

Calls are made. And Percy waits.

Luckily, he has a really, really nice way to pass the time.

Annabeth, naked as the day she was born, lounges on the cabin bed, stretching her arms over her head, before she flops over onto her back, limp and boneless. Percy, drinks in hand and equally naked, has to force himself to set the bottle down on the little table, rather than drop the damn thing and jump her all over again. “Water or wine?” he asks, shamelessly leering.

She shamelessly leers back. “Water, then wine,” she responds, already reaching for a glass. “I need to rehydrate.”

Originally, the plan had been for Percy to go back to Athens to meet his family after they arrived. However, given the potentially paradigm-changing archaeological treasure stuck in the Hellenic Trench, Ari and Percy had both decided it would probably be best for Percy to stay put, and have his family come to him, rather than the other way around. Which is fine by him. They can explore Athens as a family any time, but the perfect weather off the coast of Crete will only last for so long.

The tourists have begun to dissipate as the summer season gives way to a warm fall, so Percy, Annabeth, and the girls have the beaches and seas more or less to the locals and themselves. Junie is utterly enchanted by the Flying Dolphin, and has decided that her new favorite game is hiding in the various nooks and crannies aboard ship, then popping out to surprise him, giving her daddy a heart attack in the process. Lucie takes a little more time to adjust, laid low by a minor ear infection, made worse by the rocking of the boat. The only way to calm her, they quickly learn, is for Percy to hold her while they go for a dive, suspended in a little air bubble, her little eyes wide as she takes it all in.

Percy, Annabeth, and their family spend their days diving, fishing, making friends with the elderly women who come out every morning at sunrise for their daily swim, relaxing on the beach, and eating their way through the multiple gelato shops which line the promenade. Aside from a few hiccups, having this time with his family has been an absolute, perfect paradise.

Percy is pretty sure he and Annabeth are guaranteed a spot in Elysium. Whenever they end up there, he hopes it’s exactly like this.

Especially this part.

After about a week and a half, Frederick, sensing that Percy and Annabeth were in desperate need of a little alone time, had graciously volunteered to take Arthur and the girls inland on a tour of Minoan ruins. Percy had essentially been put on shore leave while Ari did his bureaucratic, six degrees of New Rome separation thing to make sure Percy’s plan isn’t completely idiotic, and maybe even viable, and Frederick was already chomping at the bit to see some old rocks which had once been palaces, so it didn’t take much effort to convince Arthur to go along with them.

So, with the kids away and work on hold for the time being, Percy and Annabeth are engaging in some truly excellent sex.

Like, a whole lot of it.

Dehydration is a very real possibility for both of them.

“Tell me you have more of that cheese,” she says, after downing a glass and a half of water.

“We finished off the graviera this morning. I’ll tell Arthur to pick up some more on his way back.”

She pouts. “You mean to tell me that I’ll be cheeseless for two more days?”

“Unless you want to get dressed and go get some yourself.”

“Honestly, I’m considering it.” She lifts one leg, grasping her knee and pulling it closer, stretching out a cramp—and giving Percy one hell of a view. “I’m going to need some snacks if you’re going to keep making me come like that.”

He grins. It had been explosive. “Hit your limit already?”

“Not even close.” Percy settles onto the bed next to her, wine glass in hand, and she lifts herself to kiss him, slipping the glass out of his grasp. “But seriously, we should probably eat. I think we were fucking all through lunch.”

“You hungry?”

“Give me like half an hour. You’re not?”

Percy frowns. He… really isn’t. “I’m fine.”

Annabeth hums, thoughtful. “How much do you eat out here?”

“The normal amount, I think.” Usually, he’ll have some yogurt and granola for breakfast, some cheese and salted fish for lunch, and whatever fresh fruit and cheese they had on hand for dinner. There’s an abundance of fresh fish, too, and catching some for a quick grill is comically easy out here. Arthur is largely in charge of grocery shopping, and he certainly doesn’t complain about the food, but he also seemingly has an endless supply of oregano flavored chips. Hopefully Percy isn’t accidentally starving him.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” With her free hand, she trails a finger up his chest, her nail ghosting over browned skin and white scar tissue, leaving a pleasantly tingly feeling in its wake. “Ocean life seems to agree with you.”

“It certainly beats grading.”

“Mmhmm.” Her fingers move further north, from his shoulder to his neck to the back of his head. “Your hair is getting long.”

On reflex, he runs a hand through it, pushing it back from his face. “I can cut it.”

“Don’t.” She tangles her fingers in it, tugging, and smirks at his quiet gasp. “I like it.”

Thoughts of lunch are pushed to the wayside in favor of… other pursuits.

It’s only much later, as the rim of the sun just barely kisses the horizon, that Annabeth puts her foot down. “We have to eat something.”

“I can just catch us some fish,” he protests.

But Annabeth shakes her head, pulling on her underwear. “I haven’t been on solid ground for forty-eight hours. I want to walk around the old town, eat my weight in stuffed peppers, and then get another twelve of those giant sfakianopita, so that the next time we have a two day sex binge, I’ll have something more substantial to snack on instead of just cheese and nuts.”

“You can snack on my nuts,” he mutters, and is rewarded by Annabeth throwing his shirt at his head.

Still, solid ground is a solid idea. As much as he enjoys living aboard the Flying Dolphin, she is one small ship. Ierapetra isn’t exactly the big city, but compared to his cramped quarters, it might as well be as bustling as Manhattan. To his chagrin, Percy hasn’t actually spent much time in town, rarely venturing further inland than the corner shop on the boardwalk.

Annabeth laughs as he points it out. “Only you, seaweed brain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your first instinct is to go for the bodega.” She laughs again, bright and bubbly, her curls bouncing in the evening breeze. “Guess you really can’t take the city out of the boy.”

Hand in hand, they wander the streets, Annabeth pointing out every architectural feature that tickles her fancy. She had used the flight to blast through an audiobook about Ottoman architecture, and she takes great delight in putting her newfound knowledge to the test. Almost as much delight as Percy takes in listening to her.

“So why is this one square?” he asks, as they are admiring the remains of a mosque with its tower broken off. “I thought mosques were supposed to be rounder.”

“It depends. Lots of mosques have unique layouts because of geographical limitations. This one is interesting, though. Look at the walls—see how they’re sticking out?”

Percy nods.

“And the tiled roof. This mosque is missing the qubba.”

“The what?”

“The dome.” She needs both hands to explain, and Percy tries not to pout at the loss. “Representing the vault of heaven. It’s not a requirement, but it’s still unusual for a mosque not to have at least one dome.”

“You know,” he says, “I have noticed that all the churches here have domes.”

Annabeth smiles, proudly. “They’re definitely related. Most dome architecture can be traced back to the 6th century, and the construction of the Hagia Sophia.”

“There weren’t domes before?”

“There definitely were,” she says. “Remember the Pantheon in Rome?”

“I was a little busy fighting some nymphs that day.”

“It’s basically a giant circle imposed on top of a big square. It’s the world’s biggest dome made of unreinforced concrete. But that means it’s also very heavy, and it needs a lot of internal support, which shrinks the available internal space. The Hagia Sophia, on the other hand, is so amazing because the architects basically invented an entirely new way to construct and support the dome. Instead of putting a sphere on a cube, the Hagia Sophia has pendentives in the corners to help bear the weight of the dome. They also reduced the weight of the dome by cutting windows into the bottom, which lets in a ton of natural light, and supposedly it makes it look like the dome is floating.” She sighs, happily. “I’d love to see it one day.”

Percy is already mentally composing his vacation request. “I’m sure I can get Ari to get us some time off after we officially discover the paradigm-shifting archaeological marvel.”

Annabeth takes his hand again, almost glowing. “I’d really like that.”

With renewed energy, they finish their ramble, settling down at the first restaurant they see once they emerge from the maze of streets back onto the beach. True to her wishes, Annabeth manages to eat her weight in stuffed peppers, while Percy devours almost an entire grilled octopus, using his fries to mop up every last morsel. They share a couple bottles of wine, and endless plates of fried cheese, as the sky turns from purple to blue, the twinkling lights of the cruise ships off the port like stars.

Percy has his arm around her waist as they walk back to the boat. He’s a little tipsy, and Annabeth is very sturdy. Still, he manages not to trip as they slow their roll, coming to a halt in front of the very annoyed looking young woman who waits for them at the dock, tapping her foot next to a giant package.

She doesn’t look like a local. Percy’s spent enough time with the frequent fishers that he can easily pick them out of a lineup. But she does look mad. “Um… can we help you?”

The woman sighs, tossing the sweaty strands of brown hair which have escaped her tight ponytail. “Percy Jackson?”

“Who wants to know?” Annabeth adjusts his grip on her waist, giving her more room to draw her knife.

“I need your signature for a delivery.”

Percy is pretty sure he would remember making an order big and important enough to need a signature. “Sure…?”

She hands him a clipboard and a pen. Then she stares at him when he does nothing. “Are you going to sign?”

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m a little confused.” Annabeth snorts. “Who is this from again?”

“Mr. Yiannopoulos commissioned the equipment from New Rome on your behalf.”

Oh. Now that he looks, he actually does see the Senate insignia on the top of the delivery form.

“What is it?”

The woman eyes Annabeth suspiciously. “And you are?”

“Annabeth Jackson.”

“Hero and Architect of Olympus,” Percy adds.

Turns out, that was the trick. The woman’s jaw drops open, her eyes widening. “You’re—you’re Annabeth Chase?” she gasps.

“That’s me.”

Percy chuckles, clumsily signing the form. The novelty of Annabeth having fans has long since worn off, but not the delight of seeing other people recognize her brilliance.

After an autograph and a selfie for Drusilla, who apologizes profusely for her attitude, Praetor, she had just been told to wait by the Flying Dolphin for an unknown amount of time, and you know how the Senate doesn’t always give all the pertinent details, Annabeth is giving her directions to their favorite gelato spot while Percy crouches by the package. “So, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” says Drusilla, still starry-eyed. “I only picked it up in Miami.”

Percy frowns. “Is that a card?”

Sure enough, there’s a Hallmark greeting card taped to a corner, nearly hidden beneath all the customs stickers. Tongue between his teeth, he gently pries it off, cleanly slicing it open with Drusilla’s pen. On the cover is a drawing of a dragon, lighting birthday candles with his breath.

“Who’s it from?”

“To Percy,” he reads the chicken scrawl inside. “Got a special request from NRU engineering to help make you a little present. As payment, I expect ten percent of every underwater treasure chest you find. (Babies are expensive!) Love, Leo.”

“What does it mean?”

“Who’s Leo?” Drusilla wonders.

Percy stands, grinning. “It means that Plan Earthquake is a-go.”

***

Plan Earthquake is pretty much exactly what it sounds like it would be.

The Aegean Sea plate is surprisingly active for how small it is, and seismic activity is pretty common in this part of the world. If, say, for instance, there were to be a minor earthquake originating from the Hellenic subduction zone, maybe it could potentially dislodge any archaeological detritus from where it was trapped in an anoxic cave almost six thousand meters below sea level, sending it floating closer to the surface, where it could then subsequently be discovered by some passing ship surveying the area for wrecks.

You know, possibly.

But first they need to get it out of the rock.

Unfortunately, Leo’s magic winch did not come with jackhammers, so Percy is warming up for the big act by gently shaking the packed sand apart. Eunice is helping, too, redirecting the currents to help clear away the loose chunks of rock. Annabeth is on standby on the surface, monitoring the seismological chatter, while Arthur mans the ship, and keeps an eye out for sea monsters.

“How you doing, hon?” Annabeth says into his bluetooth earbuds.

Percy shakes out his hands, jumping up and down. “Fine,” he confirms. “Think we’re almost ready to fire up the winch. How’s it looking up there?”

“All clear,” she confirms, after a beat. “Arthur says we’re alone out here. No ships, no uninvited guests.”

They should be. There’s no reason for tourist ships to come this far south of the coast, nor for shipping out of Cairo to come this far north. Also, the monsters have been leaving them alone for the most part. Hopefully they’ll stay away, instead of dropping in in the middle of Plan Earthquake and making things interesting. Percy breathes in, stretching out his arms. “Alright. Give me another hour.”

It’s long, grueling work, but bit by bit, they uncover the wreck, freeing inch after inch of preserved wood. To his delight, he finds that he was right—the packed sediment did preserve the paint. There’s no way it will survive contact with oxygenated water, and there’s no way he could explain away any pictures, so he commits each color to memory, all the beautiful ruddy reds and browns, and the gold and white geometric designs on the prow. It’s truly a masterpiece of construction, shell-first with mortise and tenon joints, sleek and sturdy and beautiful.

Though, he thinks as he starts attaching cables to the boat, maybe a little too sleek. Hopefully it’s sturdy enough to withstand the pulling.

“Eunice,” he calls, “you ready?” She’s not his first choice for an assistant, but he figures even she can’t screw up pressing a button.

She frowns at the machine, the image odd on her delicate face. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was afraid of it. “Prince, explain again, what would you have me do?”

Okay, nevermind. “You know what, just swap with me.”

“My lord?”

“Just keep the boat from shaking too bad, and try and slip water between the wood and the rock to help wiggle it out. I’ll man the winch.”

The winch is automatic, but Percy still has to keep his attention divided more than he’d like between the cable and the boat and the rock, making sure nothing goes catastrophically wrong. It’s slow going, and sometimes they have to pause the winch to maneuver around a particularly stubborn piece of earth, but between Eunice and Percy, they manage to slide the hull out of the packed stone. Percy winces a t every groan and every ding of rock against the wood, but that’s okay. No wreck is perfect.

A particularly spiky shard of rock scratches a deep line across the gold paint, and Percy kind of wants to cry about it.

Then, the winch abruptly stops, the mechanics whining in protest. The cables pull taut, and the wood screams.

It’s over in a second, but to Percy, it might as well be slow motion.

The keel can apparently no longer stand being dragged over the rough earth. Percy watches in horror as a catastrophic looking crack races across the wood, shooting up from bottom to top. The internal pegs on the mortise and tenon joints must have been more corroded than he thought, because as soon as they touch water, they disintegrate, and the ship pulls itself apart.

Percy swears.

“Are you okay? Percy!”

“I’m fine—it’s the ship!”

Eunice races over to the machine, overcoming her fear of technology to slam on the brakes.

“What happened?”

The port side of the hull has split in two, sharp splinters of wood floating in the water, and based on the creaking, the starboard side is just about on the brink, the force of the winch leaving it hovering in an awkward bend, listing to the right. The ship’s cargo has spilled out onto the rock, coins and ingots glinting in the soft light of Eunice’s bioluminescent skin.

“It broke,” he says, not at all able to keep the horror out of his voice.

“How?”

“I broke it.” A life-changing find that could upend the entire field of archaeology, and Percy goes and breaks it. He swims closer to investigate, running his fingers over the exposed wood.

“Talk to me.”

“The pegs must have been in worse shape than I thought.” Hopefully Percy can salvage at least one of them for further study. “The hull cracked towards the stern, and the joints just came apart.”

She swears. “How bad?”

“It’s not great.” The front half, suspended in the water, seems to have emerged mostly unscathed, but as for the stern, it is deeply, firmly wedged within the earth. “The stern is stuck, and I’m not sure I can get it out.”

“So, what now?”

Percy blows out a breath. “There’s nothing for it—we’ll have to keep going and excavate what we can.”

And break the other half of the ship in the process.

A lot of bad things had happened to Percy in his life. This doesn’t make the top ten, but it definitely makes the top twenty. Right in between getting kicked out of Goode and getting electrocuted by Thalia.

He takes a moment to mourn the loss of a beautifully made vessel, his hand over his heart, before waving back to Eunice. “Alright,” he calls. “Fire it up.”

Of course, he has to amend his list after he watches the winch rip apart the other side of the hull. This hurts way more than a lightning bolt to the chest.

But Percy’s been a soldier longer than he’s been an archaeologist, so he can get his job done, and grieve at the same time.

He takes a deep breath, calls on the power deep within him, and cracks a fault line.

It’s over, quicker and easier than blowing up Mount St. Helens, and less than forty minutes later he’s back on the ship, sitting too close to his wife in the galley, feeling sorry for himself.

“It’s really okay, babe.”

He groans, dropping his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I Schliemanned it!”

Arthur pokes his head in. “How are we looking on the scanners, Mrs. Jackson?”

Annabeth really likes Arthur. More specifically, Percy thinks she really likes it when he calls her by her family name. So he’s not surprised at her warm tone with him. “Minimal tsunami risk across the coast. Thanks for the save earlier.”

He blushes, mumbling. “It was nothing.”

She had sworn up and down to Percy that she had never been in any real danger. Percy did not believe Annabeth Ingrid Jackson about measures of danger (she feels the same about him, so it works out.) But his earthquake had rocked their boat more than a little bit. Annabeth hadn’t gotten far. And probably wouldn’t have made it over the side. But Arthur, all about safe harbor, had managed to grab her before anything too catastrophic occurred.

He slides in across from the now, tapping his feet against the base of the galley table. “So, what now?”

Percy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now we wait. We’ll come back at some point in the spring, officially discover what’s left of the ship, and get it ready for surveying.”

“What’s left of it?” he wonders.

“I had to leave like a fifth of the wreck in the cave.” A whole fifth, including hull, keel, deck, and cargo. Annabeth rubs his back, and another wave of misery crashes over him. He can’t believe someone paid him over a quarter of a million dollars to come all this way and destroy the first priceless artifact he finds.

Arthur frowns, thoughtful. “Isn’t that a good thing, though?”

Percy lifts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, intact shipwrecks are super rare, even for stuff sunk in the last fifty years.”

“The Uluburun was mostly intact.”

“Mostly,” Arthur points out. “And it wasn’t stuck in a cave. What are the odds of a three thousand year old ship surviving being ripped out of a rockbed by an earthquake?”

“He’s right,” Annabeth says. “Honestly, the fact that it’s broken will probably add to its authenticity.”

Percy hums, noncommittally. They’re probably right. But he still feels bad about it. Bad enough that he feels like an hours-long swim to clear his head.

Annabeth is waiting for him when he climbs up on deck around midnight. Just Annabeth.

“Where’s Arthur?”

“Arthur went to bed,” she says. “I ended his watch for him.”

“You’re not the captain.”

“There was a power vacuum, on account of the captain going swimming with the fishes.”

He kisses her, the last dregs of his bad mood floating out to sea. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.”

They hold each other, swaying to the gentle motion of the waves, under a dark sky littered with stars, and Percy has a strange, distinct feeling that they’d done this before. Maybe in another life. Maybe in his dreams. But something about this moment, so peaceful and beautiful, feels eternal, immutable, like a cornerstone of the universe.

“Guess what?” she murmurs into his collarbone.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant again.”

He goes warm, from the tips of his toes up to his chest and his cheeks. “Really?”

“I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner, given how excited you get on the water.”

Then he blushes for an entirely different reason.

“Sorry.”

“So not a problem.” She kisses him again. “So, so not a problem.”

***

Percy takes a sip of lukewarm water. It gets hot in Greece in early March, and this room, even with all the windows and doors open, is still pretty stuffy. “Excavation is currently underway at the Chrysi site, and is expected to continue through June, before resuming this coming September. By then, we should have completed both the trilateral and photogrammetric surveys of the site, and may be ready to begin excavating the cargo and other material for preservation.” He clicks to the final slide, a picture Arthur had taken of him, Annabeth, and the girls on the deck of the Flying Dolphin, and the audience politely coos, applauding while holding cups of hot tea.

Which makes sense, since this is a tea talk, something that apparently exists. But why do they all drink hot tea for these things? It’s over sixty degrees fahrenheit outside!

“Thank you so much,” says the moderator, an older woman with straight, white hair, who speaks fluent Greek in the most Jersey-ish accent he had ever heard in his life. “Really, really intriguing stuff. Shall we open the floor for questions?”

The audience is made up mostly of young grads, dutifully scribbling away in their notebooks, with some older academics scattered among them. They sit on couches and armchairs and rickety-looking wooden seats, lined up in rows, and the unlucky ones who didn’t get a seat either are relegated to the porch outside the salon, leaning against the door, or squished three to a person on the piano bench in the back.

A girl in the front row with dark, curly hair and a flannel shirt raises her hand. She doesn’t look that much older than him. Actually, she might be a few years younger. That’s kind of a sobering thought. “Thank you so much for such an interesting talk. My question is, you have all these different types of data, between the legacy data and the weather patterns—how do you keep it all organized?”

“With difficulty.” His audience chuckles. “For something with this many moving parts, I have to do it manually. However, drawing my own maps gives me the freedom to adapt on the fly.” And add data that would be, uh, inconsistent with mortal abilities. “Plus, my wife helps me keep everything straight.”

Annabeth flashes him a thumbs up from her front row seat. Junie flashes him two, and Lucie kicks her feet, distracted by the amphora on the bookshelf next to her. He hopes that Annabeth, at six months pregnant, still has her reflexes ready if Lucie tries to make the bookshelf baby’s first lava rock wall.

From the back of the room, a thin, reedy man with round glasses and a scruffy black beard raises his hand. “How do you choose your areas to survey? What made you pick Crete?”

The fish tell him. “I have specialties in deep-sea diving and open water sailing,” well, that’s one way of putting it, “so, the Aegean is just a little too shallow for my tastes. Plus, there’s been so much maritime traffic in the Levantine Sea since, well, forever, it seemed like a natural place to start.”

To the left of the first girl, another girl raises her hand, her sleeve falling to show off her amazing red figure pottery tattoo. “Thank you so much for sharing. The colors are just so bright and so strong, do you know, or do you have any theories as to why it hasn’t degraded?”

He and Annabeth have spent days hammering out the details Percy would fudge, drilling the answers so often they become automatic, but he’s still proud of himself for not tripping over his words when he answers, “It’s unclear as of right now. There’s still a ton of tests that need to be run, but my best guess would be that, after it sank, the ship ended up in some kind of anoxic environment, maybe like the Bannock Basin, that was able to preserve most of the organic matter.” He ducks his head, full of false modesty. “Of course, that’s just a theory.”

Annabeth smirks at him from the corner of his eye, and he really has to fight back the answering one which threatens to spread across his face.

The tea talk wraps up in due time, and the chairs and couches are summarily put back into place as the audience all moves out onto the porch, carrying plates of crackers and cheese and tall, thin bottles of ouzo. Percy hangs behind, lingering at the podium, entertaining the stragglers who come up with questions and “more of a comment, really” and whatever else, leaning against the wooden mantle now that the project screen which covered it has been retracted back into the ceiling. Annabeth has more or less let the kids roam the now-empty salon to their hearts’ content, allowing them to check out the art and artifacts with strict instructions to Junie not to touch, so she can hold court with Percy. He’s grateful, always, for her steady support.

“So you think it’s more of a warship,” says an older man, with a shock of white hair but the energy of a college student.

Percy nods. “At first glance, other than weaponry, the cargo looked like it was mostly looted material—jewelry, precious stones, that kind of thing.”

“I saw, those raw sapphires? What an amazing find!”

Next to him, Annabeth surreptitiously covers her brand new sapphire bracelet with her other hand.

“Where are you headed next? My wife and I have spent pretty much our whole careers excavating in Crete, so if you’re headed back that way in June, we’d love to take you two out to lunch.”

Annabeth’s eyes light up, a calculating spark. “Your wife is an archaeologist, too?”

He nods, proudly gesturing to a silvery haired woman, chatting in Greek with the moderator, her hand over her mouth as she laughs. “I study Bronze Age Crete, she does Hellenistic, and together, we’ve been excavating at Mochlos for, gosh, I don’t even remember how long.” Catching Annabeth’s expression, he asks her, “But you’re not an archaeologist, yeah?”

“Unfortunately,” she shrugs, ruefully. “I’m an architect.”

“Somebody has to bring in the bacon.”

The man laughs. “Well hey, it’s handy to have an architect out in the field! And to get to bring your kids with you, too…” He shakes his head, his gaze, like a magnet, turning back to his own wife. “I don’t have to tell you how special it is to have someone you love doing this work with you.”

Annabeth takes his hand, squeezing, but Percy has no qualms about public displays of affection, so he does not hesitate to sling his arm around her shoulders and kiss her on the cheek, loud and sloppy. She shoves him, laughing, and as he hears Junie and Lucie start playing around on the old piano in the corner of the salon, on this beautiful warm spring day in Athens, Percy can’t remember if he’s ever been happier.

***

They decide to extend their trip past the end of May. Estelle had been put out all year that she wasn’t able to live with her big brother on a boat and explore the Mediterranean for ancient shipwrecks instead of having to go to school, ugh, so Sally and Paul agree that they are all in dire need of some island time. Percy had to return the Dolphin at the end of his fellowship, and while he was sorry to see it go, the Amalia is a little bit nicer. The man he rented it from said it belonged to his yiayia, and he had brought it with him when he moved from Poros to the mainland. Where the Dolphin was all business, the Amalia is all homey, quiet pleasure. The man, Kostas (Percy had snorted, and Annabeth had had to kick him) had done his best to remove all personal traces to make her fit for rental, but Percy can still sense the love in every inch, from stem to stern. He runs his hand up the mast, and he’s nearly bowled over by the strong rush of emotions practically radiating from her—love, sorrow, and a pride so strong it makes his heart hurt.

As nice as she is, she still won’t hold all nine of them—the family plus Arthur, who is well on his way to becoming Sally Jackson’s third child—so Percy is spending more time on shore this one month than he has all year. He’s had to move out of the Piraeus apartment, too, but Paul got an amazing deal on a vacation rental apartment in Kolonaki, so Percy wakes up every morning to the sight of the Acropolis from his balcony, sipping on a nice, cold glass of peach juice.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s pretty nice. There’s not a lot to complain about.

But he’s very excited to get back out on the water for one last ride.

Just him and the love of his life.

He had no destination in mind, just somewhere far enough from shore to see if they could catch a glimpse of some dolphin pods. Annabeth, just about ready to pop, is lounging on the sun-drenched deck while Percy takes a call in the galley. “How do you feel about Nat Geo?” Ari asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Like in general?”

“Have you ever had media training?”

“...No?”

“Well, you’re going to.” Through the IM, Ari is happier than Percy’s ever seen him, his features smoothed out into a broad, happy grin. “The permit application just landed on my desk. I’m fielding requests from all over to get a glimpse of the Chrysi wreck.”

“I thought my problem was that I attracted too much attention.”

“You keep making life-changing discoveries like this, Praetor, and you can attract all the attention you can handle.”

“Hope so,” says Percy, “because Eunice told me that she heard from her sister that there’s another Bronze Age ship floating around Ithaca that needs discovering.”

He squints, suddenly suspicious. “You’re not planning another earthquake, are you?”

“Not currently, but who knows. There are a lot of subduction zones around Greece. Lots of places for ships to get stuck.”

But Ari just sighs, throwing his hands up in defeat, though his smile has come back. “Whatever, fine, whatever you need. Make your little earthquakes.”

Then, from above deck, an earth-shattering scream rips through the peaceful afternoon.

“PERCYYYYYYY!!!”

“Whoops, that’s my cue,” says Percy. “Gotta run, send me the Nat Geo details later!”

Swiping his hand through the image, he dashes up to the deck, expecting to find a pod of dolphins waiting in the water below.

Instead, he has to pivot, hard, and get down to work bringing his third daughter into the world.

The dolphins return later in the evening to meet the new little sea princess, then graciously offer to escort them back to shore, where his family (and a doctor) gather at the docks, ready and eager to meet their newest relative, little Thalassa Amalia Jackson.

“Thalassa?” Sally asks, holding the tiny thing, her voice soft with wonder.

“Annabeth’s idea, actually,” says Percy, hovering as the doctor checks his wife over. “Born amid ships.”

“And made amid ships, I suspect.”

Percy blushes, scratching his neck. “Guilty.”

“I also get to name the next one,” says Annabeth, exhausted but proud and healthy

“You can name every single one of them.” A deal like that shouldn’t be made lightly, but Percy doesn’t care. He’d give her the world if she asked for it. A name is nothing. “Except Olivia.”

But Annabeth just grins. “No take-backs!”

#based on a series of true stories and characters #my fic #pjo fic #percabeth #classics percy returns #the shipwreck hunting fic #my god this thing took so many forms #special thanks to no2ticonderoga and darkmagyk for letting me borrow arthur i promise to return him safely

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yoursweetwife · 1 year ago

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hi i’m absolutely brain rottimg about dr ratio while trying to complete a lab report

just thinking about his partner complaining about statistics and about how they despise statistical analysis. they’ve got this report to do (i wonder where this idea is coming from…) and they’re dreading it

he notices them furrowing their brows as they input data into this analysis program, cursing under their breath.

“aeons, why is this so confusing…? the graphs they use… why can’t i tell if…” they’re mumbling under their breath, absolutely confused. they’ve actually been at it for a while, and ratio *hates* to admit that he’s beginning to miss their presence…

so he goes up and pries the laptop out of their hands, with a soft mumble of ‘you’re an idiot’ under his breath.

“i’ll help you out. it’s better than watching you fumble with the data like an idiot.” he says softly, but he really is too embarrassed to admit he would literally do their whole lab report for them if they asked him.

just thinking of soft fluffy dr ratio begrudgingly helping his partner suffer through their lab work. as a reward they smother him in kisses and he hates to admit he enjoys seeing them so happy and thankful…

GET HIM OUT OF MY BRAIN!!! IM BRAINROTTING!! I WANT HIM DEAD /J

Sorry, it took me a long time to respond to your request. Since you didn't specify gender, I decided to take a female reader

synopsis: [name] was tired and Ratio decided to help his lover

frmale!reader

Sitting on the flock sofa, Ratio looked up from his book from time to time to look at his watch. From the outside it may seem that he is completely calm, but inside the scientist was trying to overcome his own anxiety. Only the rapid tapping of his fingers on the pages of the book betrayed his irritation.

Ratio ran his hand through his disheveled hair and sighed irritably. How long he's been sitting here? Ever since you told him to go to bed alone because you had a lab report to fill out, and Ratio knew how much you hated that, but you hated asking him for help even more. And no matter how much Veritas respected you for this, your absence began to bother him.

And Ratio hates this feeling, now even being alone in the room seems like some kind of torture, he’s used to your more physical displays of affection, cuddling against his side, resting your head on his shoulder..

Quiet rustling noises made Ratio glance displeasedly towards the kitchen. He put the book on the coffee table and headed into the next room, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Already at the door frame, his golden eyes met your tired figure. He could hear you irritably whispering curses under your breath while writing something down, and Ratio began to fear that you were about to cry, seeing your completely confused face and futile attempts to fill out the table.

You didn't even notice his bulky figure standing right in front of you, and his worried expression never reached your eyes. For a couple of seconds, he had the urge to throw the ill-fated laptop out the window.

"Oh, I don't understand...what.."

Here again, Ratio rubbed the bridge of his nose, and with light steps walked straight to the table, before you even had time to come to your senses, as the gadget slammed shut in front of your face, making you flinch.

Veritas stands at the side of the table, keeping his hand on the computer and staring irritably straight into your tired eyes. His whole body was tense, as evidenced by the bulging veins on his strong arms and twitching muscles, you almost thought that he was going to scold you for your idiocy, as if you were one of his students.

"Veritas, what are you doing?"

He interrupted your question and leaned closer to your face, and you involuntarily held your breath, avoiding his assessing gaze and waiting for the next words.

“Idiot, how long are you going to rack your brain over such basic things? If you continue to stare mindlessly at the screen, knowledge will not appear in your head automatically.”

Ratio crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you expectantly. You laughed awkwardly and leaned back in your chair, relaxing for the first time in hours.

“What else could I do but stare mindlessly?”

You decided to joke to diffuse the tension. But your lover seemed to take it seriously and pointed to himself proudly.

"For example, asking me for help."

The look of surprise your face did not go unnoticed, but almost immediately it was replaced by a slight smile. Ratio's face relaxed a little, and his cheeks turned a light crimson shade.He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"I'll help you. It's better than watching you fiddle with data like an idiot."

In just a second he was sitting next to you, opening laptop to see what he had to work with. For aeons, he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible and be in a soft bed with you in his arms.

You silently watched Veritas’s actions, listening to his explanations, but your thoughts constantly went somewhere else. Contrary to popular belief, Ratio is quite a cute lover, especially in the mornings when he is too sleepy to try to act cool and confident. And his attempts to hide his need for you are adorable.

Soon the work was almost finished, and you even learned something during this time and helped Veritas, for which you received a dry “not bad,” but pride was visible in his eyes.

You couldn't help but yawn, causing tears to form in your eyes. Your lover shook his head softly. His sweet troubled woman.

"Time for bed, you look like you might faint from exhaustion."

“Thank you, Veritas, now I’ll clean everything up and we’ll go...”

Just as you reached for the mess on the table, Veritas stopped your hand, gently grabbing your wrist, and looked at you sternly.

"I'm pretty sure it can wait until tomorrow."

"But..."

With his free hand, Veritas lifted your chin while the other rested on your waist.

"No "but", we're going to the room now and you won't get out of bed until the next morning."

Ratio said, draw out each word. A deep blush filled your cheeks, for the first time Veritas looked so...needy, and he also seemed surprised by his own words.

Veritas let go of you almost immediately and turned away, trying to hide his red face, but you prevented him by grabbing both of his hands.

“It seems like I never thanked you for your help, does it?”

Your soft hands came to rest on his face, pulling him closer to place a light but passionate kiss on his lips. And Veritas wasted no time in deepening the kiss, leaning into your soothing touch.

If you always thank him like that, then he is ready to fill out thousands of such reports.

You soon broke contact and a few more quick kisses landed on his cheeks, forehead and nose, causing him to protest, but despite the outward hostility, Veritas clearly wanted more, and you were going to give it to him.

#hsr x reader #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio #female reader #hsr #dr ratio fluff #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader

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alcoholfreenayeon · 11 months ago

Note

Can u do like Nayeon make up sex like pairing: sensitive fem reader and Nayeon forgot like their anniversary ? It's okay if not?

Heaven

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long to do this anon😭❤️ it’s slightly rushed because I won’t have time rest of the day. Hope you like it.

CW: fluff, smut, nsfw

Nayeon got on the bed, quickly getting under the blanket, shuddering and smiling as the warmth begins to spread. She takes a cold breath and shifts closer to you.

You try to ignore her, continuing to read your book, not wanting to complain before you are sure Nayeon hasn’t got any last minute surprises.

“Leave your book for a moment baby, I want to cuddle you and warm myself up”, Nayeon asks, leaning into you.

“I see…”, you turn to the next page, not even looking at her.

“Huh..? That’s it? You aren’t even looking at me…”, Nayeon sounds a bit hurt, “is something wrong?”

You feel a bit bad for being cold but you felt hurt too. This wasn’t any day. Today was your one year anniversary with her. An important day for you and for her. Your lives were changed on this day and Nayeon seemed to have absolutely no clue of it right now.

“…..not really.”, you say plainly.

Now Nayeon becomes quite sure that you are mad at her. “Wait, did I mess up?”, she thinks carefully, her memory going back to this morning when you gave her some flowers, a bracelet and some chocolate. “Oh….its our anniversary…”, Nayeon looks panicky, knowing it means a lot to you. She immediately pulls you closer, hugging you tight. “Wait I’m so sorry, I really forgot.”, she kisses your cheeks a couple times.

You keep quiet, taking a heavy breath, not hugging her back.

“Mmmm…baby, please. Don’t be mad, I’m really very sorry. I won’t make excuses but it wasn’t on purpose.”, Nayeon continues to plead.

You glance at her, probably a mistake because now seeing her like this made you feel guilty now and before you realized, you moved your hands around her lightly.

That’s all Nayeon needed. She gasps and hugs you tighter, smiling mischievously knowing your resolve is breaking. “Oh thank you for forgiving me love.”, she says dramatically, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“N-no….wait, I didn’t…”, you try to protest and sigh, annoyed at yourself for doing that.

Nayeon pulls away, grinning at you. She then kisses you and you kiss her back. What was the point in being annoyed at her anyway, she didn’t actually mean to hurt you and besides you both know you can’t stay mad at her for long.

After a few seconds you begin to pull away but Nayeon grabs your face and begins to kiss you harder and you can’t help but moan into the kiss. Immediately you feel your face turn red. But you try and pretend nothing happened, trying your best to keep kissing her back without losing your mind.

After a minute Nayeon pulls away, leaving you both panting. She was smirking mischievously at you, biting a finger. “You know y/n, it’s still only 10…I think I can give you a last minute gift.

It’s takes a moment for you to catch her drift. Your face flushes again as she leans in again, “W-wait, that’s-”.

She shuts you up by kissing you again and you don’t put up any fight. After what seems like eternity she finally pulls back, you are panting and breathing hard. But you can’t deny you are starting to feel hot.

“You know”, Nayeon whispers in your ear, “you are looking really delicious right now…”.

You stay quiet, biting your lip and trying not to moan as Nayeon starts to kiss your neck. She keeps leaving marks as she moves lower and lower. You don’t even protest, what she was making you feel right now was…primal…indescribable.

Nayeon gropes and plays with your tits for a few moments, kissing and licking to her fill before moving down again. You can’t seem to remain calm, each breath is labored, like it takes so much effort to do anything else other than focus on what Nayeon was making you feel.

She undresses you and looks up at you from between your legs, smirking as she teases by making a finger touch you so lightly. You can barely feel it yet it feels so…intense. You swallow, take a shaky breath, “N-nayeon please”.

She giggles, “so eager for me….cute.” She then proceeds to rub your pussy and you gasp. She feels you are already slick and flashes you another naughty look. “You really are so excited for this…don’t worry, I’ll make it really good.”

You don’t say anything, you can only moan as she suddenly pushes two fingers in you. It feels amazing. It feels right.

Nayeon begins to work her magic and within a few moments you are writhing in pleasure under her. She uses her other hand to touch you all over, your tits, stomach, thighs, everywhere.

As she keeps her fingers in you, hitting all the right spots, you feel your release rapidly approaching. You moan out her name trying to warn her but it only makes her add another finger and you almost instantly cum from that. You are barely able to hold on. And just when you accept your incoming release and when it feels like it can’t and won’t get better than this, Nayeon moves her head down and begins to suck on your clit.

You cum immediately and scream. Or you scream and cum. You can’t even tell. You thrash around in pleasure, screaming and locking your legs around Nayeon’s head as you feel pleasure fill your whole body. Moments pass and it only seems to get more intense, you can’t even breathe anymore. You feel your hips rise as you hold Nayeon’s head tightly with your hands. You still keep cumming. It keeps feeling more and more intense until you let out another scream and begin to squirt hard.

You can’t even see anymore, everything feels so bright. Your whole body is shaking and Nayeon finally pulls away, her face drenched as she has a proud smile on her face. You keep panting, keeping your eyes closed as you need more time to recover. A minute passes and you finally clear your head a little. You take another heavy breath and redden as you look at Nayeon who’s staring at you with a grin.

“Now look…you made such a mess, I guess I’ll clean it up…”, Nayeon says with a smile as she sucks her finger clean.

You blush…keeping quiet. You weren’t sure there was anything to say. What Nayeon did to you right now was unbelievable. You weren’t sure there were words to describe it.

You gasp again as you feel Nayeon lick your pussy again a few times before coming back next to you, giggling as she wipes her mouth.

“You really went crazy there”, she says suppressing a smile, “I guess you liked my present after all”.

“Shut up”, you say, feeling hot and embarrassed, “this won’t happen every time you forget an important day.”

Nayeon giggles again, “Well I wasn’t planning on forgetting but maybe I should, I don’t know any present that can make you squ-”.

You shut her up by kissing her. She laughs and cuddles you. Teasing you and poking you until you both end up falling asleep in each other’s arms.

#ask me anything #answered asks #anon ask #twice #kpop gg #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #reader x idol #twice smut #im nayeon #twice nayeon #nayeon imagines #nayeon #nayeon x reader #nayeon fluff #nayeon smut #nayeon twice

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blackbat05 · 10 months ago

Text

Side Tracked

Carlos Alcaraz x Reader

Summary: The feeling of winning is sweet, but so is unexpected encounters. (Fluff)

A/N: Usually never write for real(?) people but here’s my attempt to not make it flop(?) Hope you like it and congrats to Carlitos once again!⭐️

July 2023

He thought he’ll try something different today.

Take a walk down the city of London, have time to finally relax.

Maybe he should have thought about the fact that he was doing this right after he won the championships.

It’s not that he minded, he appreciated the attention that the sport was getting. But if he could just walk down the street without being stopped every three seconds, that would be great.

He quickly turns into a small alley with quaint little stores littered on each side. He’s not going to linger outside any longer so he dips into the first door that is opened.

The smell of lemons wafts through the air along with soft music that reminded him of being on the beach. Bookcases towered over him no matter which direction he turned.

Strangely, it wasn’t intimidating at all.

“Hello!”

A young lady pops out from the second shelve to his left, causing him to stumble back a few feet in shock.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She apologizes, a small smile grazing her features. “Can I help you with anything? A book perhaps?”

He didn’t want to trouble her just because he was trying to get some peace and quiet. So he just puts on his usual charm, takes a random book and shakes his head. She seems to be satisfied with his answer and leaves for the next row, telling him to look for her if he needs anything.

Book long abandoned, his eyes follow her curiously. Perhaps she doesn’t watch tennis. Not that he cared, did he? She could be busy with her work. Still, it intrigued him. He could be wrong, but she seemed to be… avoiding him?

He gives a sigh and turns open the book that he randomly grabbed from the shelve. If anything, he was not a reader. If he stares at a page for too long, the words might just jumble up into a ball of mess.

“Hey,” the same voice brings him back to the present. She stands in front of him in her white apron, another book in her hand that is outstretched to him. “You were almost going crossed-eye with that book. I think you might like this better.”

He swaps the book and she leaves quietly. Oh, it’s a book about his idol and one of the biggest sporting icons in tennis history. Rafa’s book was published when he was just a kid, but it would be interesting to see his perspective. He opens the book and this time, he doesn’t go crossed eye.

In fact, he’s so engrossed in it that by the time she checks in on him, the sun has disappeared and night falls.

“I’m glad you seem to be enjoying the book.”

Oh, he really wants to hear her talk more.

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

But he’s leaving the day after.

“You’re welcome. I hope you got the quiet time that you need. Congratulations by the way.”

He’s momentarily stunned, earning a chuckle from her.

“I think you had enough people heckling you for a day.” She looks out of the window and then her watch. “And I think your team should be looking for you.”

He’s still rooted to the ground, book in hand. The phone in his pocket buzzes and he’s sure Juan Carlos is going to give him an earful for escaping the hotel alone.

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers and darts off to the shelve, coming towards him with a brown book. “It’s not much but I would like you to have this.”

The little book of encouragement.

She looks sheepish as she explains, “It must be stressful. Having all these expectations on you. Sometimes you really just need to take a step back and remind yourself what’s truly important you know?”

What’s truly important…

His fingers wrap around the book and he holds onto it tight.

“Thank you, again.” He says. “I promise, I’ll be back when I’m in London.”

“I’m counting on it.”

***

A year later, 2024

This time, he remembers to put his hoodie up.

There was no need for google maps or asking for directions. He knew the way by heart, by instinct.

The same store comes into vision and he’s suddenly nervous. His fingers wrap itself tightly around the spine of the book. He can’t wait to see her.

The bell chimes as he pushes the door, the familiar scent greeting him again.

There she was, face scrunched up in concentration, a clipboard in hand. Her eyes light up with joy as soon as he enters.

As if like he never left.

“Well done champ.” She comes to give him a hug which he swears he felt her linger. He didn’t want to break the hug if he had a choice too.

They fall into easy conversation and he feels like a normal person. Not the athlete that everyone expects him to be.

“How did you like the book?” She asks expectantly. Her passion for books was admirable and adorable.

“I loved it. It helped me a lot. In good times, and in bad times.”

It was the truth and only the truth.

He passes her the book and it takes him all his strength to not tremble.

“I really like page 88.”

She cocks her head to one side in curiosity. Flipping the book to the said page.

When everything gets too loud, remember what you have, what you are fighting for.

She does a double take of the pink post it that has been pasted to the page of the quote and reads it carefully.

Would you like to go out with me for dinner today?

She peeks out from the book and he’s clearly nervous. She decides to be a little cheeky, and holds back her answer for a while more.

But she can’t bear to, not when he’s so sincere.

Not when he’s so hopeful.

Not when she’ll eventually say-

Yes.

#carlos alcaraz #carlos alcaraz x reader

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supernova41st · 11 months ago

Text

Pics/gifs that remind me of them

(Fnf x reader)

Warnings: zaza, I hate this word but tsundere, insults but you guys are big girls/boys/things you can handle it

A/n: I’m gonna post shorter hcs for a bit cuz I’m working on this one req that has a lot of stuff, anyways ik this is cringey wattpad shit but who cares. Enjoy <33

Darnell

This is before you two were dating btw

All he wanted to do was doodle a bit 😔

“Oo whatcha got in there?”

“None of your goddamn business..”

grab

“Why are you hiding these they’re so c..”

This man was practically glowing mauve

It’s okay, you were blushing too

“…I won’t tell anyone if you let me keep it.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Really? Cuz this says otherwise”

“IT SAYS NOTHING”

No but actually, you stared at them almost everyday

It got to the point where you memorized them page by page

After you guys started dating, it became an inside joke that he was always embarrassed of

“Draw me like your French girls Darnell..”

“Oh my fucking-just-don’t remind me”

Once you tried drawing him and it def wasn’t up to his level of mastery, but he still loved it

He cut it out and hung it up on his wall next to his bed

Nene

You guys swap every now and then but she likes it more when you do it

“Y/n do me first plsplspls”

“Okay okay just as long as you take out your knives, I don’t want them to cut me again”

“That was one time 🙄”

“No nene, it was two times.”

Sometimes you’ll choose themes, like ocean or just a general color

You guys would get into funny arguments about the shades

“Nene this not purple that’s pink”

“It’s a mix of both!”

“The theme was purple so just do purple! It shouldn’t be a mix of anything 😒”

No wonder she always loses in dress to impress..

She would sometimes awkwardly zone out just staring at your eyes

(And if you have brown eyes and your eye does that one thing during golden hour, she’s immediately gone)

“…nene?”

“Yea?”

“The makeup.”

“Oh fuck, sorry”

You guys love face masks too

When she gets back from Ulta or Sephora she always brings something back for you

“Y/n guess what I got you!!”

“Lemme guess, another face mask”

“No! Sol de Janeiro scent 40!!”

“ gasp MARRY ME”

“OKAYY ^^”

Pico

(Big ass picture omg)

Guys, the makeout sessions.

Pico is an okay kisser when sober, but for some reason his tongue just gets ✨✨ when puffing that za

He loves going to his house, playing “doin’ time” by sublime in the background while making out with you on his bed

You guys have been doing it since your teen years

“Mom I need to go to my friends house to study”

“Okay hun just be back before 8:30”

Best studying session of your life

Sometimes you guys don’t even kiss, just 🍃 + cartoons

Or random convos, like really random convos

He’s not a fan tho

“You think the wind is ever trying to tell us something we don’t understand yet?”

“…I want you to stop saying odd shit.”

One time, he grabbed your belt to pull you closer and did his tango with the tongue

The butterflies you felt when he did that.

“Jesus fuck Pico..”

“What? Did you not like it? I’m sorry I just-“

“Do it again or I’ll kill you”

You guys were such horny teens

And it hasn’t settled down ever since

But since consent is sexy, you two never BOOMBAYAH’D while 🍃

“P-Pico I bet can kiss every freckle on that beautiful fffucking face of yours”

“You wanna bet? Giggle I’ll put 20$ on this table right now”

“Hell yeah, bring it on Ed Sheeran head ass”

Eventually your lips got tired

“Pico my lips are so tired now”

“Nuh uh, keep going”

“Hey you can’t tell me what to do, respect women!”

“Idc I’m sexiest now”

“I think it’s sexist”

“No, it’s sextile”

“…okay”

I don’t think he was with us at that moment

Bitch was seeing stars

#idk #lol #x reader #fanfic #picos school x reader #picos school #fnf x reader #nene x reader #nene picos school #nene newgrounds #darnell fnf #darnell x reader

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sarah-the-bird-nerd · 4 months ago

Text

A Hufflepuff always finds their Slytherin

Hello! This is very very late and because of that...has turned into a Christmas story...kind of. I'm so sorry it took so long!

Request: "hi! u didn't say if youre writing short drabbles/fics or hcs but could I request hufflepuff, hyper/chaotic reader x severus snape (but in marauders era)? I would be over the moon, thank you!!!"

Warnings: only my bad, out of practice, writing skills...

WC: 603

Y/N was on a grand quest. A quest that they had set themself. One that no other could complete…finding the most elusive creature in Hogwarts, their best friend (despite his protests that he has no friends) and showering him with sweets for Christmas. Severus Snape was not one to be easily found, he knew all the hidey holes, but as a Hufflepuff, fuelled by the power of Honeydukes chocolate…you were relentless. Less than an hour into your search, you pumped your fists in silent victory.

Hidden in the very top of the Astronomy Tower, was the familiar shadow of your reluctant friend, reading a very large and what looked to be dusty old book. With a grin, you practically skipped over to him, plopping yourself down next to him and leaning against him. He tensed against you of course, but quickly relaxed.

“Hi Sev! You almost had me this time, what are you reading?” You said this all very quickly of course, you only had one speed, and that was fast. “I missed you in Hogsmeade you know, Tomes and Scrolls had a bunch of new arrivals today!” You paused for a moment at the look on his face. He glared at you, but you were used to that and just giggled.

“Take a breath Y/N, we wouldn’t want you to talk yourself to death…on second thought, carry on.” He said with a sigh, before attempting to return to his reading.

“Aw Sev, don’t be like that, you know you’d be sad if I died!” You said with a giggle. “Who else would bring you fresh baked goods?” With that, you pulled out a tiny box from your pocket wrapped in green and silver paper, tapped it with your wand and the box grew to its proper size. “I didn’t even have to sneak around the elves this time, I made a batch for them too!”

Severus quirked an eyebrow before tilting his head slightly. “Why must you be so insufferable, you know I hate when you call me that.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and pushed the box into his lap, practically shoving the book out of the way. “Never mind your name! Happy Christmas! We need to get some meat on your bones!” Severus gave a long sigh before marking his page and putting down the book. He slowly opened the box, as if whatever was in it were going to eat him.

He plucked out one of the pastries you had made, this one filled with strawberry filling and cautiously taking a small bite…he then dove right in. Satisfied that he enjoyed the pastry you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. “I’m glad you like them Severus! As part of my gift to you, I shall leave you alone for the rest of the day. But mark my words I will find you tomorrow!” And with that you were back on your feet, making your way to the stairs.

Severus rolled his eyes as you got up. He supposed you were his friend after all, one of the only ones and as much as you annoyed him, he did notice when you weren’t around. “You won’t last two hours before you’re trying to find me again, I’ll have to find a new hiding spot.” He said with just a hint of humour. “How did you find me anyway?” He asked, before biting into the pastry again.

You looked back, grinning at him. “A Hufflepuff always knows where to find their Slytherin!” And with that, you bounded off, down the stairs, eager to get to dinner.

#snape x reader #severus x reader #severus x y/n #young severus

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

Text

Woe out the Storm (3) - Thunder

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 4k

-I was lightning before the thunder-

The Harvest Festival, frankly, you preferred it over the Outreach Day, for plenty of reasons. One of which was easily the fact you could just kick back and relax instead of working for people that despised everything you and other students were against your free will. You and Enid always made sure to have as much fun as possible, as long as weather allowed it.

The only issue was you couldn't relax this year. Wednesday would escape tonight, meaning tonight was Rowan's last chance to try something. And you feared he would get desperate, but you didn’t think there was a way for him to get Wednesday away from everyone.

And then there was Galpin... Talking with his father. Now, you did hear he stopped bullying people with the other three, but you found it difficult to forgive and forget.

You frowned and looked at Wednesday. "Really, Galpin is the one driving you?" you couldn't help but ask.

"I don't see how it concerns you," Wednesday replied.

You nodded, simply choosing to back away. Wednesday wasn't helpless, and who she interacted with definitely didn't have anything to do with you.

"Obvious dislike aside, are you sure you can trust that normie?" Enid asked, though she did send you a bit of a teasing smile.

"I trust that I can handle myself," Wednesday replied. Considering what she did against Bianca you found it difficult to disagree.

"Well, good luck and safe travels," Enid stepped toward her with her arms spread wide, only for Wednesday to decisively take a step back. "Still not a hugger. Got it," Enid shrugged, smiling at the girl.

"If you change your mind a third of that room is going to stay yours," you grinned.

"Until Weems puts someone else in," Wednesday told you.

Your grin turned into a smirk as you lifted your hand up and allowed a few red sparks to appear around it. Just for a moment you thought you saw a spark of interest in Wednesday's eyes as she observed the sparks. "Nope, I'll personally make them ask for another room." you promised, your red eyes meeting Wednesday’s black eyes.

Enid coughed and elbowed your side.

You winced. She sometimes forgot her strength. "Nicely, of course, I'll keep my lightning to myself."

Wednesday tilted her head to the side by less than an inch. "Pity," she said.

You leaned to the side, shifting most of your weight to your right foot, you weren't sure how to take those words. "Since I won't be seeing you again, I, uh, I think you're great with the cello," there, a compliment to end the brief time together. That shouldn't make Wednesday uncomfortable, right?

Her eyes met yours once more and you felt a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of her stare. "Thank you," she eventually spoke up and the three of you parted ways soon after.

The moment Wednesday was out of sight Enid clasped your shoulder and smiled sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."

"Huh?" what was she talking about? Sorry for what?

"You don't have to pretend, I don't get what you see in her, but you don't have to hide it from me," somehow Enid got the wrong idea.

You sighed. This was your life now. Enid thought you had unrequited feelings for Wednesday. "Look, I know I can't change your mind," she enthusiastically nodded at that. "So, I’ll take a page out of Wednesday's book, somewhat. If you gossip about those feelings you claim I have, I'll fry your stuffed unicorn collection."

Enid squealed and bounced excitedly. "OMG! You do have feelings for her!" she wasn't going to let this go and you didn't even know how she came to that conclusion! Her eyes widened suddenly. "Go after her! Go!" in less than a second she was behind you and pushing you in the direction Wednesday went. "At least find a way to exchange letters with her if you can't convince her to stay!"

"Enid," you groaned, facepalming as you dug your feet into the ground to try and keep her from pushing you. All that achieved was two rows of dug up ground behind you. From the corner of your eye you saw Rowan, even more agitated and anxious than he was back when you confronted him in his and Xavier's room. "I have to go," you said, moving so abruptly Enid stumbled and almost fell to the ground.

~X~

Wednesday only touched Rowan for a moment, but it was more than enough. She saw flashes, glimpses of what was to come, all vague and unrelated, painting a picture she couldn't understand. She saw the purple book, the flames, the tree in the quad breaking into pieces, the raven surrounded by lightning, a glimpse of a blonde woman holding a bloodied hand and crying as blue eyes closed, red eyes turning orange, herself surrounded by cloud of dust and smoke with a huge beast surrounded by lightning standing over her trapping her, Rowan screaming as he was being torn apart by claws. And then the vision stopped

"Rowan, come back!" she ran after him, ignoring Tyler calling after her. She didn't understand why she was running, why she wished to prevent the last vision from coming true. Perhaps she just wanted to see if everything she saw was true, or if it somehow could be changed.

"Rowan, wait!" she shouted as she followed him deeper into the woods, the only signs of the festival that remained were occasional flashes of firework and the sounds they made.

Rowan stopped and turned toward her, furious and looking unhinged. "Argh! What do you want? Why are you following me?!"

"I don't have time to explain, but you're in danger," she wouldn't tell him about the vision, she didn't know how much time she had.

"I think you've got it backwards," he lifted his hand and suddenly Wednesday felt an invisible force lifting her up and slamming her back into a tree.

Even with her pain tolerance she still grunted, feeling the trunk digging into her back uncomfortably.

"You're the one who's in danger!" Rowan told her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, and though she struggled it was futile. She couldn't get free.

"Saving everyone from you," he grunted, straining to keep her pinned to the tree. "I have to kill you."

She’d be lying if she said no one ever wanted to kill her, Rowan was the first to actually try though. That's when she pieced it together. "The gargoyle, that was you?"

"Yeah," he even smiled a bit, as if relieved he no longer had to hide it.

"It's always the quiet ones," Wednesday commented as a piece of paper floated out of Rowan's pocket and unfolded in front of her. She saw a girl, dressed in black, with the background that looked like quad, only on fire.

"Girl in the picture, that's you," he said, she could feel the strain in his voice, but the force pinning her to a tree only got stronger.

"You want to kill me because of some picture?!" that was a ridiculous reason to kill someone, even for her standards.

"My mother drew that picture 25 years ago when she was a student at Nevermore! She was a powerful Seer. Told me about it before she died," Rowan yelled, as if that fact made his excuse for trying to kill her any better.

"Rowan, put me down," she demanded, his powers made it harder to breathe. He was choking her; he wasn't going to stop. That’s what she got for trying to help.

"No! My mother said it was my destiny to stop this girl if she ever came to Nevermore because she will destroy the school and everyone in it!" he cried out as Wednesday became unable to breathe.

"Rowan! Let her go!" she heard your voice and looked to the side, just as you threw a knife toward Rowan. Your aim was awful. He didn't even need to move and it would miss him by at least two feet.

And then she saw it, just as the knife was about to reach Rowan, your body was engulfed in red lightning and you disappeared, your entire body shifting into lightning and bursting forth toward the knife. Wednesday watched, speechless as your body regained form right in front of Rowan, the knife in your left hand, and you, too fast for him to react.

You slammed your fist into his guts, sending him flying back, though she couldn't help but notice you didn't use lightning for the punch, just the natural momentum and strength you had. It still sent Rowan flying.

It also broke his hold on Wednesday and you threw the knife toward the tree, zapping toward it just in time to catch her before she fell to the ground. Wednesday blinked, still dazed by what just happened as you set her down and knelt in front of her. you weren't touching her, but she could clearly see the concern in your eyes.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, looking for any visible signs of injuries.

"I'm fine," she denied having any injuries. What were you thinking? That she'd show vulnerability to you just like that?

"Y/N!" Rowan enraged, bellowed as he got up to his knees and raised his arm. Your eyes widened as you were pulled into the air.

"Wait, Rowan!" Wednesday found herself shouting as she tried to get up.

"I'll kill you after I'm done with Y/N!" he had lost his mind completely, the madness in his eyes made that clear.

"Bring it! I'll show you exactly why Weems and the staff dread the storms!" you thundered, lightning gathered around you and began concentrating in a ball above your head. It was already two feet wide and it was only growing larger, though slowly. "Give up or I'll drop this on you! Forget all this madness!" despite the anger she could hear you pleading deep down for Rowan to just listen to you.

You never got a chance to do so, as a monster emerged from the shadows and grabbed Rowan, slicing and tearing him apart with its claws.

You dropped to the ground, landing on one knee. You were too surprised by the monster's appearance to maintain the ball of lightning. The monster turned to look at you two, with its bulging eyes, hunched back, sharp claws and greyish skin it was unlike anything Wednesday saw in her life.

"That's an," did you recognize the monster? "...oversized Gollum?" she expected too much from you...

~X~

The oversized Gollum fled and you and Wednesday were left with Rowan's corpse. You didn't need to be an expert to see he was ripped open by those claw and dead.

You watched, wondering if there was anything you could have done. You had your lightning ready, but you just couldn't react in time. Were you going to hurt Rowan? Yeah, as far as that went you couldn't say you were any better than the monster that attacked him, but you weren't going to kill him, as strong as the lightning you gathered looked. You were going to aim for the ground in front of him, close enough to knock him out from the shock, but not nearly close enough to kill him.

You were frantically looking around, searching for any signs of the monster coming back, but it looked like it really left.

"We need to get someone," there was an urgency in Wednesday's voice you didn't quite expect, but you could see her legs shaking slightly. Shock from Rowan's death? No. She didn't look shaken. Was it the hit she took when he tossed her into the tree?

Deciding that it was probably that you nodded and followed closely behind her, just in case she couldn't keep standing. Damn Xavier for slowing you down, maybe all of this could have been avoided if you were only a minute quicker.

The first person you came across was Bianca and you noticed Wednesday faltering just for a split second. "Rowan was killed by a monster, I don't have time to explain, just get someone," Wednesday opened straight with that.

Bianca's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? What are you talking about?"

But before Wednesday could reply she began falling forward. "Wednesday," you caught her and turned her around in your arms. She was unconscious. "Bianca we both saw him get killed. Get someone, I need to take Wednesday back to the dorm," you knew you were putting your life at risk by doing so, and that Wednesday probably knew roughly a thousand different ways to inflict pain, give or take a few hundred, and that she'd be more than eager to put you through them. You still picked her up. "Please don't wake up," you pleaded, but your gaze softened. Wednesday looked peaceful and you couldn't help but notice how light and small she actually was. "I got you, I know you can't hear me, but I got you."

~X~

In the most ridiculous turn of events Rowan was actually alive, even though he clearly got killed less than 24 hours ago. How was that possible? You had no idea. You just knew the entire school thought you and Wednesday made that up.

So here you were, once more zapping to his room as he was finishing his packing. “Hey there, zombie, I didn’t know telekinesis brought people back to life,” you came in, eyes still red as he spun around and backed away.

“You should not be here, Y/N.” he told you sternly making you roll your eyes.

“And you shouldn’t be alive,” you said, lightning crackling around you.

He huffed, looking away for a moment. “As you can see I am perfectly healthy,” he said, almost mockingly.

You had enough and pushed him against the wall, pinning him as he gasped your name. “Doesn’t feel good, does it? Why did you try to kiss Wednesday, twice by the way?” you demanded, but this felt wrong, he wasn’t fighting back, he should still be able to knock you away with his powers, yet here he was, not doing anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I was just on a stroll when you and Wednesday interrupted me,” he claimed, even though just last night he sounded eager to share everything.

You raised an eyebrow. “You actually interrupted us, remember?” you pulled away from him.

His eyes widened for a moment. “That, I didn’t intend to interrupt you, I apologize,” he raised his hands, acting embarrassed and that was all you needed.

Could you force whoever this was to reveal their identity? Probably. Pain was a good motivator, but there was also a chance you’d be doing it for nothing. You also lacked other information. Who else was working with them? Surely one person couldn’t cover up Rowan’s murder, so you kept your mouth shut.

“We’ll talk again, Rowan,” you jumped out of the window, zapping away from the dormitory.

~X~

It was like a déjà vu, what she was seeing. Only it was way worse this time. And interrupted? Was there already something romantic going on between you and Wednesday? Weems couldn’t know for sure, but she knew it couldn’t end well.

Yet even if she knew that she also knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

~X~

Rowan was dead, that much was clear, but you needed an evidence. So, here you were, in the woods, looking for anything physical that could prove the two of you weren’t crazy.

And you found it, you found Rowan’s glasses with drops of blood on them. With glasses in your hand you went back to your dorm.

When you came back to the room you found Wednesday and Thing at her table, looking at the drawing she took from Rowan. You placed the glasses on her table, near Thing. "Someone is covering this up," you went to her other side and leaned back against her table, your hands gripping the edge of it.

"These are Rowan's. You went to the woods?" she demanded, looking at you with slightly widened eyes.

You nodded. "I wasn't sure if the oversized Gollum was still there, so I went alone," you heard tapping and saw Thing rapidly signing to you. Somehow you understood. You’ve been trying to learn morse code, well, more than the fun basic stuff and while you needed him to slow down at times you were getting there. And Thing was incredibly patient with you over the past week, even though Wednesday wanted to escape. "I wasn't being reckless, I'm a raiju," in your mind that was all the explanation you needed to give.

"Don't do that again," Wednesday ordered firmly. "I want to make sure we don't miss any clues," she said simply.

“Speaking of clues, someone who can shapeshift is covering up Rowan’s murder. It isn’t him,” you told her.

Wednesday turned all of her attention to you. “How do you know?”

“I lied,” you shrugged. “I don’t know anyone in the school with that ability, but I do know they shouldn’t be able to replicate abilities. His telekinesis, or,” you let your eyes turn red. “Me being a raiju for example.”

Wednesday thought about it. “I want you to prove to me you are a raiju whenever we meet up,” she pretty much ordered, and you could see the logic behind it.

“I won’t have to worry about them shifting to look like you,” you grinned, after all, they’d have to blink, and mimic Wednesday’s behavior and that was not easy.

She didn’t look amused, but there was a bit of an unspoken promise between the two of you, you would keep this to yourselves, acting like you didn’t know what the one covering Rowan’s murder could do. And then Wednesday showed you the drawing she took from Rowan’s corpse. "I need to know what this is about."

That made sense. "Any clues as to where that's from?"

"No," she then pointed at the upper right corner. "But I noticed this just before you came in," there was a mark there, it was faint, but you could see it.

"Looks like a flower? I guess?" you couldn't offer much aside from that. You've never seen it before.

"Let's go to the library," she stood up from her chair and Thing went into her bag.

“You can go ahead first, I’ll join you in a bit,” you figured she was too eager to search for the book to let you go into the library first.

“Why?” she immediately asked.

You looked away, embarrassed. “The rumors, I guess? Most people go to the library for reasons that don’t have anything to do with books, if you get what I mean,” when she remained silent, and more importantly when she maintained that same look that inquired you to keep going, you were left with no other choice but to sigh and elaborate. “Making out. Most people make out in the library. So, we go there together, and it won’t take Enid’s vlog for half the school to think we’re doing the same,” she was already deemed a psycho by most of the school, and the rumors that she killed someone could still be heard every now and then. Add in the fact that the entire school thought the two of you made up Rowan’s murder and as far as you were concerned the last thing Wednesday needed right now was for people to think she was with a raiju of all outcast groups.

Wednesday just frowned, tilting her head the same way she did during the festival. “Do not assume I care about such trivial rumors. Come on,” she was already halfway to the doors by the time you processed what she just said.

“Wednesday, I’m a raiju,” you reminded her, but still followed. She wasn’t going to stop and talk about this.

“I don’t see an issue with that, lightning beast. You can back out if you’re so sensitive about rumors,” she said evenly, there wasn’t a hint of hesitation, or any emotion in her voice, it was as if she was just stating a fact.

You could just watch her back, not entirely sure how to feel at the moment. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

That got Wednesday to stop and turn around to look at you. “Then you should know I don’t care if they think I’m with you,” she just said it. As if she didn’t just say it didn’t matter what you were. That it didn’t matter you were a raiju. Sure, there were more dangerous outcasts, but raiju were solitary creatures. Docile, but uncontrollable, and you weren’t talking about just storms. That could be controlled, with time and practice you’d be able to stay in the rain and not worry about uncontrollable discharges. No, it was the beast form. Untamable, driven by instincts, unable to speak or fully grasp the situation it was in. Lightning is only capable of destruction and that form was the embodiment of lightning. Even with all the efforts you put into learning how to control your lightning you’d never, under any but direst circumstances, willingly shift into the actual raiju form.

Your father, as much as he cared about his roommate while at Nevermore, still lost control when he shifted, and the man and his brother barely avoided being killed during a particularly bad storm. The fear of doing the same was what made you so adamant on staying in control all the time.

And here Wednesday was, acting as if rumors about her being with a raiju wouldn’t bother her.

All you could was to let out a weak laugh and go after the girl to the library.

~X~

Basically bursting into the library, the two of you were met with the sight you expected to see. Heavy make out session of two students, vampires this time. You awkwardly looked to the side, not really wanting to meet their eyes as they fled the library, embarrassed to be caught.

Wednesday, for whatever reason, and against your expectations, didn’t seem to be affected by what she saw. She just went straight into searching for the book. Thing got out of her backpack and began searching as well, so you did too. You looked for anything purple that had the mark on the page Wednesday had.

"I keep seeing that same purple book," Wednesday said to thing after you showed her yet another shade of purple that didn’t match what she was looking for.

Apparently, Thing didn’t have much luck either. "The cover was darker, more like a day-old contusion, keep looking."

“That’s one way to describe a color,” you grinned at her, but before she could reply, if she was even going to reply, the doors opened and the two of you looked up to see Thornhill at the top of the stairs. Thing quickly hid behind the books.

"I don't usually find students in here looking for actual books," Thornhill said as she came down the stairs. "Most sneak in to make out."

"We accidentally walked in on two vampires fanging, I can't unsee that," Wednesday said and you looked away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I’ll come back later, if you don’t mind,” you said, not really wanting to spend time with the woman. You couldn’t get the look in her eyes out of your head whenever you saw her. That look of fear she had when she saw you electrocuting Tyler and his friends on the previous Outreach day. It was barely stronger than a taser, but it could have been stronger, and no matter what was said or done your and Thornhill’s relationship was permanently and irrevocably damaged. Hence, why you didn’t pay attention to her classes and did the tests just well enough to pass them.

"Sorry about that, I'm afraid Y/N and I got off on the wrong foot," you heard Thornhill saying as you left the library.

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