#sorry for my terrible humor I wanted to find a way to give Clay some love lol

[ask-the-xiaolins]

Clay,

What happened to your character ARC in the later seasons?

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part VI

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader, Zeke Yeager x fem!reader wc: ~ 11.2k

Warnings:  explicit sexual content, ass play, jealousy, possessive behavior, humiliation, manipulation, OC introduced (read A/N), non-con coming inside, fighting, miscommunication A/N: As I was writing this, I decided to bring original female characters in to play the “bad guys” because I didn’t wanna demonize the canon AoT girls. Just didn’t feel right. So, everyone, meet Rhi. Enjoy~

Mike is extremely fucking aware of you sitting a foot away from him on his couch. You're hunched over and whining about him beating you in Mario Kart again, and honestly, he doesn't know how he's doing it because he is so not focused on the game. 

 You came to the party in tight jeans and a sparkling top, and all Mike can think about is getting you out of them, spreading you out underneath him just like he used to. 

 But, he's not gonna say anything about it, not even gonna allude to it because he feels awful about pushing so hard at the Pike house. He never thought he'd be that type of guy, but he's been known to go a little off the rails when it comes to you. 

 "Have you ever played this with all banana peels?" Mike asks, trying to get his mind off of the heat he thinks he's radiating. 

 "What?" 

 "Like, you set it so all the items are bananas."

 Your eyebrows raise. "That sounds nightmarish."

 "Oh, it is," he agrees. "But you should experience the chaos at least once."

 "Alright, fine. Nanner me up, then." Mike snorts as you sit back against the cushions, examining the Switch controller in your hand and mumbling, "Could they have made these any smaller? My hands are too big. How are you even playing?" 

 "Practice. We played a lot of Don't Drink and Drive my sophomore year."

 He toggles to change the settings, and you both pick characters again. Mike selects Baby Park and grins too widely when you squeak. 

 "This is the worst possible—"

 "It's the best possible track," he corrects you. 

 The next minute or so is spent with Mike swearing and you screeching, but a melody of giggles can be heard in between. 

 He stands up like it'll help him focus, and you follow suit, bouncing and leaning forward until Mike thinks you might lose your balance. It's the only match you actually beat him at, and you raise your arms in victory, acting like the terrible winner you are. You dance and poke him in the chest so that Mike rolls his eyes and shoves you with just enough force (so, not a lot) to make you fall back onto the couch. 

 "Wow, rude!" You exclaim with a little pout.

 Mike stands next to you, a little too close as a retort forms on the tip of his tongue, but the angle is awkward, and he watches your eyes flit from his face to his waist (or what's a little below it) for just a split second, just long enough for him to notice, and he has to fight a smirk as you meet his eyes again. 

 He can imagine your cheeks are feeling pretty warm right now, but Mike doesn't say anything about it, just takes his place beside you. If he's sitting a little closer than before, neither of you mention it. 

 It's nearing one in the morning, and both of you are starting to feel it, eyes and hands too slow to keep playing the video game, so you switch to a movie. Mike doesn't think much of it when he lays down, legs hanging over the armrest, head in your lap. You tense for about two seconds before relaxing into the position you both know so well. 

 The first Jurassic Park plays from the TV, but Mike isn't paying any attention, too busy watching the way you're nibbling on your bottom lip. It's your thinking face, means you're lost in your own brain, just as far away from the film as he is. 

 It's stupid that you're both fighting this. Mike doesn't understand. If he wants it, and you want it, what the fuck is standing in the way? Zeke? That pretentious, clay-stained fuck? You don't even fit well together. In any way. He's too arrogant and philosophical (or so Erwin says). He probably doesn't appreciate your sense of humor (or so Mike says). And, he won't fuck you (so you say). How are you happy with him? 

 "Miche," your voice is quiet, but still loud enough to send a shiver down Mike's spine. 

 "Hm?"

 "Stop staring at my mouth."

 "You looked at my dick earlier."

 "Shut up, no I didn't."

 Mike laughs, turns his head to bury it in your stomach, and you start carding fingers through his hair. It's natural with the two of you. Nothing is forced. It took a while to get back into the groove of your friendship, but now you're here, and Mike is breathing in the smell of your perfume and fabric softener and you, and he wants so badly to just raise your shirt and plant kisses all over your soft skin. 

 Your body rises and falls with a deep breath. Your hand stops at the crown of his head. Then, you whisper the words he wants to hear most: "Just one more night?" 

 Mike sits up so fast, he nearly smacks into your chin with his forehead. He turns to face you again, eyes too round, voice too hopeful as he assures, "Just one more night."

 He knows the only reason you're considering this is because Zeke has you all wound up, but that's okay. Mike will take care of you. He'll scratch that itch and then some—remind you of what you're missing. 

 "Alright, yeah, I—"

 Mike is suddenly standing and taking your hand, leading you to his bedroom as the Jurassic Park theme plays you both out. 

 He knows you'll want to snoop—it's sort of your thing—but he doesn't give you time as he bends and catches you in a kiss, hands holding your face, tilting your head. He feels you curl your fingers into his shirt, using him for leverage as you balance on your tiptoes, and he lets you dance like that for a little while, desperate little ballerina as you open your mouth for him, but as soon as he feels your tongue against his, Mike lifts you clean off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist, no need for straining muscles now as you both lick and suck and hold on to each other too tightly. 

 Mike paces over to the bed, nearly tripping over the shoes he left in the middle of his room earlier that day, but he’s able to drop you onto the mattress and catch himself above you before any real damage can be done. 

 You laugh out a, “Real smooth, Zacharias,” that he ignores in favor of taking his shirt off. 

 He can’t see well in the darkness which just will not do as you begin stripping, but then he remembers, “Oh,” and leans over you to plug in the string of lights he somehow managed to hang around the flag pinned above his headboard. “Ambience.”

 You crane to look at them, suck your teeth, and say, “Let me guess. Erwin told you to do it.”

 “How’d you know?”

 Another little giggle as you tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear—“Because Erwin is the fairy lights type of motherfucker, but you…” You don’t finish that thought, just shake your head and tell him, “They’re cute. I like ‘em.”

 Mike hums, “Good,” then leans down for another kiss. Several more, actually. 

 He’s missed this so fucking much, the way you taste on his tongue, the way you sigh into him, the way your body moves beneath his. It hurts to think this will be the last time he gets to experience it with you, but he plans to savor every second, never let himself forget and, hopefully, make sure you never forget either. 

 Cheesy or not, the lights cast incredible shadows on your body once it's bared to him. Your silhouette is something he could stare at for hours, days, a lifetime. If he were even slightly artistically inclined, he’d probably try to paint it, but as that’s not the case…

 Starting at your jawline, Mike leaves a trail of little bites, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your neck, though, he begins sucking, dragging his teeth over new-forming bruises so that you whimper and arch to press your chest to his. He moves slowly, barely even registering your breathy pleas as he holds a patch of skin captive between his incisors and laves over it. 

 A mark on your neck. One on the swell of your breast then on the side of the other. The space between two ribs. Just above your naval. The hollow of your hip bone. And, finally, the insides of both thighs. 

 Last time he did this, on the bed in your old room doused in moonlight, he wasn't trying to be possessive. 

 Tonight he is. 

 “M-Miche, please.” Your voice is catching as if you’re crying—as if Mike is torturing you. He supposes he is. You’re ready for relief, and all he’s doing is winding you tighter and tighter. It’s okay, baby, he thinks to himself, I’ll make it worth it. 

 Swiping his tongue between your folds, Mike groans at how wet you are. He almost feels sorry for you. Now, he’s gonna have to spend even more time drinking you in. 

 You throw your legs over his shoulders with no prompting, letting him sink further into you. Mike licks in long, deep strokes that make your thighs tremble and jump around his head. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slick and swollen against his tongue, and makes sure to move his face just enough to make a mess of the hair on his chin. 

 You’re begging again. For something. For nothing. He isn’t quite sure. But, when Mike moves to lick around your dripping hole and uses a finger to flick over your sensitive little bud, you sing for him, and he realizes just how pent up you are. 

 Oh, he can have fun with this. 

 Pausing to suck more bruises onto your thighs, Mike tries to calm himself down, find a way to ignore the throb between his legs, but that doesn’t seem likely judging by the way you just keep trying to spread yourself further and further, like it’ll get him to move faster. 

 He crawls back up your body, face level with yours as he teases your entrance with a finger. You let out the cutest sounds, brow furrowing like you’re focused as you shift your hips in a silent demand that Mike does not follow. 

 His face is slick with you, and he knows you can taste yourself as he forces you into another long kiss. You let out an honest-to-god sob when he pushes his finger inside of you, throwing your head back and clenching around him while praising, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, tha—thank you.”

 Mike pumps in and out a few times, finds your spot with ease and massages over it until he sees true tears leaking from your eyes. 

 Then, he pulls out, slaps a hand over your cunt, and warns, “Don’t thank me just yet.”

 Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling seemingly in shock. Mike raises to his knees and wipes his chin on his shoulder, glances back just in time to see you sit up and attempt to tackle him back on the bed. 

 Mike snorts, catching you by the wrists and leaning in close. “What do you think you’re gonna do?”

 Your eyes are a little wild, lips kiss-swollen, body marked to hell and back from Mike’s mouth. You just can’t get enough, shamelessly cock hungry, and god, he is so glad he's here to witness it. To be a part of it. Maybe he should send Zeke a gift basket, an edible arrangement or something. Thanks for letting me satisfy your girl since you can’t. 

 It takes no effort to lay you back down, just like it takes no effort to flip you over. Mike raises your hips, enjoys the view of you whining into his pillow for a second, then turns his sights to your ass. He gives it a couple spanks, biting his lip at the way it makes you clench your muscles, then spreads your cheeks and spits. 

 “M-Mi—”

 “‘S’okay,” he tells you before letting more of his saliva drip from his mouth and land on your asshole. “Gonna feel good, I promise.”

 He’s never done this with you before, not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he figures if there’s any night to go all out, it’s this one. 

 The first press of his tongue against your hole has you inhaling sharply, and the first press of his fingers into your pussy has you moaning low in your throat. Just like that, you relax for him. Mike works himself inside of you, opening you up until you’re nothing more than a drooling mess on his bed. You allow him to lick inside of you, to take in every exposed part of you as he rubs your g-spot over and over. 

 “Mm, gonna… gonna…” Your words are thick and wet. Mike isn’t even sure you realize that you’re speaking. He knows what you’re trying to say, though, so with a mischievous smile, he removes his face and hand, admiring his handiwork as you drop back to the bed and whine for him. 

 There’s a bottle of listerine in his nightstand, one he only planned on using when he would wake up in the early morning hours with that dead animal taste in his mouth. Turns out, it has more than one use. Mike takes a swig so that you won’t freak out if he tries to kiss you after eating your ass, swishes it around, then swallows. 

 “Not supposed to drink that,” you slur, already looking much too fucked-out for someone who hasn’t even taken his dick yet. 

 “Harmless in small doses, babe,” he tells you, recapping the bottle and tossing it back into the open drawer. “If I just chugged all of it, it’d be a different story.”

 You let out a little scoff, mumble something he can’t hear, then ask a little louder, “You ready to fuck me yet?”

 Mike smirks, pushes you to roll over again, then strokes a thumb over your face. “I am literally always ready to fuck you. Just trying to draw it out tonight.” 

 It makes you pout, but he thinks your eyes clear a little. Like you understand what he’s feeling. When you pull him down for another kiss, much softer than all of the previous, Mike smiles—another little snapshot he’d like to tuck away. 

 Without any warning, he pulls the pillows your head is resting on out from under you, snickering at the grunt that leaves you. He taps a hip, “Lift,” and shoves them underneath when you do. He should probably ask if you want him to wear a condom, but that’s nothing more than an afterthought as Mike begins to push into you. 

 “Ohh, thank god, thank god, thank god,” you pant, and Mike chuckles, dipping a hand down to gently stroke over the tissue stretching around his cock. 

 Every shallows thrust pushes more slick from you, and he can’t help but gather some on his finger and hold it to your mouth. You’re quick to lick it off, but instead of dropping his hand, Mike moves to press a thumb to your chin and hold your mouth open. You stick your tongue out, and he mumbles a low, “Such a slut,” before spitting on it. 

 As soon as you swallow Mike snaps his hips forward and starts a hard, fast rhythm. The way your face splits into a crooked grin almost has him coming on the spot, so fucking pleased with yourself, but he wants to make sure you’re seeing stars by the time he’s finished with you—wants to make sure you can’t even get out of his bed. 

 You're sucking in air through your teeth, little hisses that could be from either pain or pleasure, but the way you keep raising yourself off the pillows to meet Mike halfway is a pretty good indicator of which one it is. 

 While your voice seems muted at the time being, your sloppy little cunt is not—lewd, wet noises echoing through Mike's room as well as his head. That fucking squelch he hears every time he pushes in, the mirroring suck whenever he pulls out… You always get messy with him, or maybe he always makes a mess out of you—either way, it's one of the many things Mike adores about you. You were shy about it maybe the first two fucks but not anymore. Now, you wrap your legs around Mike and pull him closer, claw down his back and try your hardest to fuck yourself on his cock until he's laughing in your ear. 

 "Here, hold on."

 You whimper when he pulls out, but it's only to flop down in his back and let you climb on top. He expects some kind of break, a single second to breathe, but you just sink down on his length and let your head hang back. 

 "Mmygod," you moan, taking him in as far as you can then rocking back and forth. 

 Mike can feel your thighs break out in goosebumps, traces a finger over your arm to find the same effect and hums. Bracing yourself on his chest, you plant your feet on the mattress and bounce like your life depends on it, that drunken smile back in place as Mike coos, "That's it, baby, take what you need." 

 He reaches up to grope your tits, cupping both of them, brushing calloused palms over each nipple. It makes you arch your back and gasp, but the rhythm of your hips doesn't stop. Mike can feel the way your pussy is drooling on him, slick little rivers that add to that filthy, beautiful symphony. He wants to hear it every night on repeat. Most played song of—

 "Oh fuck, oh fuck," you whine, and Mike reaches between your spread legs to press a thumb against your clit, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh as he rubs in tiny circles. 

 You sit and take it for several seconds before your eyes find his, widen, then roll as you start to come. 

 Mike takes over, lifting and lowering you on his cock as you twitch and cry for him. You're so pretty like this, hair out of place, damp with sweat and tears, thighs painted with your own orgasm. He doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want this to be the last time. 

 With your pussy still spasming around him, Mike switches positions again, lays you down like before and situates his head between your legs to idly lick everything that's dripped out of you. Your legs are shaking, kitten-like mewls meeting his ears. You jump whenever he runs his tongue over your clit, but you never move to stop him or swat him away. 

 Mike waits for you to go boneless before scooping you up and sitting on the edge of the bed. You're clumsy and slow as you straddle his lap, letting him slip inside you once more, but it's nowhere near as frantic as before. 

 He guides with gentle hands under your thighs, coaxes you to uncurl them from underneath you and wrap around his waist instead. Chest to chest, you rise and fall together. Mike breathes heavily into your neck as he hits that unforgiving wall inside of you. It makes you wince, but you don't shy away from him. 

 He's careful after that, makes sure everything he does is slow, tender, and when he sees fresh tears shining in your eyelashes, he knows it isn't from anything he's doing to you. 

 Mike is able to suck a few more bruises onto your neck and shoulders before he feels you nose at his cheek. Your kiss is dream-like, deep and relaxed but so full, and Mike knows he would be able to just do that all night if his orgasm wasn't about to run into him like a train. 

 He breaks away, looks to the ceiling only to have little fingers curl around his jaw and bring him back. You watch him with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, and that expression—that need to see—it makes the cord in Mike's gut snap. He sees a vague twinkle in your gaze as his jaw drops then blackness as his eyes are suddenly facing the back of his god damn skull. 

 Every line of cum he shoots inside you has him groaning, his fingers digging into the swell of your ass as he fills you up. You purposely squeeze him, clenching on his cock to milk him of everything he has until Mike is shuddering and whispering, "Okay, okay, okay."

 "Okay?" You question then squeeze him again, giggling when he grunts and twitches. 

 Lying back on the bed, Mike lets you pull your legs out from under him, but you remain straddling his waist as you lean forward to lay on his chest. It’s quiet for a long time. A different Jurassic Park movie is playing now, the music too intense for the deep, even breaths you’re taking, for the way you’re lightly tapping Mike’s shoulder in time with his heartbeat. 

 His head is beginning to clear again, the lust and excitement ebbing away into those reflective thoughts that always seem to hit him after a mindblowing orgasm. It’s mostly questions: Why are you doing this? Why is he doing this? Why can’t you keep doing this? Why didn’t you pick him? Why don’t you want—

 “Okay, I gotta get up,” you grumble. “I can actually feel your cum dripping out of me.”

 Mike snorts, looking over his nose at you. “Never complained about it before.”

 You push yourself off of him, both of you hissing at the sensation, then Mike watches you stand and glance around, probably trying to figure out which door is for the closet and which is for the bathroom.

 “It’s the one on the left,” he grunts, staring at your ass a little too long and suppressing a groan when he catches sight of white fluid streaming down your thighs. “God dammit.”

 The toilet flushes, the shower starts, and Mike is left to wonder if you need the alone time or if he should treat this like any other time and join you. Are you in there trying to wash him off of you or—

 “You comin’?” You peak out from the door, wet hair dripping, tired smile in place. 

 “Just did,” he shoots back while sitting up. Like every other time. Just keep it casual. 

 The water is hot, but you’re even hotter as you lather your hair in shampoo and soap up your body. Since he’s back to pretending like this is nothing more than your old routine, Mike has no problem pressing himself against you from behind, running his hands up your sides, “helping” in the bathing process by squeezing your tits, feeling the suds get caught in the webs of his fingers. 

 “You’re playing with fire, Zacharias,” you tell him, and he can see your lips pulling into a smirk. “You need to stop unless you wanna go for round two.”

 He nips at your earlobe, uncaring of the soap that gets in his mouth. “Or three, or four.”

 You laugh and turn to face him, but your eyes are shut as you rinse your hair. It gives Mike time to admire all the marks he’s left on you—too many, probably—and he doubts you’ll be very happy with him once you notice, but fuck, you’re so pretty covered in him. 

 The shower ends. Mike expects you to ask for a ride back to the dorms (that he doesn’t understand why you’re still living in), but it turns out you’re not all talk. After sitting on the couch for only a few minutes, trying to make sense of the dinosaur movie you’ve walked in on halfway, you’re crawling into his lap again, teeth dragging over his neck this time as your hand trails down his torso to rub over his rapidly growing cock.

 “Oh, shit, I didn’t actually think you were serious,” he chuckles through a kiss.

 You grind down on him, bite his lower lip, then remind him, “I told you I was frustrated.”

 He smirks, gives your hair a little tug that makes you moan, then makes sure his words just ghost over your mouth when he teases, “Like a bitch in heat.”

 This time he takes you over the armrest of the couch, leaves you swollen and dripping his cum again. 

 Another shower, the steam on top of such vigorous activity has both of you deliriously tired, and Mike is honest when he tells you, “I really shouldn’t drive now. I’m about to pass out.”

 “You and me both.” 

 So, you slip into one of his shirts and crawl into bed with him, but neither of you get more than a couple hours of sleep before the morning sun is shining in through the window. Mike’s grumpy groan very quickly turns to one of interest when he feels you push your ass against his morning wood, and then you’re at it again. He’s never fucked this much in such a short amount of time, and he can’t imagine doing it every day or even every other day. In fact, he thinks he might be a little burnt out for a bit. Unless it’s with you, of course. He’ll always make an exception if it’s you moaning his name and hiking a leg over his hip and milking him dry. He guesses if this is the last time he gets to do this for the foreseeable future, he’s at least made it worth it.

 Back in your little party outfit, you step up into Mike’s Jeep and almost doze off in the short time it takes to get to student housing, but you’re roused when he pulls into the parking lot and steps on the breaks just a little too hard.

 Mike snickers when you jolt forward and grunt, cutting your eyes at him and muttering, “Fucker,” before undoing your seatbelt and leaning over to pull him into another kiss. He cradles the back of your head, holds you there for too long as he tries to make you feel everything he’s feeling through tangled tongues, little nips, and the string of spit that stretches between two bottom lips. 

 He thinks he’s been good at hiding it, but now as you’re about to slip out and away, those words are lodged in Mike’s throat again, and no amount of swallowing will get rid of them. He takes a deep breath and forces one of those horribly insincere smiles, and you can tell because the look you give him is thoughtful and sorry, and your voice comes out as a whisper when you say his name, “Miche.”

 “Hm?”

 “Uh… Thanks.”

 He lets out a humorless laugh and asks, “For last night? This morning?”

 “For everything. I mean, last night and this morning were incredible, like… Incredible. But, it’s more than that. For helping me with everything you have in the last year or so.”

 Mike’s heart drops into his stomach, and he sits back in his seat as his mind starts racing because this doesn’t sound like gratitude; this sounds like goodbye. 

 But, why? He’ll see you on campus in a day or so, at the PKA parties you end up going to. You probably won’t be able to attend a ton of his games, but that’s fine. He understands. Are you just being dramatic—sad that you won’t be able to fuck him anymore?

 He can’t ask any of this, settles with a half-hearted, “Yeah, no problem,” as he fights the confused frown that’s slowly taking over his face. 

 “I’ll see you around,” you tell him.

 Mike nods and watches as you slide out and start walking to the bland building. He doesn’t like how that just ended. It doesn’t sit right in his head or his gut. It could be that you’re already regretting it. It could be that you're fearful of the consequences. It could be that you think this might be the final straw in your friendship. You’d be wrong on that one, though. Mike is willing to let you get away with a lot—too much—before he runs. You can use him in whatever way you need, and he’ll keep coming back. He just can’t help it.  

 *

 That had been a bad idea. A really, really fucking bad idea. The ache in you has been completely satiated, and you loved being able to hang out (and fuck) Mike—wouldn’t really trade it—but as you walk up the stairs to Zeke’s apartment sore as all get out and see his face when he swings the door open, it really hits you—

 That had been a terrible idea. 

 “Why the fuck did Eren say he saw you leave the party with Zacharias?”

 “Alright, I’m just gonna turn around,” you say, pivoting back toward the staircase because you really don’t like the way Zeke’s tone is tying your stomach in knots and making your neck prickle. You haven’t ever been one to be scared of men, but in this moment, you would much prefer to not be anywhere near him. 

 “No, no, let’s talk about this,” he says with a suck of his teeth.

 His grip on your arm is just shy of painful, and you take note of the way he forcefully guides you into the apartment rather than tugs you. 

 You chew on the inside of your cheek, setting your purse down on the counter as you follow him over to the couch. Zeke sits down at the other end facing you, as always, blue eyes narrow behind his glasses. “So, is it true?”

 “Yeah,” you admit before diving headfirst into a lie, “It was just to play videogames, though. Neither of us were diggin’ the party, so—”

 “That so?”

 You nod. “We used to all the time.”

 “And, what else did the two of you used to do?” He mocks, and you keep your mouth shut, bottom jaw sliding as your lower lip starts to quiver. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 “Thank whatever you want, Zeke. I was just hanging out with my best friend, okay?”

 “Your best friend?” He snaps. “Tell me, sweetheart, just why might you be covered up head to fucking toe, hm?”

 You cringe inwardly, taken back to the debate you’d had with yourself in front of the mirror. Your normal casual wear would show off some of the bruises Mike had littered you with—cold spoons can only do so much—but getting buttoned up would be suspicious. You had opted for the latter, hoping it would escape Zeke’s notice, but of course it didn’t. 

 Now, you’re sweating in your jeans and a fucking turtleneck you’ve never even worn before, and Jesus Christ, you just want to leave. Zeke is hot, but not hot enough to put up with this kind of bullshit.

 “Don’t have a comeback for that one, do ya’?”

 Mental note: kick Eren’s ass next time you see him. You knew that kid rubbed you the wrong way for a reason. 

 You don’t know who to be more upset with, the little brother or yourself. You could be irritated at Mike if you really wanted to—he hadn’t been subtle about wanting you last night, but then again, you hadn’t really expected him to, and you can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his feelings. There’s no way you could actually be mad at him.

 This is your fault. You need to deal with the consequences without bringing anyone else into it.

 “What d’you want me to say, Zeke? What’s the right answer here?” You ask exasperatedly. 

 “The fucking truth!”

 “We hooked up, alright? I fucked him! ‘Cause you don’t wanna fuck me, which would be fine if you’d just tell me why, but you won’t!” You’re starting to breathe a little heavy, voice rising as you continue, “I feel like you’re just waiting to see how long it’ll take for me to lose it, and apparently it was last night, and you know what?” You grin at him, nerves on fire the more you let every frustration fly from your mouth. “It was awesome. It was so fucking good, you don’t even understand.”

 Zeke’s eyebrows are high as he lets your little rant die off, obviously annoyed when he asks, “You finished?”

 “I think I am,” you laugh. 

 “Fantastic. Take your shirt off.”

 You choke on your tongue. “Excuse me?”

 “You heard me. Take. Your shirt. Off.”

 “No!"

 “You just said you wanted me to fuck you, so—”

 “Not right fucking now!” Even if you wanted him to, you wouldn’t be able to take him. You don’t think you’ve ever been so sore after having sex, but that could also have something to do with the multiple rounds of being impaled on Mike’s horse cock. God, you already miss it. 

 “Swear to god, if you don’t take it off right now—”

 “You’ll do what? What’ll you do, Zeke?”

 Your breath gets caught in your throat when he lunges at you, one foot planted on the ground as his other knee digs into the couch in a way that cages you in. His nails scratch against your skin as he pulls roughly at the material, and you hear the sound of threads splitting as you grunt and squirm and try to keep the terror rising in your chest at bay because this is not happening. This is not happening. 

 Zeke manages to rip the turtleneck off of you, and you shiver on the cushions as his eyes trace over every inch of you he can see, icy blue somehow becoming colder and colder. 

 “One,” he growls, shoving a finger into your neck. It smarts the way every bruise does, and you bat his hand away only for him to move it to the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Two.” He shoves your bra up to find hickeys three and four, making you wince as he digs a fingertip into both. “Five,” your ribs. “Six,” your stomach. “Seven,” your hip. 

 Your face is incredibly warm, tears stuck at your waterline as humiliation washes over you in waves. And naturally, it just gets worse. 

 “Are you gonna take your pants off, or will I have to?”

 You aren’t breathing deep enough anymore, and you can feel a burning in your lungs as a result. When you don’t answer quick enough, Zeke threatens, “I’ll rip them if I have to.”

 “They’re denim,” you snark, but that last piece of attitude is stomped out when he unbuttons and unzips your pants and tugs each corner, effectively tearing past the zipper. 

 You let out something frighteningly close to a whimper as he pulls them off, then sits between your legs and starts counting the marks dotted along your thighs. 

 “I’ve gotta hand it to him—Zacharias is a pretty thorough guy.” He pinches you a couple times, chuckling at the way you jump and hiss. “Did you like it when he was treating you like a fucking fire hydrant? Marking his territory like a dog?”

 “Shut up,” you grit, sitting up only to get shoved back down by a hand that curls around your throat. 

 You stare at Zeke with huge eyes, finally letting that fear bloom inside you—what is he about to do? What is he about to do?—and as he leans over you, tears start streaming down the sides of your face.

 He lets out a condescending little, "Oh," then lowers his face to run his lips over your temple and whispers, "Don't be scared. It's okay."

 A gentle kiss, and then he pushes himself up, stands, then disappears into his room. You stay on the couch, trying to catch the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Shivering as you sit up, you reach for your close only to find them ruined. 

 Zeke must have known that the moment he ripped them off of you (honestly, you should have known too) because when he returns, he tosses a ball of material at you—an old t-shirt and pajama pants. 

 "I'm gonna throw a pizza in the oven. That okay with you?" 

 You blink at him, unable to respond as he glances over his shoulder and makes a face like he's annoyed. 

 "What, are you stupid on top of slutty now? I asked if that was okay with you."

 "I—Ye—I need to leave," you mumble, quickly slipping the clothes on and standing. "I'm gonna leave."

 "How about you just chill and watch a movie instead?" 

 "Why would I want to—"

 The look Zeke gives you is chilling, mouth downturned, one eyebrow raised. It's a challenge, one you don't have the energy or fight to rise to, so you drop back onto the cushions and sigh. 

 It’s fine. You’re fine. He didn’t go nearly as far as you thought he was about to—just got upset. He had a reason to, right? There were better ways to handle it, a fucking conversation for example, but at least now he’s giving you a little space, cooling down in the kitchen while you gather your thoughts. You could go without the name-calling, though. 

 He just lost his temper, wanted to remind you that it’s him you’re with. You have been for a few months now. And, until now, Zeke has been a nice albeit slightly arrogant guy. He’s personable, he’s smart, he’s funny. Most importantly, he’s level-headed. You probably just pushed him a little too far. It could have been worse. It could be worse.

 You play it over and over in your head as Zeke hands you a plate with a slice of pizza on it. You play it when he sits down and throws an arm around you. Then, you play it when he walks you to your car that evening and kisses you like nothing ever happened.

 Could be worse. Could be worse.

 *

 Mike curls his tongue over his bottom lip and squints at the array of cups on the table across from him, picking one out before tossing the ping pong ball with a flick of his wrist. 

 It bounces off one of the cups' rims, and Nile easily snatches it up and smirks at him. 

 "Dude," Erwin starts, frowning when Mike turns to him. "Why do you suck so much tonight?"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "Man, fuck off."

 "No, I'm serious. What's up with you?"

 "Nothin'. Just having an off night."

 "More like off week," Erwin scoffs. "Month."

 Gelgar sinks his ball into the middle cup, and Mike quickly reaches forward to grab it, extracting the plastic before downing the beer. 

 Erwin is right, but Mike refuses to tell him that. He's been off since the last party a couple weeks ago, the last time he saw you—last time he touched you. He's spotted you around campus several times since, but you're always hanging off Zeke's arm, and Mike isn't about to pry you off him (despite how much he wants to).

 Honestly, he's a little surprised at how close you still are with him, how unaffected your relationship is by the hookup. Maybe Zeke just never found out. Mike has tried to ask you about it, sent more than one text, but they've gone unanswered which is a concern all on its own. Two weeks without talking at all. Mike feels like he's going insane.

 Could it be that you're mad at him, upset that you gave into temptation and you're blaming Mike instead of yourself? He understands the need to scratch that itch, but if you really hadn't wanted to fuck, you could have just said so. 

 Mid-terms are next week, so Mike figures if you still haven't talked to him by then, it's definitely time to worry about the state of the friendship. He's trying not to get himself worked up, but honestly, just the thought of you being upset with him is enough to make his stomach roll. He just needs one text. One everything's fine. That shouldn't be too hard for you, right? 

 Mike misses another shot and swears to himself, sticking a middle finger up at Erwin when he throws his arms out. 

 "It's just beer pong, bro. Calm down."

 The party is like every other—loud music, rowdy college kids, too many girls Mike doesn't care about making eyes at him from across the room. He really just wants to go home, but he can't help but stay in hopes that you might show up. It's highly unlikely, but that slim chance keeps him rooted to the spot, missing cups left and right until Nile and Gelgar win. 

 Erwin is not happy as he drinks his share of the remaining beer. Once he finishes the last, he tells Mike, "You owe me for that pathetic fucking display. Tell me what's going on."

 Mike comes close to just turning his back and walking away, but he can see that even through his irritation, Erwin is worried for him. 

 Running a hand through his hair, Mike just asks if Erwin has heard from you at all recently. "I just can't get ahold of her, and I can't tell if it's 'cause she's busy or ignoring me or what."

 Erwin's thick eyebrows knit together as he shakes his head. "No, I haven't talked to her in a while. Did something happen between the two of you?" 

 "I mean, we hooked up at the last party—"

 "Oh, that ended up happening?" Erwin asks, surprised. 

 Even after making up last semester, Mike has tried to keep the details of his sex life with you to himself and away from Erwin specifically.  After the shit he pulled that drove the rift between them in the first place, Mike isn't willing to be quite as open about you as he previously was, but he did have to break that code at the last party when he was convinced you would end up fucking. Buzzed and excited while still at the house, Mike had asked Erwin if he'd be cool with the two of you using his room (with the promise of cleaning up, of course), before you ended up just retreating to the quietness of Mike's apartment instead. 

 So, Erwin knew the potential that evening had, but Mike never followed up with him until now. 

 "Yeah, it did."

 "Well, what did Zeke think of it?"

 Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Dunno. She hasn't talked to me since then."

 "Shit." Erwin looks genuinely taken aback. "It's been that long?"

 "Yeah. I'm trying not to freak out, but like—"

 "No, I get you. If I end up hearing from her before you do, I'll let you know."

 Mike nods, "Thanks, bro," and forces a smile when Erwin claps him on the back, then breaks away from his friend to mope around somewhere else. 

 What if something happened? What if Zeke had found out and lost his temper with you? Mike will murder him if he finds out that four-eyed fuck put his hands on you. Gruesomely murder.  

 If he could take back what you both shared that night, he would. Things seemed to be getting somewhat back to normal between you—talking and making dumb jokes, like you were actually comfortable around him despite your boyfriend. If Mike had known one last night would fuck that progress up, he wouldn't have ever brought it up. 

 Then again, you had told him. I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke. And, he had still pushed, tried to get you to give in, and god, that's embarrassing. Mike is glad you called him out on his shit, but looking back on it still makes his face heat. That was fucked up. He fucked up.

 "It's Mike, right?" 

 Mike's eyes snap downward, caught off guard by the girl suddenly standing in front of him, dainty fingers with painted nails clutched around a beer bottle. It's the same kind you would drink only to end up giving it to Mike. 

 "Uh, yeah, that's me."

 The girl smiles at him. He's seen her around the college, events shared between both frats and sororities, and the more Mike looks at her face, the more he recognizes her as one of the chicks who used to hang around the baseball team a lot. In fact, he's pretty sure she's—

 "I'm Rhi. You played really well yesterday. I was watching you."

 "Thanks."

 She bats her eyelashes at him as she returns, "You're welcome," then clicks her tongue and asks, "So, who ya' lookin' for?" in a sing-song voice. 

 "What do you mean?" 

 "I mean, you've been scanning this room for the last, like, fifteen minutes. Looking like you're playing Where's Waldo or something."

 Mike snorts, flipping hair from his face as he lies, "No one in particular." 

 He recognizes the look of satisfaction that blooms on Rhi's face, has seen it many times before on many different girls. It makes him sigh inwardly because he really could not be any less interested. 

 "That's good." Rhi's wide grin shrinks into a smirk before she adds, "I was hoping you'd say that."

 Mike feels his mouth tug up on one side in what he's pretty sure comes off as a sad little smile. 

 Fuck it, though. At least she's pretty. 

 *

 Things don't change all that much between you and Zeke. After spending a day or two rationalizing, you're able to look at him and smile again, to laugh at his jokes and listen to his tangents. He's back to playing with your fingers on the table while you sit face to face for lunch, back to shoving his hand in your back pocket while you walk around campus. It's like nothing ever happened. 

 If anything, you start spending even more time with him. He walks with you to and from class whenever he can, tells you to come watch his practices because the teammates he's closest with—his best friends—want to get to know you better. It's all normal, and you get used to the slight change in routine without a problem. You like the Galliard brothers, Marcel who plays shortstop and Porco, the catcher, so it isn't a chore to hang out with them after games and practice.

 What is a chore is watching Zeke talk with his bubbly ex as he walks with her to the science building you're waiting at. Leaning against the brick wall under an awning, you squint as they approach. Rhi is looking at him with those huge, entranced eyes you know too well, a little too much pep in her step making her tits bounce in a way that's fucking impossible to ignore. 

 You shouldn't be territorial. If anything, you should probably still be mad for the stunt he had pulled with you, but… if he gets to be possessive, so do you. It only makes sense. 

 'Cause that's how healthy relationships work, you think with a snort, pushing yourself off the wall when they both stop in front of you. 

 "Babe, you remember Rhi," Zeke reintroduces her like you haven't been at least a little wary of her for the last couple months. 

 "Yeah," you nod, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

 "I'm great!" She grins, looking at Zeke for one reason or another, like he needs to approve her answer, which is fucking dumb, but you also kind of understand because that's just the effect he has on people. 

 "Glad to hear it." You turn your attention to your boyfriend, content to ignore her from here on out, and ask, "Did you wanna grab something to eat before practice?" 

 “Yeah,” he nods before glancing at Rhi and offering a, “Catch you later,” that sounds too promising for your liking. 

 You don’t glare at the other girl as the two of you leave, but you definitely do not smile, and as Zeke drives you both to your favorite cafe, you whine to Hitch through texts.

 i wouldn’t be too worried about it, she tells you. she’s in my psych class and she’s kinda dumb. i doubt zeke wants to put up with that again. probs why he dumped her in the first place

 You try to appear unbothered through lunch, but you’ve had a pretty shitty day so far—woke up late, probably failed a quiz, got no response from Mike despite texting him three times in rapid succession, and then you had to witness that doe-eyed little brat blatantly pine for—

 “You know, you don’t have any right to be jealous, right?” Zeke asks after swallowing a bite of salad. 

 You blink at him, having to process for a second before you understand what he’s saying. And, why he’s saying it. How can he just read your mind like that? You don’t think you’ll ever understand. 

 “‘M not jealous,” you mumble, stirring soup you really have no intention of eating. 

 Zeke smirks across from you. “No?”

 “I’m just having a bad day. Don’t make assumptions just ‘cause I didn’t smile at your little ex.”

 His expression of self-satisfaction falls into a frown, and he asks what’s going on. When you tell him, you purposely leave out the detail about Mike ignoring you because it would only further Zeke’s point about you having no right to get possessive especially considering how fucking upset you are about the matter. Why the fuck isn’t he talking to you?

 “Want me to help take the edge off?” Zeke asks when you finish venting.

 You look at him with one raised eyebrow, tempted to reply with a smart-aleck ‘only if you plan on seeing it through’, but that sounds like too much of an ultimatum, too manipulative. You’ve made it this long without being a shady bitch, and you have no intention of becoming one. 

 He can see the gears turning in your head, leans forward and grabs your hand before urging, “Come over. Skip your evening class, and we can just… Relax.”

 You snort when he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, possibly the first time you’ve smiled today. “I really shouldn’t skip. We’re reviewing for our exam next week.”

 “All the more reason to. You’re not getting any new information. You can just go back over it on your own.”

 He has a point. You have all the notes and PowerPoints, and the idea of just lounging and fucking is very tempting since the last time you had sex was the night with Mike.

 And, just like that, your stomach is in knots again. Why won’t he just text back?

 Sighing, you come to the conclusion that a distraction is exactly what you need.

 “Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

 “Oh, I’ll make sure it’s more than nice.”

 Zeke finishes his meal then asks for a to-go bowl for yours, and after about fifteen minutes, you’re in his apartment. 

 “Let’s watch something while my food settles, and then we can you know…”

 “You know,” you mimic, putting the leftovers up in the fridge then joining him on the couch.

 He turns on some underground horror movie that doesn’t exactly set the mood, but you power through about half of it before all but throwing yourself at Zeke as soon as he pats his lap.

 Chuckling, he helps take your shirt off, kisses your collarbone and murmurs, “Damn, should we just move straight to the bedroom?”

 “I literally could not give less of a fuck. Whatever you wanna do.”

 He grips your thighs and stands, making you hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he walks into the back and drops you on his bed. You immediately kick your pants off, a constant stream of ‘yes yes yes’ running through your mind. You need this. God, you need this. 

 But, when Zeke curls over you, he doesn’t feel broad enough, and when he kisses you, his beard is too thick, and when he trails his hands down your body, they’re barely calloused. 

 You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to turn your brain off—please, just turn off—because you should only be thinking of Zeke. 

 Zeke who circles your nipple with his tongue, who brushes fingers over your bare pussy and groans at how the sensation makes you arch into his mouth. 

 “Can’t wait to stuff this pretty cunt,” he breathes before grazing his teeth over pebbled flesh. 

 His voice isn’t deep enough. His blue eyes have a different shine from the green you're so used to.

 Fuck, fuck, fuck, just let him—

 Shimmying down your body, Zeke spreads you open and pushes spit from his mouth to land on your clit and drip downward. It makes you gasp, and you feel that familiar throb of arousal that grows when he starts rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bundle. 

 “Oh, shit,” you huff.

 Heat pools between your legs as he continues the motion, only stopping to replace his finger with his mouth. 

 You let out a high-pitched moan, thinking to yourself, what about pillows? You can get a better angle with pillows. It doesn’t matter in the long run as he drags his tongue over your entrance, dipping inside for just a second before going back to swirling the muscle around your clit. 

 A finger is pushed into you a little too roughly. It’s not quite long enough, not quite thick enough, but it still feels good, especially once Zeke finds your g-spot and massages it until you’re whimpering and begging for more.

 “You think you’re ready, sweetheart?” He speaks into your thigh, a thigh that was once littered with dark bruises from another mouth. 

 “Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please, please, Zeke.” Even his name feels foreign falling from your lips despite having said it hundreds of times.

 You don’t understand why your mind is sabotaging you like this. You’ve been desperate for Zeke for months now, so why is it that you’re finally getting what you want but can only think about Mike? What is wrong with you?

 He scissors two fingers inside of you, making sure you’re nice and stretched, and you want to tell him to hurry up, that you’ve taken someone substantially longer and thicker, because yeah, Zeke has a nice cock, big enough to be satisfying, flushed pink at the tip and dripping, but it’s doubtful that he’s gonna hurt you. 

 He has a lovely upward curve that drags over your spot as he slides into you, and it makes you groan, eyebrows knitting together as Zeke swears.

 “Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, giving a few experimental thrusts. 

 You can take him without issue, wet and stretched, and god yes, finally. Finally. His pace quickens, coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your clit and causing your eyes to roll back. Locking your ankles around his waist, you grin at the new angle, and Zeke huffs out an appreciative, “So fucking sexy when you smile for me, baby.” You stick your tongue between your teeth, something between a moan and a laugh leaving your throat, and he coos another, “Feel good?”

 “Ye-es.”

 Your mind is finally cleared—for a few minutes, at least—until Zeke pulls out and tells you to turn over. “Hands and knees.”

 You comply, and when Zeke spreads your cheeks and shoves his cock back into your wet pussy, the memory of Mike’s tongue on your asshole flashes through your brain. 

 “Jesus Christ,” you whine. 

 Zeke’s balls slap your clit with every snap of his hips, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room. It’s so fucking lewd, the sweat breaking out on both of you only making the noises more obscene. The fingers of one hand are gripping you tightly while Zeke brings his other down on your ass with a little too much force. The burning that follows feels good, makes you hiss and push back against him.

 Pulling out so that only his cockhead is inside you, Zeke stills to focus solely on spanking you, alternating between cheeks as heat radiates from them. You cry and keep moving to the best of your ability, fucking yourself on his length as you get lost in sensation. 

 You lose track of time. Zeke switches between abusing your ass and leaning over you to grope your tits. No matter what he’s doing, you’re moaning, and eventually your own hand travels between your legs to play with your clit, the pressure in your gut becoming too much. You need to come, need that release, and when your back arches and your muscles tense, Zeke growls against your spine, “Fuck yes, come on my cock—just wanna feel you—”

 He lets out a little, “Ha,” when you pulse around him, gushing slick and leaving you overstimulated as he continues to fuck into you harshly. 

 Your arms give out, elbows buckling and sending you falling face first into the pillow. Every noise you make grows in volume but remains muffled. Zeke is relentless in his strokes, but he thankfully doesn’t last much longer, droplets of sweat landing on your back as he curls over you once again, breathing heavily into your ear, “Can I come inside? Lemme come inside you.”

 Before you can realize what you’re doing, you shake your head, turning your cheek to the cushion and panting, “No, don’t.”

 It shouldn’t matter. You’re protected, and you’ve done it before, but…

 You only want to do that for one person. You don’t want to let anyone else.

 “Don’t, Zeke, I—”

 “Did you let him come in you?” He suddenly asks. “Did you let him fill you with cum?”

 He reaches around you to pinch your clit, and you squeal and squirm, trying to get him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t, just holds it with two fingers and taps the swollen bud without mercy. 

 “Did you?”

 “No!” You lie, voice rising. “Fuck, I didn’t let him!”

 Zeke scoffs. “I don’t believe you,” pinching hard enough to make tears spring up in your eyes before letting go. He returns to your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your skin as he gives a few more thrusts and groans, spilling into you then moving you back and forth on his cock, watching his own cum get pushed further into your hole and coat the entirety of his length.

 “God dammit, what the fuck, Zeke?” You speak through gritted teeth, shoving back against him suddenly and with enough force to make him lose his balance and fall backward. You can feel thick fluid dripping down your thighs and turn to glare at him only to find him smirking at you. 

 The space behind your eyes grows hot with tears you refuse to shed in front of him. Instead, you get up and walk to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before sitting down on the toilet with your head in your hands. 

 You shouldn’t be as upset as you are, generally like the feeling of guys releasing inside of you. It’s just hot. But, you had not wanted it this time. You weren’t ready for it, and now you can’t help but feel… tainted. 

 You pee then hop into the shower to rinse off, to cleanse yourself and calm down, and once the hot water has drained you of most of your anger, you slip into one of Zeke’s t-shirts and go back outside. He’s in sweatpants, sipping on water as he stares at the TV.

 “Feel better?” He questions without actually looking at you.

 You’re free to roll your eyes, but you think you sound convincing when you answer, “Yeah, a lot.”

 He hums. “Didn’t seem like it.”

 “I mean,” you sigh and move to sit down next to him, one leg tucked under you as you think about how you want to word what’s on your mind. “When I ask you not to do something, I, you know, want you to actually listen."

 Now, he turns to look at you wearing an expression frighteningly similar to the one he'd worn the day he humiliated you on the very couch you're sitting in. 

 "Oh, so you want me to respect your wishes." He doesn't sound at all sympathetic. "Kind of like I wanted you to respect mine before you went and fucked Zacharias."

 "Alright," you drawl. "We're back to this again. Awesome."

 He didn't ever explicitly ask you not to sleep with anyone else. At that point, you don't know if Zeke even saw you as a legitimate girlfriend. And, you understand why he's annoyed by your actions, but you're getting extremely fucking tired of him dangling it over your head. 

 "Uh, yeah, we are."

 Taking a deep breath, you try to keep a level head, to appear collected when you tell him, "Look, I see your frustration. I get it. But, me sleeping with Mike is a little different than—"

 "How?" Zeke cuts you off. "How is it different?"

 "Because what you did in there was against my fucking will. I told you not to come inside me, and you still did."

 Zeke is on his feet in an instant. "Is that a fucking accusation?"

 "No, no," you hold your hands up in defense as you peer up at him. "I'm not trying to say that everything that happened in there was non-consensual—"

 "Sounds a lot like you are."

 You're starting to panic. You don't like how hostile he's getting when he isn't even trying to understand you. 

 "You're trying to fill in blanks that aren't there, Zeke. I'm not trying to accuse you or get you in trouble or anything. I'm trying to explain how fucked up—how scary—it is for someone to ignore your boundaries in the bedroom."

 He makes a little, "Tch," then mutters, "You're blowing it out of proportion." 

 It's about the worst thing he could say to you. Firstly, he's the one getting offended by the situation, and secondly, it completely invalidates you. 

 "You're the one who was so desperate for sex you went and fucked someone else," he adds. 

 You massage your temples, figure you need to remove yourself before saying something you can't take back. 

 Your phone is still on the armrest where you left it before going to the back, and it lights up with a text—Hitch—and displays the time. It's only five. If you wanted, you could still make it to your six o'clock class. 

 "You know what, I'm gonna put a pin in this so we can both simmer down. We can revisit it later."

 Zeke doesn't seem to like that solution, or lack thereof. You grab your shirt off the floor then pad back to the bedroom to change into the clothes you picked out for the day, texting Hitch back while you're hidden. 

 She had asked what you were up to, and you reply with, at Zeke's. Could you by any chance pick me up? I didn't drive and we just got into a spat. 

 on my way 😘

 You waste a little time before deciding to brave your boyfriend again, simply telling him that you're just gonna go to class and that Hitch is coming to get you. 

 "Fine," he dismisses.

 You think about giving him a little peck but decide against it, opting to just grab your backpack and slip on your shoes. 

 "I'll text you," you tell him. 

 He replies with a short, "Sure," and you take that as your cue to leave. 

 It doesn't take long for Hitch to get there and takes even less time for her to ask what happened. 

 At last, you give her the full scoop (barring Zeke's meltdown after originally finding out you slept with Mike). She frowns almost the whole way through, and you expect her to either soothe you or tell you that he's being an asshole, but instead, she clicks her tongue and mutters, "I don't get why you aren't just dating Mike. Like, yeah, Zeke's hot and all, but you and Mike have always had a thing. And, you both obviously like each other so whyyy," she ends in a frustrated whine. 

 "Because Mike and I…" You trail off. You don't really know, honestly, not for a few seconds at least, and when it hits you, it isn't some big epiphany. It's more like a natural thought. "Because Mike is long-term. If we got together it would be, like, the real deal. And, I don't think either of us are ready for that."

 It feels good to admit both to Hitch and to yourself. You never thought about it in depth before, mostly because while you've known about his feelings for you for a good while, you haven't fully accepted your own. 

 But, if the hurt you're feeling at him not texting you back is anything to go on (not to mention how much you thought of him while fucking Zeke), your fondness for him has probably turned into something more, something deeper. 

 "I don't understand what's so bad about the real deal, but whatever. You guys will sort it out in your own time."

 "I don't know about that," you mumble. "He hasn't talked to me since that morning. Just won't reply to any of my texts or calls."

 "That's weird," Hitch thinks out loud as she pulls into the parking lot. "If anything, I thought he'd be fighting even harder now."

 "Yeah, well, that is clearly not the case." You grab your bag out of the backseat, guessing, "He must be mad at me or something."

 "Maybe. Maybe he's just trying to give you space."

 Shrugging, you get out of the car, forcing a smile as you thank your friend for the ride. 

 "Any time. One more thing, though," Hitch stops you." You tilt your head in curiosity as her face grows uncharacteristically serious. "Next time Zeke uses that against you, tell him to fuck off. And, consider dumping him."

 "I mean, I did fuck up by sleeping with Mike."

 "Yeah, but you and Zeke aren't gonna work if he keeps holding that over you. Something like that isn't supposed to be leverage. If he can't handle it, he needs to leave."

 It's rare that Hitch loses her happy go lucky attitude, so seeing her like this is a little jarring. 

 "I'll take it into consideration."

 As you walk into the dorms, you pout about how your shitty day only got shittier. All you want to do is talk to your best friend, but that's obviously not gonna happen. 

[ next ]

[purplerose244]

My thoughts on Seabound!!! 🌊🌊🌊 (2/4)

SPOILERS ALERT!!!

For now, nothing to complain about! We got Nya, we got MAYA AND RAY, we got GILES PANTON BACK A LEGO SHOW!!! 😍😍😍

Of course now I'm definitely curious about what the story is really about, like I'm guessing Wojira will wake up at some point so... Great Devourer all over again maybe? 😅 Idk, for now I just wanna enjoy Nya having her moment 🥳

Alright, here we go!

GENERAL THOUGHTS

New alert for reader, during the Nexo Knights period I was and still am the hugest Clay fan. Now that his voice is in this season I might scream more than necessary... keep that in mind 😅

I love the humor in this, all random but still kinda clever 😂😂 Maybe I'm biased because I love Jay but still 🤷‍♀️

I really like the design of the marine world, very cool!! 🌊🌊🌊

I guess I'm not really seeing any big plot twist moment for now? Ninjago seasons have history of basing seasons on a "we need to prevent this event from happening but it will happen anyway", so I can see Wojira waking up no matter what 🤷‍♀️

I wonder if that will be shocking? Usually when this situation happen, someone makes a major sacrifice (Zane with the Overlord, sensei Garmaron with Chen, again sensei G with the Preeminent...). Maybe Maya? I DON'T WANT THAT 😭 But I am curious, everything is going nicely and I'm not sure what it will bring! 🤩 I'M EXCITED SO LET'S GO!!!

THE WRATH OF KALMAAR

So this is the name of Clay's new incarnation, neat! 👍

Okay really, for having a season lately the main character just can't help but be trapped by the villain: kinda Zane in the ICE Chapter, Jay in Prime Empire, Cole in Master of the Mountain... we can call it a tradition at this point 🤷‍♀️

Giant serpent, yadda yadda, I wonder if we're gonna address the Great Devourer at some point? Not mandatory, but the reference would be very cool 🤩

Clay's new incarnation is a prince I- *hyperventilates in awe*

Nya playing dumb lol, I don't know if that's personal experience as she used to get kidnapped a lot in the past or she just have too many idiots in her life 😂

ALSO ANOTHER BEST GIRL'S SMIRK

NYA YOU'RE TOO MUCH ILY ❤💙❤💙

Jay I love that you're so worried about Nya but maybe try NOT TO DIE? YOU'RE WITH LLOYD AND ZANE YET YOU'RE THE ONE GOING FOR THE SACRIFICE WTH?? 😱 But he's worried about his cool GF I kinda get it, also he didn't do it so good...

WHAT. THE. HECK.

WHO ARE YOU OH MY FIRST SPINJITZU MASTER YOU'RE ADORABLE I WANNA KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU YOU ABSOLUTE CUTIE 🤩🤩🤩

So Giles is doomed to voice LEGO characters with daddy issues 😂 That being not having a dad at all or having one that is... a good guy? Idk he seems chill with the surface at first glance, I wonder what's the story of this family

Maya reminds of my mom, she also mentions her work a lot and I study the same thing. But she doesn't want to brag, it gets annoying but she just wants to give me advice. It's nice to see actually 👍 Also Ray reference NEAT ❤❤❤

Wow, if any child-parent couple of this show was doomed at going semi Emperor's New Groove style, I would've bet on Ed and Jay honestly 😅

Oh HECK yes I knew that with my water girls things were BOUND to get cool 😎 ... yeah I know where the door is *goes away*

JAY NO WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT TRYING TO DIE STOP DOING WHAT YOU'RE DOING!!! 😱😱😱

My GOSH that scared the crap out of me 😅 Jay honey we have too many deaths in this team, you're not helping... BUT YOU POWERED AN ENTIRE SHIP BECAUSE YOU LOVE NYA AND YOU DIDN'T DIE AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BLUEBELL 💙💙💙

They were all so worried, I love this ninja family so freaking much 💜💜💜 Also better not tell this one to his GF 😂

And Bluebell?

Welcome to the "change eye color because of elemental power" team! WE GOT ANOTHER ONE I LOVE WHEN IT HAPPENS!!! 😍😍😍

Awww, Zane letting Jay be the captain, that was so cute of him 💕

Another great episode! Doing great so far but I still wonder if we got into the main story. Feels like there should be more, well we got time! Next one! 😊

LONG LIVE THE KING

Sooooo... that's one very telling title 😅 If we're going full Lion King on this one, I think I know where this is going 😵

Maya: Don't they know that metal taste terrible?!? (Again feels like Kai could say something like this 😂)

FINALLY NYA USING FREAKING WATER POWERS UNDER THE SEA!!! Thank you Maya for saying out loud what we were all thinking 👌👌

NINJA TO THE RESCUE!!!

Pff, okay, the fact that Kalmaar is all evil and cruel and then he gets startled like that, it's kind or adorable! 💕 Honestly Giles got such a deep voice, with Clay it was firm warm and reassuring, here we got plain devious and I ADORE it 😍😍😍

Maya come on don't doubt your daughter 😅 But I like her, and if she knew Nya they way we all do she wouldn't doubt that she could make it every time 😎

Yeah I was right, the king seems chill... oww I fear what's coming then 😳

Okay, so Kalmaar thinks that the world should go back to be lead by them like in the past, while the king just wants peace with the surface. And as we know, no drama no season so...

Yep, saw the death coming 😅

WHOA DID NOT SEE THAT LITTLE BLAME ACT COMING KALMAAR IS SO EVIL!!!... with a glorious voice but still (Rose focus on something that is not that godlike voice, you can do it 💪💪)

THE OLD ONE TWO I LOVE THIS SO MUCH COMBO ATTACK!!! 🌊❄🌊❄

Awww Benthomaar is actually really cute, he's so worried about his father 😢 And he's adopted apparently? I wanna know the story!!! 🤩🤩

Yep, there's the reason why Zane got a mask even though he doesn't need one, it completes his attire 😂😂😂 My gosh how I love this nindroid ❄

Did... did Jay just say phooey? Dude Ducktales ended a while ago but I'm still not over it 😭

I said it once before I'll say it again, Ninjago is really REALLY good at making death scenes. Like, omg, I genuinely felt sorry for them 😢😢 I also really liked that the king didn't ask to be avenged, he still wanted peace and he asked his son to protect the ninja and he cried actual tears...

MY HEART WTH 😭😭😭 So we're adding this to the real tears moments of the show, with Jay crying over pie, Zane with the flashback of his dad, Jay crying over Nya and Lloyd thinking the ninja are gone... my world this show is angsty 🙂

Third startle for prince Kalmaar, I love the gag 😂 Oh wait, king Kalmaar 🤷‍♀️

Okay, we got a coup, the ninja running away because they got framed, Benthomaar is most likely going to join them or at least help them, I guess Wojira will come out at some point while... Kai, Ray and Cole are still playing videogames? 😅

THIS IS GETTING COOL I WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT AAAAHHH HECK YES THERE IS THE HYPE!!! 😍😍😍

Although I hope we get more stuff with Nya and Maya, that's what I like 🤩

ESCAPE FROM MERLOPIA

I'm good at English and I can follow most of it, but the fantasy names are tricky so I didn't get before that this was the name of the place 😅 It's nice, at least it's not another Atlantis 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

LLOYD I SWEAR TO YOUR GRANDPA IF YOU TRY TO DIE AGAIN 😱

NYA YOU ARE NOT A GOOD SUBSTITUTE NONE OF YOU ARE OMG 😱😱

Ah, there he is, my new son Benthomaar 💙 He is so lovable already, I know nearly nothing about him and I like his character already a lot! He could relate with all of the ninja really, but maybe with Jay the most? They were both adopted after all 🤔🤔

*scribble note for a fanfic for later if this doesn't come up in the season*

Alright moving on 😗

I am so happy Nya gets a season, Kelly got a great emotional range that doesn't come out often in my opinion, but with a full introspection of water goddess we are all blessed by her voice acting 😍

Gotta say, admitting that Bentho didn't have to help them to answer the usual 'Can we trust him' question is pretty reasonable, like, better than other stupid answers 😅

Also don't mind me

Just screenshotting by ship 💙❤💙❤

Somehow lately we are letting Jay do the talking and I both hate and LOVE the fact 😂😂 Plain Bluebell nonsense, heck yes that's my jam👌👌

MAYA IS SO COOL OMG 🤩🤩

I literally can't not laugh at the startle gag with Kalmaar 😂

LLOYD WHAT DID I JUST SAY ABOUT SELF SACRIFICING!! PLEASE IT'S NOT EVEN YOUR SEASON!! 😱😱😱😱

Aww Jay is still the Captain, nice! Wonder if it's giving him Skybound flashbacks... I hope not considering all he went through that time, poor Sparky 😅😅

ARE THOSE LITTLE WU ROCKETS?? 🤯

Can we skip a season and hang out with Pixal one time? I really wanna know how she organizes her free time to create these things 😍😍😍

THANK YOU LLOYD FOR NOT DYING ONCE AGAIN, MUCH APPRECIATED!!! 💚💚💚 My green bean needs a vacation... they all do 😅

THEY ARE

SO BEAUTIFUL 💙🌊💙🌊

Alright, back to the island hoping Kalmaar will not track us and follow us so he can get to the place and discover the amulet 🙂

Are we not calling the others? I miss my flame babe and Rocky ❤🖤❤🖤 Also RAY WATCHA DOIN I WANNA KNOW EVERYTHING 🤩🤩

THE TALE OF BENTHOMAAR

Wait what? Shark boy backstory? SHARK BOY BACKSTORY?!? 👀👀👀

Wow, I see that Kalmaar didn't change a thing growing up, still the same gonna-be-a-villain 😂 Of course his voice got a lot deeper and cool and okay you know I love his voice moving on

I find it kinda funny that Kalmaar is so focused on royal blood and superiority, while Clay was basically a farm boy who worked his way up. Giles knows how to get the character no matter what 😍

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

BABY BENTHOMAAR AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

The king seems like such a good pers- fish- creature 😅 Now I'm double sad that he died, my world, why do I always care so fast, it's not healthy in this show where everyone could die 😰😰

I'M SORRY IS THAT KAI'S HAIR??? 😂😂😂 I LITERALLY CAN'T LOOK AWAY WTH I DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS

Literally every frame of Benthomaar makes me love him even more 😢

Interesting that we got an academic villain, he kinda reminds me of Clouse in a way, maybe even Harumi since she studied her way to her plan as well? I like that we got a bit of personality too!

Using your little bro for your own purpose... it's very evil but kinda also brotherly like 😂

Benthomaar really gives me that very PRECIOUS vibe, kinda the perfect son but also a naive and unaware BABY 💙

LEGO HUG 🤩🤩 Not exactly reciprocated but still 😅

Ooohhh, so this is how he found the temple! I like this, it shows that Bentho is most likely physically stronger than Kalmaar, while evil brother is focused on brain and studies. They are planned differently, I like it! 😚😚

Ouch, peer pressure... sibling pressure? Eh you get what I mean 😂

POOR BENTHO 😭😭😭 YOU GOT THE NINJA NOW DON'T WORRY WE'RE NEVER GONNA LEAVE YOU ALONE YOU PRECIOUS SHARK BABY!! 🦈🦈🦈

Bentho: will I really fit in with you guys? Do you really understand how I feel?

Lloyd: Jay was adopted, Nya's parents were gone most of her life, Zane lost his father while mine turned evil

Bentho(tearing up): yeah that can work

Okaaaaayyyyy, I like that we got a bit of backstory for Bentho too! We didn't get much for Vanya in Master of the Mountain, which is the only thing I was sad about (very little detail, AMAZING season 🖤🖤🖤), nice to see it here!!

But I really want more Nya and Maya interactions, I hope we'll soon get to them again!! 😍😍😍

Alright, getting somewhere here! I'm very curious about what's next 🤩🤩

[thefudge]

Do you have any Romanian (language or just content-wise) media recs? Particularly novels and poetry but really any must-sees/must-reads are welcome!

uuuu! 

my brain is too fried right now to do any kind of exhaustive list so i’m gonna rec a few things that i know you could get your hands on/available in translation:

for two thousand years, by mihail sebastian - really heartbreaking yet also lucid, adventurous and darkly humorous memoir of a Jewish writer in his youth at the height of nazism in romania (there’s even a Penguin classic of it)

diary of a short-sighted adolescent by mircea eliade - a funny and bittersweet bildungsroman about a bookish teenager who wants to read everything now and be the cleverest person alive while also struggling with being super lazy and unmotivated because he’s young and restless, it’s very #relatable. but it’s also fascinating to read this in opposition with “for two thousand years” because eliade entertained legionnaire nazi sympathies at one point. (also, you should check out his novellas too, especially the fantastic ones)

anything you can find in translation by gabriela adamesteanu - just lovely, delicate prose about growing up, being an adult, inhabiting your body and your feelings in an oppressive world 

the hatchet by mihail sadoveanu (apparently, there is a translation) - a lot of people give this novel flak, mostly because we had to read it in high school, but it’s a great and deceptively simple little novel that says a lot more about people than it cares to admit. the action takes you through several villages in the East-Carpathians, where a peasant woman goes in search of her missing husband. it’s a fascinating mixture of crime and folklore and mythology. 

any novella by costache negruzzi, but especially “alexandru lapusneanu”, another classic we had to read in school and which gets a lot of flak. it’s so bonkers and #quality-trash. let’s just say there’s a scene where the power-hungry voievod/prince lapusneanu enacts a red-wedding situation and builds a pyramid of freshly severed heads to impress his lady wife *swoon* 

the forest of the hanged by liviu rebreanu - i know people argue this isn’t his best novel, but it’s got the most heart. it’s the story of a soldier/philosopher in WW1 who falls in love with people again. that’s it. he falls in love with people, and the war and everything in between doesn’t matter anymore. or it matters only as it pertains to people, and people alone. 

gallants of the old court by mateiu caragiale - a bizarre gem of early 20th century Romanian nightlife, a wonderful, orgiastic fugue, feverish and infuriating. it’s mostly about rich men and social-climbers getting into existential trouble, but also into real trouble. normally, because the action takes place right before WW1, this would signify the end of an era. but we don’t really have a beginning or end. we are part-balkan, part-french imitators, part-whatever-sticks. nothing moves us, and everything does. and that’s why it’s a sort of love/hate letter to romanians 

in terms of poetry, some personal faves:  nichita stanescu, ana blandiana, monica pillat, marin sorescu,  a.e. baconsky, lucian blaga, emil brumaru, nora iuga, marta petreu, nina cassian. and yes, mihai eminescu, our national poet, though i’m often in two minds about him.  

poetry in translation is really hit and miss because of the “untranslatable”, so here’s two lines from a poem by nina cassian, because i want to show you what i mean:

            De când m-ai părăsit mă fac tot mai frumoasă             ca hoitul luminând în întuneric. 

this roughly and poetically translates to:

          Since you left me I’ve grown more beautiful

           like the corpse lighting the dark 

and this is sort of lovely on its own, but you’d need to know and hear and taste the word “hoit” in romanian to really feel the abjectness, because “hoit” is a smelly, ugly yet also alluring, already decomposing version of “cadavru” aka cadaver/corpse. also “ mă fac tot mai frumoasă” cannot be accurately summed up in “i’ve grown more beautiful”. a literal translation would be “I make myself more beautiful”. in romanian, this is obviously idiomatic and not literal. and yet, these strange self-reflexive valences make these lines strong and eerie, as if the speaker were authoring her beauty, shaping it out of clay and darkness and “hoit”,  like a butterfly cracking the corpse’s shell to get out, but also retaining some of its mesmerizing stench. why did i pause to do a close-reading of romanian poetry??? anyway, you catch my drift

in terms of movies, a recent one i really loved was sierranevada by cristi puiu, which is a neurotic family drama that drains you but also lifts you up 

and yeah, the hype is real, 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days by cristi mungiu really is that good (about two young women trying to get an illegal abortion in communist romania. it won the palme d’or for very legit reasons. it breaks you in small ways. the very last shot of the film you’ll carry with you forever). i also liked graduation by cristi mungiu, where a young overachieving girl is about to graduate high school and go on to study abroad, until a terrible event unmoors both her and her family. the movie turns almost hallucinatory at one point, filled with ambiguity and a kind of sleep-walking quality 

tales from the golden age by cristi mungiu (him again!) is also fantastic for anyone who wants to get a taste of communist romania and the sad-funny absurdities of everyday life. this movie is split in 2 parts and the format is that of an anthology, almost like watching several short films at once. and there is one film in the anthology that always turns me inside out, and it’s really silly, it’s this bonnie and clyde type story about this girl and boy who meet at a party and devise an ingenious get-rich scam and just run around a few neighborhoods trying to put it into practice and it’s...the sweetest, most incomplete thing. there is such a strange, lovely connection there that never gets realized, and there is a MOMENT between them where he helps her step down from this ledge and he holds her briefly to him and i remember being in the cinema and thinking THIS, this is THE MOMENT where i felt these people were real. it was such an honest, lovely moment. like the equivalent of this song. ANYWAY, why am i rambling so much??? this ask was supposed to be SHORT. 

aferim! by radu jude is also a really neat movie and provides a look into the historical romanian/rroma relationship and why it’s so messed up, yet also so organic

the death of mr. lazarescu by cristi puiu is also a great little film about a man who gets sick and goes to the hospital. and...dies, as you can tell from the title. on the surface, he dies because of institutional ineptness and a broken healthcare system. at a deeper level, he dies because we no longer know how to help people. various hospital staff in the film do try to help him and fail for various stupid or quietly heartbreaking reasons. it’s a movie about being physically unable to care. there’s indifference, sure, but also this great exhaustion of the human spirit. but the movie is also darkly funny. might not be a great pandemic watch, but then again it might be exactly what you need 

there are soooo many other classics in terms of books (morometii by marin preda, for instance, about a patriarch in a small village in the South who slowly realizes the world he used to live in doesn’t have room for him anymore, and maybe it never had) but i’m gonna end on a quote from ion creanga, one of the most cryptic classics of romanian lit:

“Şi eu eram vesel ca vremea cea mai bună şi şturlubatic şi copilăros ca vântul în tulburea sa”

my translation: “and I was cheerful like the best weather and frolicsome and childish like the wind in its cloudiness” 

and again, the words in romanian and their particular sound and bite (”şturlubatic”, “tulburea”) immediately take me elsewhere. creanga writes about childhood, but it’s never really childhood. he writes as an adult who, in my opinion, was never really a child, but a weird, small god of the land. i mean the word “tulburea” can mean both “turmoil” and “muddiness”. the wind can be anguished, but also just a little cloudy, just a little hazy, shrinking its agony, howling it in the child. it’s eerie and gorgeous. so, that’s what he does: creanga writes about children as if they were wind-like spirits. he writes stories about devils and the peasants who trick them and school books filled with spit and flies, and warm eggs stolen from nests and fairy-tales of a world that is buried somewhere inside us, but not too deep, things hidden under our clothes or nails or even in our hair. and it’s all so physical and convoluted, just like his prose. and i don’t think anyone will ever make sense of him and that’s what makes him so discombobulatingly great.

anyway, this was supposed to be...like, really short! and not gassy! i’m sorry. i love waxing about all this gay stuff. i’m so gay about it. 

realistically tho, the nearest thing you’ll find in your local bookshop is probably books by famous ‘theater of the absurd’ playwright, eugen ionesco, or novels in translation by contemporary author mircea cartarescu. both are pretty good, so go for it! (if you want to start small, i’d recommend REM by mircea cartarescu, because it’s so trippy and meta and captures that summer holiday eeriness so well. it goes well with this romanian song sung in english)

okay byeeeee 

[incomingalbatross]

Fic: The Adventure of the Spontaneous Physician

I wrote this snippet of “Modern Holmes AU” a while ago, but I’m feeling the urge to post it Today Specifically (Easter euphoria? maybe), even though it’s more a first chapter than a real story. So... If you have any interest in seeing my idea their modern-day first meeting, here it is! :P Length: ~2800 words Characters/Pairings: John H. Watson MD, Sherlock Holmes, OFC. Gen. Warnings: Absolutely none Summary: The call of adventure is heeded. This leads to a meeting of friends in a Starbucks, and from there to another such meeting in St. Bart’s Hospital.

It was a fine spring day in London, and Dr. Meredith Lynn, OB/GYN, was feeling the pull of Adventure.

She wasn’t feeling it terribly strongly, mind you… But it was enough to have her get off the Tube a stop or so early, and walk the rest of the way to St. Bart’s in the fresh air. And when she passed a little hole-in-the-wall Starbucks she’d used to frequent in her student days, the urge for spontaneity was easily enough to break her routine and send her in for a drink and a pastry. In her just-over-three-decades of life, she’d learned to embrace moods like this one, and to find satisfaction in following where they led.

Having made her order, however, she paused. She had time—that same adventurous mood having sent her off with an early start—but did she want to sit here, or venture back out into the sunshine?

Brow furrowed, she scanned the tables for an empty spot. A young couple—two mums chatting—a single man on his computer—

Wait.

Something about the solitary young man caught her attention. She looked more closely. He was in a slightly ill-fitting suit, browsing the web with a condensation-coated frappucino next to him and a dark look on his face. But, expression aside, that face was familiar…

She lit up, threads all slipping into place suddenly, and hurried to his table. “John Watson!” she exclaimed, standing over him.

He looked up, startled, but quickly smiling. “Meredith?”

Meredith grinned, pleased he remembered her—it had been years, and they’d never been particularly close, but clearly the bond of a shared residency was a lasting one.

“The one and only!” she chirped. “Fancy meeting you here, Dr. Watson.”

He laughed, still a little incredulously. His look of open delight, though, proclaimed she was a pleasant surprise—he’d always worn his heart on his sleeve, Meredith remembered, and she was glad to see that that guilelessness hadn’t disappeared.

“Really!” he agreed, smiling. “I haven’t even looked for anyone from the St. Bart days since…well, since I got to town. What have you been up to?” Then he paused, expression flickering with sudden self-doubt. “Or, sorry, are you on your way to work or someplace? I wouldn’t want to keep you—”

But Meredith put an end to that by sliding into the seat opposite him. John had always been a good sort, and she was glad to catch up. And besides that…well, between his earlier gloom and his enthusiasm at seeing her, she rather thought he could use some company.

So she smiled and said truthfully, “Nothing but time. My first consultation’s not till—ooh, over an hour from now, and I’m still at Bart’s, so it's just ‘round the corner.” Setting her coffee and her scone decidedly on the table, she said, “So tell me! How’ve you been?”

He brightened, closing his laptop to give her his full attention. (Always the gentleman, John.) “I’ve been… Well.” He half-shrugged. “A mixed bag, I suppose. Not so bad now, really, but…”

He trailed off, and Meredith bit her lip in concerned attention. She’d thought, when she saw him, that he wasn’t looking well…

He shook his head, smiling at her as if in apology for his brief silence. “Well. Did you know, back in the day, that I was planning to sign up with Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm…” Meredith frowned. “I may have. Not sure, sorry.”

“That’s all right! Anyway, I did. Filled the qualifications, signed up, and got sent out last summer… It was pretty brilliant, actually,” he said earnestly. But then he gave a rueful grimace. “Then I got shot, sent home, and put on disability pay this winter.”

Mer’s mouth hung open. “You got shot?” she exclaimed. “Good lord, John, how bad was it? Where?”

He pulled back a little at her unthinking reaction, looking as if the attention made him uncomfortable. “Shoulder, but it’s not too bad,” he said quickly. “I mean, my leg doesn’t work properly either, just as a bonus, but neither is debilitating… I can get through daily life all right, now, and I can work as long as it doesn’t demand too much fine motor control. Doesn’t even hurt too much!”

His face had fallen, though, despite these hopeful words, and it was plain to see he was hurting on some level.

“It’s just that I can’t go back, you know?” he said after a moment. “Maybe not ever. And I know I could be much worse off, but it’s…disheartening, I guess. All that work, and I got less than a year of doing what I wanted to do with it.”

Looking at him, Meredith frowned. She could only imagine the disorienting upset of having your entire life’s plan forcibly torn apart like that… But it hurt to see a man like John H. Watson looking so adrift, so done.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward. “Whatever…whatever you’re meant to do with yourself, you’ll find it. If not Doctors Without Borders, something better. You’ve just…” She fumbled over her words, torn between trying to say what she really felt and wanting to avoid empty-sounding platitudes. “You’ve got more ahead than behind, John,” she said finally, earnestly.

He blinked, looking unexpectedly touched. “I… Thank you,” he said, the empty look fading. “I do feel that myself, at least some of the time… It’s just frustrating, you know? I’m not terribly good at planning ahead to start with, and now my one big plan’s just…thrown out, and I’ve got to make another?” He sighed, stirring the sludge left in his cup with an idle straw. “Having something out there is all well and good, but finding it…” He snorted, one corner of his mouth curling up in a rueful smile. "Need somewhere to start, you know. Can't make bricks without clay."

Meredith blinked at the odd choice of phrase…and more, at recognizing it.

"Y'know," she said, "somebody else said that to me just yesterday? The bricks thing, I mean."

John looked up. "Oh really?"

She nodded. "He was complaining about rooming, though. Something about needing either more money or a roommate, and how impossible it would be to get either." She rolled her eyes tolerantly, thinking of her labmate's dramatics.

"Well, I can relate to that, too," John said, laughing and taking a drink. "Before anything else, I need a halfway-affordable place to stay, and that's…not easy."

"No…" Meredith trailed off halfway through her wry agreement, struck by a sudden thought.

"Why not room with him?" she said.

John blinked, startled. "I—sorry? I mean, I wouldn't mind a roommate, of course, but we don't know anything about each other—I don't even know his name!"

But Meredith just grinned, the idea having now firmly taken root in her mind. It would be good for John—he clearly needed company, and something to take him out of himself, and this set-up would certainly provide stimulation.

And as for her labmate… Well. She was sure he'd have a fit if he ever heard her say this, but occasionally he seemed lonely, too. And you couldn't find a more considerate friend than Dr. John H. Watson…

So she just said, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup, "His name is Sherlock Holmes. Now you know!"

"…Sherlock Holmes." She watched him turn the syllables over. "That's quite a name."

"He's quite a person." She took another sip of coffee. "An odd sort, definitely—very bright, and sometimes very impatient with us mere mortals who are less bright and can’t keep up, but not unfriendly. Lives in his own world, a bit, I think? Not sure what he’d be like to live with…but he’s good company when he decides to be.”

“An eccentric genius?” John suggested, smile lighting up his eyes. “Sounds interesting, at least. What is he, exactly? Another doctor?”

She laughed. “Oh, no. Truthfully, I don’t know what his thing is—he seems to be some sort of perpetual grad student, but I couldn’t tell you what in! No, we just share lab space occasionally—I’m assisting on a research project in post-natal care, did I mention?”

“No, congratulations! What’s it about?”

Meredith started to answer…then checked herself and looked at her watch.

“If I start answering that,” she said, with a grin, “we’ll be here until you’re bored stiff and I’m late for work. But here’s a thought—walk with me to Bart’s? I can talk your ear off on the way, and then maybe we can find Sherlock Holmes and I can introduce you before my first appointment.”

He grinned. “Sounds brilliant, if you don’t mind. I’d like to meet him, even if we don’t end up working as a flatshare.”

They gathered up their things and set off—the conversation, as they walked, bouncing between Meredith’s work in London and John’s experiences abroad. He had a gift for storytelling, picking out the drama or the humor or the human interest in events; but, unusually, he had an equally strong gift for listening. All in all, the rest of her commute passed far more quickly than Meredith would have expected when she got up that morning.

She paused outside the hospital. “Hang on…” She turned to John with a rueful smile. “I should’ve thought of this before—I suppose part of me was thinking you still worked here—but I think I’ll need to leave you for a bit. Sherlock Holmes is probably in the lab, and…I can’t get you in without a badge.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! I’d forgotten that too.” He frowned, lost in thought. “Where should I wait for you, then?”

“Hmm…” Meredith tilted her head. Her first thought was the lobby, but she felt there must be something better. Somewhere quiet, public, enjoyable…

Ah. Hm. “Pathology Museum?” she suggested. “Have you been lately?”

“I haven’t, actually,” John said, brightening. Ah, so she remembered correctly—he had been the one who liked the place, back in the day. He was a bit of a nerd, wasn’t he? “I heard they’d been doing more remodeling, though. How does it look now?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, smiling. While Bart’s Museum of Pathology was fascinating, she supposed, from a certain point of view—certainly the layout was nice, and they had a vast variety of artifacts from the hospital’s centuries of history—it was all a bit too odd, and sometimes morbid, for her own tastes, and she rarely visited it herself.

Still... “I’ll walk over with you,” she decided. “Then next time someone asks me that, I’ll know the answer!”

John laughed, and they made their way in and up to the museum’s third-floor location.

“Come to think of it,” she remarked, as they entered the open floor of the museum, with its multiple mezzanine levels running around the walls and its glass roof above (it really was a nice place, if you ignored some of the exhibits), “this seems like exactly the sort of place Sherlock Holmes probably hangs about in.”

And then she stopped, surprised—because there, bending over one of the glass cases in the middle of the room, was a tall figure that could only be the man himself.

He showed no sign of having noticed their arrival, so Meredith steered John over.

“Dr. Lynn, hello,” Sherlock Holmes said without turning. “Aren’t these exhibits fascinating? Look at this old doctor’s bag, here. Imagine how much it has to tell us… I wish I could open the case and take a closer look.”

Meredith looked down, seeing that the case did, indeed, hold an old-fashioned doctor’s kit, black bag and all. “I have to admit,” she said, “I don’t get much out of museums… I’d love to meet the man who owned the bag, but the bag itself doesn’t make much impression.”

“But can’t you see they’re practically the same thing?” Sherlock Holmes said enthusiastically, turning to face her. “If you could really get your hands on the bag, really examine it—oh, hello.”

He’d finally noticed her companion, she saw; his sharp gaze had locked on to this new figure, and flickered rapidly over him from head to foot before meeting John Watson’s eyes.

He blinked; and then smiled one of his genuine, spontaneous smiles, and held out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “A Doctors Without Borders veteran, I see? Impressive, especially when you’re also a friend of Dr. Lynn’s. I’m interested in the flatshare if you are, Doctor…?”

“John H. Watson,” John said, shaking his hand automatically. And then he blinked, eyes widening in belated, vaguely awestruck shock. “But—hang on, how did you know all that?”

Sherlock Holmes grinned. “Oh, I’m perceptive,” he said easily. “But look, you’re a doctor, and one who likes stories—what do you think of this bag?”

He turned back to the exhibit, and John followed his lead. “…It’s fascinating to think about,” he said slowly, looking down at the faded black bag. “All the things it must have been carried through, how the man first got it… All the lives that may have been saved with the tools inside it.” He sighed. “If only you could learn those stories from the bag itself.”

“You might be able to,” Sherlock Holmes said. “If you studied it well enough.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on the glass case. “But you came to talk about rooming together, yes? The rooms I’ve been looking at are on Baker Street—two-bedroom, a little out of the way but not far from the Tube, and a good building. Do you have pets, or smoke?”

John shook his head.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, grinning again. “Fair warning before you commit, though—I have a tendency to get into odd hobbies, chemistry being my most consistent one. Would you be all right with occasional home experiments?”

John just laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Good, good. My other major drawback as a roommate—or so I’ve heard, anyway—is my moods. I have a tendency towards depressive episodes, and although they’re never major, and they only last a few days, they can be uncomfortable for those who have to share space with me.”

“I would think,” John said slowly, blinking, “that they’d be more uncomfortable for you.”

Sherlock Holmes looked startled, then laughed. “I suppose so,” he allowed, “ but I don’t have much of a choice about them—and, no, before you ask, I’ve never gotten a solid diagnosis, and yes I did try before the whole ordeal became more trouble than it was worth. But anyway, they’re not dangerous and they’re not triggered by those around me, so all I need is some space. So what do you need me to know, Doctor?”

John thought for a moment—smiling, as if amused by the other’s bluntness. “Well,” he said, “I got shot up in Afghanistan, so I’ve limitations on how I can use my arm, and I’m going to both types of therapy. I also don’t like parties, and… Ah, right. I was called a Puritan a good few times in college, so if you’re likely to have, er, anyone overnight…?” He flushed a bit.

“Good Lord, no,” Sherlock Holmes said instantly, with a snort. “And if you aren’t either, that’s an added draw—I don’t like strangers in my space much, myself. Should make life easier for both of us, yes?”

“I’d say so,” John agreed, clearly relieved. “It sounds as though we’ll have a quiet flat.”

“So it seems. Although…” For the first time, he looked concerned. “How do you feel about the violin?”

John laughed, looking surprised. “My favorite instrument, believe it or not,” he admitted. “Although it does depend on the player…”

Sherlock Holmes laughed too. “That’s fine, then,” he said assuredly. “When would you like to look at the flat, in that case? I’m free today…”

Meredith, who had ostensibly drawn back to examine an old plaque on the wall—although it was really too worn by age to read anything except the date, which commemorated something to do with “New Year’s Day 1881”—watched them both, and smiled happily to herself.

They had clicked, and even more thoroughly than she had expected them to. Both men’s postures were loosened, and they had begun talking easily and animatedly already. There was a warmth to Sherlock Holmes’s voice, and a spark in John’s eyes, that she’d rarely seen before in either.

She hummed to herself, remembering the call of Adventure she’d felt that morning. It had faded, now, leaving behind a welcome bounty of drink, food, and unexpected reunion for her, and leaving her to her life until it came again…

But as she looked at the two young men her spontaneous walk had brought together, she rather thought their Adventure had only just begun.

[dumbledearme]

chapter three—bow to the sea

read Child of Land and Sea here 

Act I — Storm At Sea

Part III — A journey to bless, a princess to be. Under the sun, and under the sea...

Anthony, who seemed to be in a better mood, counseled Andy (actually told; he was rather bossy) to talk to the Oracle. Who or what that was, Andy wasn't sure she wanted to find out. "What if I wanted to leave? To go back home?"

He frowned. "Don't you get it? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."

"You mean mentally disturbed kids? Because that's how I'm feeling."

"I mean not human. Not totally human, anyway. Half-human."

"Half-human and half-what?"

"I think you know."

"I certainly do not," she denied. Deep in her heart, she knew what he was going to say. But somehow she needed him to be the one saying it.

"God," said Anthony, "Half-god. Your father isn't dead. He's one of the Olympians."

Andy let out a nervous giggle. Anthony remained serious as stone. "That's crazy," she forced it out.

"Is it though? What's the most common thing gods did in the old stories? They ran around falling in love with humans and having kids with them. Do you think they've changed in the last few millennia?"

"But..." Andy's heart was beating fast, "if all the kids here are half-gods—"

"Demigods," he said, amused.

"Then who's your dad?"

His left hand tightened into a fist. "Frederick Chase," he said.

"Um. I don't know that god," Andy joked. He didn't like that. "Alright. Who's your mom, then?"

"Cabin six," he said. "Athena. Goddess of wisdom and battle."

Andy had to contain herself. This was going way too deep. "Okay. And... my dad?"

"Undetermined," he said, yet again. "No one knows. The only way to know for sure, is if he sends you a sign claiming you as his daughter. Sometimes it happens."

"You mean, sometimes it doesn't?"

Anthony looked up to the sky. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always... Well, sometimes they don't care, really," he said, bitterly.

Andy wondered about all the kids stuck in cabin eleven. "So I'm stuck here. For the rest of my life?"

"It depends. Some campers only stay for the summer. Depends on who your father is. For some of us, it's too dangerous outside. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us."

"But they can't get in here?"

"Not unless they're intentionally summoned by somebody inside."

"Who would do that?"

"Anyone. Good practical jokes."

"Yes. Nice sense of humor. So... you're a year-rounder?"

Anthony nodded. From under the collar of his T-shirt, he pulled a leather necklace with seven clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Anthony's also had a big gold ring strung on it, a college ring. "I've been here since I was nine," he said. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

"Why did you come so young?"

He twisted the ring on his necklace. "None of your business."

It felt like a slap on the face. Andy had, for a second, forgotten they weren't friends. "Right. So can I just leave if I want to?"

"Not without Mr. D or Chiron's permission. And they won't give it to you until the end of the summer, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"You were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time..." His voice trailed off. "There is something wrong. Something pretty major. But Chiron won't tell me what it is. The last time I was in Olympus, everything seemed so normal, but now—"

"You've been to Olympus?"

"Some of us year-rounders—me, Luke, Clarisse, and some of the others—we took a field trip during winter solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council. Right after we visited, the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by summer solstice, there's going to be trouble." Andy remembered the talk she overheard between Grover and Chiron while he still was Mr. Brunner. "When you came... I was hoping... I mean, Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And, of course, Poseidon. But I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something," and he glanced at Andy hopefully.

She shook her head.

"I've got to get a quest," Anthony muttered to himself. "If they would just tell me what's wrong..."

Later that day, Andy sat on the ground at cabin eleven, watching the other campers and wondering who their parents were, who her father was. Then, the hot counselor, Luke, came over. "Found you a sleeping bag," he said. "And here, I stole you some toiletries from the camp store."

"Oh, thank you. That's about the nicest thing anybody ever did for me," she confessed with a shy smile.

"No prob," he smiled too. Luke sat next to Andy and, as their arms touched, she tried not to blush too obviously. "Rough first day?"

"I don't belong here," she said. "I don't even believe in all this nonsense."

"Trust me, we all start that way. Once you start believing in them? It doesn't get any better." The bitterness in his voice reminded her of Anthony.

"So you're dad is Hermes?" The question seemed bizarre in her lips.

"Yeah," he confirmed, looking down at his own boots.

"The wing-footed messenger guy?"

"That's him. Messengers. Medicine. Travelers. Merchants. Thieves. Anybody who uses roads."

"You ever met him?"

"Once." Andy waited wondering if he would want to share more. Apparently, he didn't. "Don't worry about it, Andy," he said her name with a easygoing smile. "The campers here, they're mostly good people. After all, we're extended family. We take care of each other." He seemed to understand how lost she felt which was surprising since Andy barely understood it herself.

"Anthony said I should talk to some... Oracle? What is that about?"

Luke shook his head. "I hate prophecies," he muttered as if that explained everything.

"What do you mean?"

His face twitched. "Let's just say I messed up things for everybody else. The last two years, ever since my trip to the Garden of the Hesperides went sour, Chiron hasn't allowed any more quests. Tony's been dying to get out there in the world. But Chiron said he already knew his fate. He'd had a prophecy from the Oracle. He wouldn't tell him the whole thing, but he said Tony wasn't destined to go on a quest yet. He had to wait until... somebody special came to camp."

"Somebody special?"

"Don't worry about it, beautiful," he said and Andy almost forgot how to breathe. "Anthony is obsessed. He wants to think that every new camper who comes is the omen he's been waiting for. I'd sooner have him forget it."

At dinnertime Andy had to burn offerings to the gods. She was so hungry it was a true sacrifice having to throw part of the food into the fire, but she did it anyway, asking in return that her father, whoever he was, gave her a sign. But no such luck.

The next few days, Andy settled into a routine that felt almost normal, except for the satyrs, the nymphs and the centaur. They made her try everything until she found something she was good at. But Andy wasn't very good at anything that required brute force. She was tiny and her body was made out of baby fat, no muscles.

Archery? Terrible. Foot racing? No good. Wrestling? Awful. Though she was fairly good at canoeing, probably the most useless skill around.

After some time, she started to understand the bitterness that seemed to take over most of the campers. Okay, maybe gods had important things to do. But was it that hard to call once in awhile? To thunder? Anything? Where was her father? Why didn't he care?

That afternoon, Andy had her first sword-fighting lesson. Turned out she didn't suck at that. The only problem, she couldn't find a blade that felt right in her hands. They were too heavy, too long. Luke tried his best to help her, but he agreed none of the swords fit her. They fought together. Luke told her he would be her partner because it was her first time, but Andy chose to believe that maybe he just liked her. Weirder things were happening to her lately.

But if the boy did fancy her, he had a weird way of showing because he attacked her mercilessly.

With every swipe, she got a little more battered and bruised. By the time he called a break, Andy was soaked in sweat. She grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over her head. Instantly, she felt better. Strength she didn't know she had surged into her arms. The sword didn't feel so awkward in her hands.

The second round began.

Luke came after her and she somehow kept him from hitting her. She saw his attacks coming. She countered. There was a change in Luke's eyes and he started to press her harder. The sword was getting heavy again. Before he could disarm her, she thought, wouldn't it be neat if I could disarm him?

Her blade hit the base of Luke's and Andy twisted, putting her whole weight into a downward thrust. Luke's sword fell to the ground. The tip of Andy's blade was an inch from his undefended (hot) chest. The other campers were silent. Andy lowered her sword.

"Sorry," she smiled weakly. "Carried away..."

For a moment, he was too shocked to say anything. "Sorry?" His scarred face broke into a grin. "By the gods, Andy, why are you sorry? That was beautiful. I wonder what you can do with a balanced sword..."

Andy found Grover sitting in the sand, watching the waves. They hadn't spoken in three days. Andy sat beside him and nudged his satyr leg. "So... your career's still on tracks?"

Grover glanced at her nervously. "Chiron told you? That I want a searcher's license?"

"No. In fact, I have no idea what that is. He said you had big plans and that you needed some kind of credit... Did you get it?"

Grover looked down at the sand. "Mr. D suspended judgment. He said I hadn't failed or succeeded with you yet, so our fates were still tied together. If you got a quest and I went along to protect you, and we both came back alive, then maybe he'd consider the job complete."

"Well, that ain't so bad!"

"Blaa-ha-ha!" Was the sound he made. "The chances of you getting a quest... And even if you did, why would you want me along?"

"I'd want you along," she assured him. Grover didn't say anything else so Andy asked him about the four empty cabins.

"Number eight, the silver one, is Artemis'. She vowed to be a maiden forever. The cabin is honorary."

"What about the three big ones?"

Grover tensed. "One of them is Hera's. Also honorary. She's the goddess of marriage so, of course, she wouldn't go around having affairs with mortals. That's her husband's job. The Big Three, the sons of Kronos—Zeus, Poseidon and Hades—after the great battle with the Titans, they took over the world from their dad and drew lots to decide who got what."

"Zeus got the sky," Andy remembered. "Poseidon the sea. Hades the Underworld."

"Uh-huh."

"But Hades doesn't have a cabin here..."

"No," Grover shuddered. "He doesn't have a throne on Olympus, either. He sort of does his own thing down in the Underworld."

"Okay. Family's black sheep. Got it. But... Zeus and Poseidon... they both had like a bazillion kids in the myths. Why are their cabins empty?"

Grover shifted his hooves uncomfortably. "About sixty years ago, after World War II, the Big Three agreed they wouldn't sire any more heroes. Their children were just too powerful. They were affecting the course of human events, causing too much carnage. World War II, you know, that was basically a fight between the sons of Zeus and Poseidon on one side, and the sons of Hades on the other. After it, Zeus and Poseidon, made Hades swear an oath with them: no more affairs with mortal women. They all swore on the River Styx."

Thunder boomed.

"The most serious oath you can make?" Andy guessed, glancing at the sky. "And did they keep their word?"

Grover's face darkened. "Seventeen years ago, Zeus fell off the wagon. There was this TV starlet—he couldn't help himself. When their child was born, Thalia, well... the River Styx is serious about promises. Zeus himself got off easy because he's immortal, but he brought a terrible fate on his daughter."

"But... that isn't fair at all! It wasn't her fault, she didn't ask to be born!"

Grover hesitated. "Andy... Children of the Big Three have powers greater than other half-bloods. They have a strong aura, a scent that attracts monsters. When Hades found out about the girl, he wasn't too happy with Zeus breaking the oath. He let the worst monsters out of Tartarus to torment Thalia. A... satyr was assigned to be her keeper when she was ten, but... there was nothing he could do, I guess. He tried to escort her here with a couple of other half-bloods she'd befriended. They almost made it. They got all the way to the top of the hill." He pointed across the valley, to a pine tree near where Andy had fought the Minotaur. "All three Kindly Ones were after them, along with a horde of hell-hounds. They were about to be overrun when Thalia told her satyr to take the other two to safety while she held off the monsters. She was wounded and tired, and she didn't want to live like a hunted animal. The satyr didn't want to leave her, but he couldn't change her mind, and he had to protect the others. So Thalia made her final stand alone, at the top of that hill. As she died, Zeus took pity on her. He turned her into that pine tree. Her spirit still helps protect the borders of the valley. That's why the hill is called Half-Blood Hill."

Andy stared at the pine tree in the distance. The more she was part of this world, the more afraid of it she got.

Capture the flag wasn't fun at all. They all gathered in the pavilion where Clarisse and Anthony faced each other. Luke told Andy that Ares and Athena often led the teams. He also told her they were supposed to steal the flag from Ares. But Athena had only made alliances with Hermes and Apollo, the two biggest cabins. The rest was against them.

To Andy's surprise, the campers actually armed themselves for the game. Anthony told her to watch Clarisse's spear and not let it touch her. And then he commanded her to stay by the creek, patrolling or whatever. At the time, it seemed like an easy enough job.

Andy stood by the creek alone for quite some time. She even thought she was missing all the fun. That is, until Clarisse showed up with four other Ares' sons. They charged across the stream. They attacked Andy, who defended herself pretty well at first. But soon they surrounded her and Clarisse hit her with the spear. Immediately, she understood Anthony's warning. The stupid thing was electric. It hurt so much it numbed her.

Laughing, Clarisse said, "Give the rat a haircut." One of the boys grabbed Andy by the hair, but she managed to hit his nose with the back of her head. Then there was the pain again. Another shock and she was on the ground again. "The flag is that way," she managed to say, but Clarisse wasn't interested. This was what she wanted: to beat the crap out of the new girl.

Two of them came at her and Andy backed away toward the creek. One of the boys slashed his sword across Andy's arm, leaving a good-size cut. Seeing her own blood made her dizzy. The boy pushed her into the creek and Andy landed with a splash.

They all laughed.

But then the water—the blessed water—woke up her senses and Andy was able to stand again. Clarisse and the others came forward. With her new strength, Andy fought and disarmed two of them before breaking Clarisse's spear in two. Andy smacked her between the eyes and Clarisse stumbled back.

Then there was yelling and Andy's team showed up cheering. They had won somehow. The game was over.

Suddenly, Anthony's voice said, "Not bad, newbie," into Andy's ear, but as she turned she couldn't find him. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" The air shimmered and he materialized, holding a Yankees baseball cap.

Andy felt angry. "You set me up," she accused. "You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while you sent Luke around the flank. You had it all figured it out!"

Anthony shrugged. "Athena always has a plan."

"Right. And me dying doesn't matter as long as your plan works fine."

"I came as fast as I could," he sort of apologized. "I was about to jump in, but... You didn't need any help." Then he noticed Andy's arm. "How—" Andy looked at it. The blood was gone.

Where the huge cut had been, there was a long white scratch, and even that was fading. It disappeared before their very eyes. Anthony was thinking hard. "Step out of the water," he said and pulled Andy. The moment her feet touched the ground she lost her strength and would'd fallen if Anthony hadn't caught her.

"Oh, Styx," he cursed.

Andy heard everyone gasping and tried to apologize. "I don't know why—" But then she noticed they were looking not at her, but at something above her head. Andy looked up and saw a hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming: a trident.

"It is determined," said Chiron, who Andy hadn't noticed so far.

Around her, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin. Anthony remained beside her, and thank the gods for that because he was all that was keeping her vertical.

"Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses," Chiron boasted. "Hail, Andromeda Jackson, Daughter of the Sea God."

[wingsflapandahurricanebrews]

Interference (Part One and Two of Tony's view)

This is Tony's view, and I tried to keep some things the same, as it's take away the effect I wanted. If there's any mistakes, I apologize! I'm quite tired, and am trying to post for you guys! As always, this is on mobile! But, I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated! — There wasn't a specific plan set in Tony's mind as he pulled open to the door to Monet's, allowing him and and Brad to enter. He'd hoped that Clay would finally answer him, after weeks of being brushed off. It wasn't a delightful experience. Brad gave him a small smile before leading them both to the counter. As Brad ordered, he scanned the room, stopping at someone in the corner. He tilted his head and almost laughed when he realized it was Clay. He looked like a pouting child, chin to his chest, hood up, as he seemed to slip further into the chair he was sat in. Tony shook his head and tapped Brad's arm and pointed. "Is that Clay?" Brad questioned, moving to grab his drink. Tony nodded. "Looks like him," he moved towards the corner, but paused upon Brad wrapping his hand around his wrist. "Don't. Tony, this is the first time you haven't blown me off in the past week. We can drink our coffee, and then you can go talk to him," Brad begged, Tony only pulled away and continued on, much to his dismay. "Clay?" he felt himself smile when the name left his lips, and he heard Brad cough. Clay looked up, eyes wide. He looked tired, and he seemed nervous. It took Tony a moment to realize Clay was trying to look surprised, but if was obviously a fake look. "Tony, hey. Brad, hey," Clay greeted, bouncing his leg nervously as he spoke. Tony tilted his head slightly, trying to see if he could read any of Clay's emotions. For the first time, he couldn't. Clay's eyes were as expressive as usual, and it only increased his worry. "Do you want to join us?" Tony hoped his tone was soft, and welcoming, as he desperately wanted Clay to agree. Clay sucked in a sharp breath before glancing to where Brad lingered behind him. "Uh, no, I can't. I was actually just leaving, enjoy your date," Clay stuttered and tried to get up quickly, and Tony noticed him sway as he stood. Something wasn't right. He heard Brad sigh in relief and turned around and narrowed his eyes. "Hey Clay, we can hang out later, yeah? I haven't seen you around lately," he continued pressing, seeing if he could get anything out of him. Clay shrugged before running into the door, eager to leave. Tony blew out a breath as he watched Clay flee. Brad pulled him towards a table. "Why were you being such an asshole? He's obviously not okay," Tony snapped as he sat down across from Brad. Brad held his hands up in a defensive position. "I sincerely apologize for wanting to spend time with my boyfriend without someone ruining it," Brad snapped back, sipping at his drink. Tony ignored his, watching as Brad seemed quite happy that Clay had rushed off. He reached for his phone only for Brad to grab his wrist. When Tony looked to him, his eyes were hopeful. "Tony, don't. If you call, I'm done," Brad pleaded, and he bit his lip when Tony pulled away and sent a quick text before calling. He held the phone up to his ear, watching as Brad pursed his lips. "That's alright. You seem more in love with him, anyway," Brad abandoned the drink and walked out. Tony didn't bother following. His goal was to find Clay, and make sure that he was alright. He focused on the ringing, and how it didn't end until his voicemail answered. "Hey, it's Clay. Uh, leave a message after the beep? I guess," Tony laughed at how unsure he sounded, but wasted no time re-dialing. Voicemail. Re-dial. Voicemail. Re-dial. Voicemail. He made his way to his mustang and sat there before deciding to head home. Clay was stressing him out, more than usual. His best bet was to go home, where he'd continue to try to call, but at least get something done. - It was only when he was checking the engine of the mustang when Clay finally picked up. "Clay? I called like eight times!" he tried not to sound angry, but he was aggravated. Something was wrong, and he just wanted his friend back. He heard a sigh come from the other end, and it was full of stress. "Actually it was eighteen times, Tony. I was doing something," Clay snapped from the other end. Tony glanced to the phone in surprise at the outburst. "You've been ignoring me," he stated, moving to tighten a bolt. He heard Clay sigh again, and could hear him scuff his feet on the ground. "Not ignoring you... just dealing with things on my own," Clay lied. Tony knew instantly because Clay's breath had hitched when the last word left his mouth. Tony tightened his jaw but let it go. "Clay Jensen working out things on his own? That sounds unheard of," he joked, he tried to laugh but it wasn't there. Something was wrong and it didn't seem right to try and play it off. "I'm sorry if it seemed like I was ignoring you, I could come by and hang out for a little bit," Clay offered, but he left a pause at the end. Tony could tell he hoped he'd refuse, but he wanted to fix whatever went wrong. "Okay. I'll see you in a little bit?" he knew his tone was lighter when e responded, because he was happy that he could finally fix the mess it'd become. "Of course," came Clay's defeated response. Tony couldn't help but grin. He could finally fix it, and get his friend back. Make things right, and make sure Clay was okay. - Tony had seen Clay coming, and pretended not to notice. He needed to calm down or he was going to upset Clay even more. He watched from the corner of his eye as Clay pulled into the driveway. "The scar is healing nicely, Clay," he remarked as he wiped his hands on the rag he'd grabbed. The skin was slightly pink and raised, much better then anyone thought it'd be. "Yeah, yeah it is. So what's up?" Clay breathed out. He had blinked a couple times quickly, hinting at a headache. The anger he'd held onto dissolved and turned to concern. "Is everything alright, Clay? You haven't been yourself," he murmured as he stepped back to the engine. Clay laid his bike down and sat down on the driveway, watching as he worked. His gaze made him nervous. "Just working through some stuff," Clay replied shortly. His tone said, "Just drop it." Tony wasn't giving up that easily. He was going to fix this. "Anything I can help with?" he questioned, cocking a brow as he glanced back to Clay. Clay shook his head and shrugged. At the response, Tony turned away, trying to stay calm. "Do you want to talk about it?" There was a long, empty pause. "It's feelings, Tony. You don't seem like the type of guy to really want to discuss those," Clay remarked, leaning back on the driveway, soaking up the sun light. Tony swallowed and tried to stay calm, because there was something about the words that made his heart flutter. "Feelings? Talk to me, man," he pushed humor into his response. Clay wrinkled his nose and tilted his head to look at him as he leaned against the car. Tony could feel himself smiling, but tried, and really, really tried to stay calm. "Just I've liked this guy for a while, but he has eyes on someone else, and so I'm working on getting over him," Tony noticed immediately that Clay chose his words carefully as he slowly explained his dilemma. He was honestly surprised that Clay had told him. The relationship wasn't the best at this point in time, and he assume some of the trust had deteriorated. "Have you tried talking to him?" he inquired, taking a seat next to Clay on the driveway. "No," he responded shortly. "He wouldn't be interested in me, so I'll silently let the feelings die," Clay continued, looking to where Tony sat. He was deep in thought, though. He was trying not to let his heart get the best of him as he began to imagine the possibilities. "Maybe talking it out would be a good idea?" he finally replied, looking to Clay. "Let him know about your feelings, and try to explain that you don't want to interfere?" he offered, shrugging. He wanted to appear that he cared, but not to the point to scare Clay off. "That's what I'd do," he finished, watching as Clay shook his head before standing up, glancing at him for a long moment. During that moment, his heart skipped a beat. He was so sure that this was the moment. "I'm a ball of anxiety, I don't think that'd go over well," Clay replied, reaching for his bike. he sighed. Moment, gone. "I offered some help, man," he shrugged, trying to hid his disappointment before he stood up moving towards the mustang. Clay pondered for a moment. "Hey, Tony?" he looked towards Clay to find him staring. "Yes, Clay?" he raised his eyebrows as he awaited the response. Was this the ending of their friendship? Was he going to tell him something terrible? "I'm in love with you, and I understand you're in a relationship, and I don't want to interfere. So I'm going to go." His heart stopped, and his eyes widened as Clay sped off. He could only stand and watch him go, as he tried to comprehend the words as fast as his brain would allow. He wanted to call after him, but Clay was long gone. - His heart was pounding as he drove. He was trying to call him, to tell him that he really wanted to talk. That there were things that needed to be worked out, but there wasn't an answer. Every time his voicemail would greet him, he'd think it was him. Tony admired the bravery, as he didn't think Clay could ever do that. Thinking about it made his heart beat a little faster. He could've sworn he saw him. But just as fast as he'd seen him, he'd disappeared. He was heading to Monet's, hoping Clay would try to hide there. When he pulled past a side street, a biker turned the opposite way. He glanced in his mirror and at the familiar hoodie, he groaned. He was going to lose him, again. He continued to try to call, and all of a sudden it automatically went to voicemail. He sighed and leaned back into his seat, not bothering to try and call anymore. Clay was making this difficult. If he could calm his breathing, and get his heart to slow down, maybe he could clear his head. He knew he could find Clay, most likely at his house, but he did want to give Clay a moment to himself. He'd realized that after he'd raced after him. Clay did deserve a moment to comprehend what happened. He pulled into Monet's parking lot and killed the engine. He watched as most tables were filled. He'd grab a hot chocolate, and leave. Off to find Clay once more. He opened his car door and stepped out, walking towards the entrance. He saw Ryan and Alex sitting together, both of them staring at the empty table where Hannah would sit. Tony shook his head, focusing on getting the drink and leaving. "Tony?" Alex questioned, he looked genuinely surprised. He gave them both a tight lipped smile as he waited for his drink. "What are you doing here? Other than getting a warm beverage," Alex did seem genuine. "Just grabbing a drink and going on a little trip, that's all," he offered, shrugging. Alex pursed his lips and nodded, he watched as Alex settled back into his seat. He left quickly after that, not wanting to be pulled into a conversation. He quickly climbed back in, but stopped as he took a breath. Calm, cool, collected. If he went storming over to Clay's, he'd be met with a couple different options. He'd storm in, terrifying Clay's mother. Or he could knock on the door and be polite, as usual. He chose the latter. He took multiple, unnecessary turns, just to let more time pass. He'd assumed Clay would be upset, and if they both were upset, it'd be a big mess that no one needed. If they both had time to calm down, it'd be much easier to discuss what needed to be discussed. It seemed like the drive to Clay's took hours, but it was actually only five minutes. He breathed, in and out, in and out, in and out. He climbed out and climbed the stairs, knocking on the door. Clay's mom greeted him with a warm smile. "Tony! Clay's upstairs, last I checked he was napping," she greeted. He had to bite back a laugh, because he knew if Clay knew that his mother greeted him with 'He's napping,' he'd throw a hissy fit. "Thank you, Mrs. Jensen," he nodded to her as she let him in. He slid his shoes off, trying not to annoy her too much. He made his way upstairs and noted how the house was such a strange form of quiet. There didn't appear to be a hum from an appliance, nor did any boards creak under his weight. He frowned slightly. Living in such silence can't be great for someone. He pushed the thought aside as he leaned against the door frame, watching the rise of fall of Clay's chest. It wasn't long before Clay began to stir, and upon seeing Tony, he paled. Panic became etched over Clay's features, and he almost felt bad. Almost. Clay pulled the blankets tighter as he watched Tony. "You aren't feeling well, Clay?" he greeted, taking a seat at the bottom of his bed. Clay remained silent, watching him as he back with a cocked brow. "Uh, yeah," Clay cleared his throat. "Just came down with something," he finished. "You took off pretty quickly, quick enough to where I lost you when I tried to follow," he remarked, watching as Clay awkwardly shifted. Clay had gotten up, and he honestly thought he was going to try to run again, but instead he just closed the bedroom door. "The last thing I need is my mom being anymore concerned," Clay sighed. He moved and sat back on the bed, and he began nervously twisting his fingers as the silence became heavy. It was beginning to be awkward. "I'm pretty sure I didn't say I'd run away after," he stated. He'd known it's confuse Clay, but it'd get the conversation started. Clay glanced at him in confusion. "What?" "When I was telling you what I'd do in your situation, I wouldn't have run away," he clarified, smiling when he watched as Clay rolled his eyes. "So that's why you were ignoring me the past couple weeks," he stated, smiling slightly. He was happy to know, and he was happy that the feelings weren't just his imagination. Clay narrowed his eyes. "You didn't catch onto that?" Clay snapped back, and it was obvious he .wasn't in the mood to talk. Tony didn't expect him to because he was probably embarrassed. He sent him a surprised glance. "I tried calling you, but you never answered, and soon enough it was just your voicemail. You turned your phone off, I'm assuming," he gave him a small smile. It was more of a 'This is awkward as hell, but I'm trying here,' then anything else. Clay nodded. "You'd be correct," Clay answered, moving to pick at a loose thread on his blanket. It was obvious that things were going i be difficult to talk about. He looked away, trying to think of something to say, or something to do, something to kill the silence. "I broke up with Brad this morning," he told him, watching as Clay's head swung around to look at him in shock. "What? Why? Weren't you guys happy?" Clay stumbled over his words, and his reaction made him laugh. A genuine laugh this time. "The relationship ran its course. I think we both knew starting out that it wasn't going to last, but it was fun while it lasted," he replied, and he reached for Clay's hand. "And if you wouldn't have sped off, I would've told you," he continued, watching as Clay's skin started to turn pink. "I warned you it wouldn't have gone well, and I told you I was a ball of anxiety!" Clay defended. He squeezed Clay's hand tightly, and Clay smiled. "If you wouldn't of sped off, you would've also found out that I have feelings for you, too," he added, watching as Clay bit back a grin. Clay set a hand on his cheek and pulled him closer, pressing their lips together. He was happy to know that their relationship would be back to normal, actually, even better than normal. — Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! And as always, I do take requests!