#they hand you a stack of papers at least 6 inches high and go 'start documenting :)'

[potted-cilantro]

GRITS MY TEETH SO FUCKING HARD.

WE DO NOT TEACH PHONICS FOR VAGUE "FEELS WEIRD AND BAD TO TEACHERS" REASONS. KIDS WHO ARE NOT ON LEVEL WITH READING BY 3RD GRADE ARE ALMOST 4X MORE LIKELY TO DROP OUT. NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND MEANS KIDS WHO STRUGGLED CANNOT REPEAT THE GRADE AND LEARN. ONLY 25% OF 4TH GRADERS ARE ON LEVEL WITH READING!!

YOU LEARN TO READ AND THEN YOU READ TO LEARN. AND KIDS. ARE NOT THOROUGHLY TAUGHT. HOW TO READ.

i'm so glad someone else was bitchy about that post bc i couldn't be bothered to when i saw it. the reason that literacy rates in the usa are poor is because of rising inequality and also because kids are just straight up being taught to read wrong. not because of fucking fanfiction or YA or 'puriteens' or whatever the fuck else is the bugbear of the week for people who still stake their self esteem on their high school english grades

[phykios]

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

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

1)

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut. 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass. 

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.” 

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?” 

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response. 

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” 

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all. 

2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses. 

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen. 

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

3)

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.” 

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else? 

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Who are you working with?” 

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks. 

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…” 

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs. 

“S-sure. No problem.” 

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far. 

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?” 

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

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

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

The baby says nothing.

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

Junie blinks at him.

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

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

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might be in over his head a little.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops. 

He squints at one of his doodles. 

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

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

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

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

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

No response. 

Percy approaches the table. 

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

Percy picks up the book, squinting. 

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

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

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

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares. 

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

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

And he closes his computer.

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

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

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

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

***

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

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

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

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

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

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

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

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

He starts. “What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth takes her without a second glance. 

Then she does take a second glance.

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

Annabeth gapes. 

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

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

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

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

5)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

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

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

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

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

“No, why do you ask?”

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

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

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

“Can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peas,” Junie says. 

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

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

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

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

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

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

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

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

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly. 

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

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

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

“Then let’s make it happen.”

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

+1

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.” 

Jamie looks up. 

There’s a four year old staring at her. 

“Hi,” Jamie says. 

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

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

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

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.” 

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

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

Junie beams at her.

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

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

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.” 

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

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

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

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

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

She really should have just stuck with German instead. 

[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART SEVEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: men being shitty and creepy!! possible trigger for sexual assult Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: things are taking an odd turn, right? (sorry this is posted so late) 

taglist: @valleyd0ll​ @satingrass-maidensfair​ @guitarfingers​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @peaceisouranthem​ @oblvions​ @hansonobsessed​ @myownparadise96​ @lara-gvf​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​ @bigblack-catattack​

MASTERPOST 

You woke up to the shrill chiming of an alarm cutting through your head like a circle saw. The unexpected noise made you sit up instantly, putting your gaze directly on a desk, the top of it overflowing with sheet music. 

Josh started to stir next to you, his hand reaching out from under the blanket to grab his phone from where it sat in between you.

The sore spot on your ribs made you wince, and your eyes drifted down to find your own phone, pressed into the mattress from you sleeping on it. 

When the screen flicked on, you let out a sharp gasp. 

“Josh, we have like fifteen minutes to leave!” you yelped, hopping instantly out of bed and finding your knees a little wobbly. 

He sat up then, rubbing across his face. 

You gazed back at him, frowning at the odd setup; he was laying on top of the comforter but under a different blanket.

“Shit, I had yesterday’s alarm still set for my late class,” he murmured, inching himself toward the end of the bed. 

“Oh my god,” you whined, racing to the bathroom. You brushed your teeth way too quickly, knowing in your heart that you did a poor job.

When you returned to Josh’s room for your phone, he was pulling a clean shirt over his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sounding somewhere between asleep and awake.

“It’s okay, I should have set my own alarm,” you admitted, snatching your cell from the bed and scooting past him again. “It’s really okay. Are you going to be ready to leave in like ten?”

He nodded as he ran his fingers through his curls. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m praying.” 

On the walk to school, you remembered. 

“Fuck, my presentation is today. And I got high and didn’t practice.”

He chuckled under his breath, clasping his hand around your shoulder. “You’re going to be fine- just breathe and stay calm. If you mess up, take a pause and keep going.” 

You nodded furiously. “Okay. Okay. Can you text that to me? What if I forget?”

He laughed in earnest then. “Yes, I’ll text you.” 

You exhaled a lengthy breath, nodding as you tried to calm your nerves. 

In front of the entrance to the B hall, he spun you around to face him, holding the biceps of each of your arms. He mimicked taking a deep breath, prompting you to do the same without another thought. 

“Relax,” he instructed coolly. “And I’ll see you at lunch.”

+++

You had your hands clasped tightly in your lap, nervous enough that your palms were sweating. Getting up and speaking to a room of people was high on your list of things that felt like torture, especially since you hadn’t had time to shower or do anything with your mess of hair besides pinning it up into a bun as best you could. 

You thanked a divine power that the outfit you had thrown on in a haste ended up looking surprisingly presentable. 

As it neared your turn, you got your papers in order and straightened up your posture. When your name was called, you promptly stood, descending the steps and ending up down at the podium. 

You had just opened your mouth to start when your phone chimed in your pocket. Your eyes popped open wide, hoping you’d hallucinated the sound instead of forgetting to silence your ringer. 

The professor was giving you an unamused look as you gave a weak laugh.

 “One sec, sorry,” you muttered, fishing out your phone. You flicked the little button down on the side, but as the screen lit up, you got to read what the message said. 

Josh      just now Just pretend everyone’s me or pretend they’re naked. Probably not both though.

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh as you tucked it back away. The nerves that had you so on edge started to dampen, just a bit. 

+++

That afternoon, you walked home alone. Josh had texted you that he’d be staying until 5 or 6 to make sure the production was going along smoothly, but when he returned to the apartment, it was with a bottle of wine. 

You were doing some of the dishes from the previous day and had to wipe your soapy hands on a dishtowel before he crossed the room and pulled you into a side hug. 

The two of you had talked about how well the presentation went when you met at lunch, but you hadn’t imagined he’d make such a big deal about it. 

“I had Jake pick me up and take me to the liquor store, and I got this so we could celebrate,” he informed, his voice kind of soft - either sheepish or tired, you couldn’t quite tell. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, but couldn’t suppress the huge grin splitting your lips. 

He nodded, offering a soft smile. “I know.” He set the bottle down on the table pointedly. “I wanted to.”

You fished the make-shift corkscrew from the utensil drawer, brandishing it like a knife to earn a melodic laugh from Josh. 

He popped the door of the fridge open to peer inside. “We might be able to make something special for dinner. Or, at least more special than mac and cheese or sandwiches.”

When the idea popped into your head, you crossed the room and grabbed your purse. 

“I still have about,” you paused to count the bills in your wallet. “$34 from shopping. I was saving it for something nice, so why don’t we order something in?”

He grinned at you, leaning back against the wall next to the fridge and letting his head rest against it. “What kind of take-out are you thinking? You should get to pick.”

“Oh, please,” you huffed, playfully rolling your eyes as you started unwrapping the foil around the rim of the wine bottle. “One, I could have never done so well if it weren’t for you. And two, you’re from here, so you’d know what’s worth ordering.”

His pink lips tilted up into a smirk. “I’m not from here though.”

“Close enough.” You took a moment to think before continuing on. The tip of the corkscrew was broken, leaving a blunt edge and he watched you struggle to pierce the cork with it. “Is there any kind of Indian? Or Thai maybe?” 

He nodded. “There’s an Indian restaurant downtown. It’s pretty yummy if I remember right.”

“That kinda sounds perfect, right?” 

He held his hand out, flicking his eyes down at the corkscrew and then back up at you until you reluctantly handed it over. He picked up the bottle and popped it open with ease, his smirk only growing. 

“Yeah, perfect.”

+++

Thursday evening, Trevor showed up around five, just as you were finished making your bedroom look like a cute study nook. You weren’t entirely sure how much studying either of you planned on doing, but since he only brought one notebook and nothing else, you weren’t very hopeful about getting any work done. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to have a roommate,” he said in a playful tone.

“I do. When I moved here, I knew I couldn’t afford to live alone, so I rolled the dice. He’s a great friend, as it turns out. Do you want something to drink?” you asked as he stepped through your doorway and set his stuff down on your bed. 

“That’d be cool.”

“We have juice and milk and water and iced tea.”

He shrugged with a smile. “Anything but milk, please.”

You nodded. “I’ll bring you some juice.” 

Josh, who was seated in the sitting chair in the living room, working on his own homework, looked up at you through his eyelashes with a mischievous-looking smile.

You shot him a scowl. “Don’t be weird,” you whispered, and then in a normal tone, finished with, “Would you like some juice too?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. “That’s okay, I can get my own. You just worry about him.”

Trevor happily took his glass as you handed it to him, giving you a “thank you”. 

“Of course,” you replied as you sat next to him on the bed and pulled your stack of textbooks onto your lap. “Where should we start?”

“You actually want to study?” he mused, sounding disbelieving.

You bit your lip. “Probably for a little while at least, right?” 

He shrugged back at you, but you tried to brush off the odd attitude. Maybe you’d given him the wrong impression as to exactly what this would be, but you could fix it. 

“So, we’re supposed to read chapters ten through sixteen and then do all the questions,” you informed, flipping the book open. “You want me to read it out loud?” 

You thought maybe offering to do most of the work would brighten his mood, but every time you looked over at him while you were reading, he was scrolling through his phone. He had a bored expression painted across his features, and it took him nearly a full minute to realize you’d stopped reading. 

When he finally looked up at you, he gave a smile that you knew he thought was the most charming thing you’d ever seen.

You could hear a knock on the front door and Josh shuffling around in the living room. 

“Have you been listening to any of this? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” You tried to keep your tone from sounding annoyed, but you knew you couldn’t hide it as well as you wished. 

“I’d rather be doing anything else if I’m being honest.” There was not a single shred of an apology in his voice, and when you spoke again, you knew it would be even less put together.

“Why did you want to come over for a study session if you didn’t want to study?” It was less of a question and more of a scathing review of his character, or at least what you’d seen of it so far.

He frowned at you, looking a shade on the accusatory side for your liking. “I feel like you should have known what that actually meant.” 

You could hear a conversation going on in the kitchen, and you silently wished you were out there instead. The longer you heard them talk, the more convinced you became that it was Jake, and you wondered if Josh invited him over on purpose, or if he just showed up.

“You said you thought I was good in class and that part of why you asked me out was so I could help you with classwork.”

He rolled his blue eyes. “Yeah, if I hadn’t, I can’t imagine you would have invited me over.”

You had your mouth open to snap a response, but somehow, his words hurt you. Not much, but just enough for your chest to feel tight, and not just from anger.

 “Did you think you could manipulate me into having sex with you?” you asked quietly, your brows threaded close together in a frown. 

He gave a long, bored-sounding sigh. “Don’t act like I’m a bad guy, here. Everyone does it. Give some fake compliments and then make your move, you know?”

For emphasis, he placed his hand on your thigh, a little too high up. It made your teeth clench, jaw tightened by rage.

“Don’t touch me. You should go,” you stated. 

He huffed a sarcastic laugh as he inched his hand a bit further up your leg. He moved toward you until his face was nearing your neck. “Come on, what’s the big deal?” 

Before you could stop yourself, you reached a hand out and slapped him across his face, your palm making contact with the hollow of his cheek. You hadn’t been expecting the crack of noise when you made contact; it ripped through the room, and out into the living area if you had to guess. 

It took him a beat to realize what happened, but as soon as he did, he stood from your bed. You picked up his notebook and handed it to him, and he ripped it from your grasp, a dirty look on his features. 

“You’re a cockteasing bitch,” he snapped, nursing the red spot on his cheek. 

He was already halfway through the living room when you moved to stand in the doorway of your room. 

“Fuck off,” you called through clenched teeth as he opened the front door and let himself out. When he was gone you realized that Josh and Jake were both looking at you with similar degrees of concern from where they were sat on the couch. 

“What happened?” Josh asked, frowning up at you. 

Embarrassed, you flicked your eyes over to Jake who had one eyebrow quirked up at you. 

“Oh, you know. Just boys lying to me so they can fuck,” you snapped as you retreated to your room and closed the door. You instantly felt bad for being short with them, especially since Josh is just about the last person you could ever imagine being mean to, but you’d apologize later. 

Right then, you were going to curl up in bed.

After a couple of hours, Jake left and you wondered how long it would take before Josh came in to bug you, but he didn’t. You listened for his footsteps coming toward your door, but you could hear him in the living room, turning the page of a book every now and again. 

Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself - you threw the blankets off and stood. The stiffness in your muscles was a poor consolation prize for the day. 

He looked up at you, shutting his book instantly, his homework caught between the pages. 

“Hey,” he greeted quietly. He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry your...thing went so poorly.”

You were too annoyed to care anymore, so you laid your head on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. It surprised you when you felt a tear drip down your cheek and you could feel your face start to warm in response. 

He heard you sniffle and his form stiffened immediately. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you tight to him. 

“Did he hurt you?” It sounded like Josh’s throat was tight, making his words hoarse.

“No, he just,” You weren’t sure how to finish that. He hadn’t really hurt you, per se. “He just tried to touch me. And then he didn’t stop when I told him to.”

“What?” His tone was charmingly offended on your behalf. 

“It’s okay,” you assured, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “I’m more angry than anything. I just kind of can’t believe I fell for that, you know? The whole ‘let’s study’ thing.”

“Stop that - it’s not your fault.” You could feel the hesitation as he laid his hand against your ear, but you leaned into it, grateful for the comfort.

It was quiet for a long moment while you calmed yourself down. His presence was more of a reassurance than anything else you could have imagined at the moment.

“You’re my best friend,” you breathed, turning to nuzzle your nose against the fabric of his sleeve. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

Through a smile, you heard him say, “Me too.”

[eerythingisshaka]

Wish Granted Pt. 2

[Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black OC]

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N:  I decided to make this a series and instead of reader, it is an original character. Strap in!

( Read Part 1 here)

That morning, Yahya and Corrine bask in the glow of the new morning sun, sharing a table by the front window enjoying eggs benedict, toast, with a stack of pancakes to share.  Corrine dipped some of her bacon into the leftover egg and sauce along her plate, chasing it with the remaining orange juice in her glass.  She goes to grab for more from the pitcher when Yahya’s hand surrounds hers.

“I have a flight tonight at 6,”  he says.

Corrine nods slowly.  “Ok.”

He looks sorry as he continues, “It got changed last minute.”

“Sure...can I ...pour my juice now?” Corrine asks, making Yahya awkwardly rest his hands on the table to allow you access to the pitcher.

“And with traffic, I should probably start getting ready to go now.”

Corrine sips her drink, wiping her mouth gingerly with the cloth napkin and sets it down.  “I gave you back that ring, right?”

Yahya nods.  “And your scarf is in your room at the hotel.”

“It’s not mine but...thanks.”  Corrine says quietly.  She pushes her fork around in the remnants of her plate, squeaking every so often against the porcelain.

Yahya leans forward.  “I still want to stay in contact.  Just because I live out of town doesn’t mean we can’t not see each other, you know?”

Corrine smiles with wide eyes like he just said something offensive.  “If that’s what you think, that is fine.  But honestly how would that work?  I couldn’t keep a guy to get a proposal and I spent at least half of my 20s hanging with him.  Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

Yahya sits back, looking out the window for distraction.

“I mean I am fine with a one night stand.  Thank you for being what I needed at the time, it was definitely a night I will never forget but let’s not make this weird.”

Yahya sighs, looking around for presumably the waitress and pulls out his wallet.  “I can’t believe you’re flipping like this.”

“It’s not a flip, just...this happens.  Like, come on Yahya, we don’t know each other.  Can you seriously say you want to try and make this a long term thing base don our track records?”

Yahya puts some bills on the table.  “I thought you hadn’t done this before?”

Corrine shrugs.  “Ok, truthfully, not since college had I done this before.  Before...him,” she says with a cringe.

Yahya folds his arms across his chest looking at her with amazement.  “So you really used me?  I am your rebound and now you’re backing out?  Or is it because I am not conveniently at your beck and call now that you’re scared to try something new?”

Corrine scoffs.  “I don’t need to explain it, I made it clear.  Long distance will not work.  That’s it!”

“I disagree.  And I want you to see that I am right and you’re wrong.”

“Yahya…”

“Corrine….”  Yahya says, biting his lip playfully.

Corrine rolls her eyes, pulling out her purse to rifle through it.  Not able to find a piece of paper, she takes an unused napkin and scribbles on the front with her dying pen.

“Look, I will give you my number.  Do with it what you want, I’m not holding you to it though,”

She hands it to a confused look Yahya.  “I could just give you my phone to put it in?”

“I’m old school.  Plus, watch you accidentally use it and mess up the ink or ball it up thinking it’s trash.  I wanna know you can be responsible with an important document such as that napkin with my number on it.”

Yahya looks at it, puts it down and grabs a five off of the stack of bills he had set on the table.

“Let me borrow that pen,”  he asks, scribbling his number across the front of Lincoln’s face.

“Whoa!  What are you doing?”  Corrine asks, leaning to get a glimpse for herself before Yahya gives her the defaced bill.

“And here is my number.  If your theory checks out, it shouldn’t be hard to keep up with or lose, unless you accidentally spend it on some shoes or a new purse, right?”

Corrine glares at him.  “Ha Ha.  Here, let me at least put some money back on this since you probably just took the girl’s tip money for this.”

Yahya waves her off.  “Please, it’s still 20% without it, we good.”

Corrine folds the five up in a side pocket in her bag.  “Then that’s it right?”

Yahya stares through the table, nodding blankly.  When he looks at Corrine he fights a smirk.

“I really had a good time.”

“I did too.”

Yahya and Corrine step out of the restaurant, parting with one last hug as his car arrives to pick him.  Corrine holds him close, smelling the fresh soap from the morning shower he took just a couple hours ago.  His shoulders and back solid under her hands, she imagines if she lifts her feet, he wouldn’t bend or fold even slightly.

His hands spread along her back before sliding slowly around her waist, kissing a spot behind her ear that makes her curl back and chuckle.

“I’ll call you,”  Yahya says inches from Corrine’s face as she nods.  “You gonna call me?”

“When you call me, I will,”  she says, putting her hand to the side of his face, trying to memorize every feature and feeling it gave her.  One last kiss would make her fly in the cab with him, so she backs off, waving goodbye.

A month goes by and Corrine has finally packed up all of James’s things in two boxes.  She sits on the couch staring at them sat next to her front door.  His life with her fit in just two boxes?  They weren’t officially living together yet but he spent so much time with her that it seemed like there would be more things.  Most of it is laundry that needs washing and DVDs he brought over because he refused to buy them on digital again.

Corrine scrolls through her phone absentmindedly as she waits.  A message pops up that makes her jump out of the blue.

Hey, how’s your morning beautiful?

It’s fine for now.  Still waiting on him.

Don’t let him bother you.  Just tell him to the left and leave!

Of course girl.  Why mess with a beyonce blueprint?

Works every time!  Also, don’t forget to meet us for our lunch date after.

Sounds good.

Corrine gets up to check out of her patio door and sees his car park outside.  James strolls across the grass, which instinctively makes her cringe.  She always told him to watch doing that so he doesn’t end up walking in dog shit.  

She waits for his knock patiently, not wanting him to know she saw him already.  Her phone chimes again.

Outside, it reads.

Corrine groans at the rude tone of his one word text.  As she opens the door he’s leaning on the frame in a way that reminds you of one of Danny Zuko’s boys from Grease.  Leather jacket on even though it's 85 degrees out, distressed blue jeans that fit snug around his lean legs with some schmegular all white Adidas.  

“I already packed your stuff,”  she says, walking backwards to point to the left as practiced.  James takes one step in with his hands in his pockets and looks to his right at the boxes.

“I could’ve done that,”  he says in a bored tone, looking back at her as if she is visiting him without notice,

“I asked you every week for the past month to come get it.  You think I’m going to wait for you to poke around here and find every little thing of yours on your own?  I don’t think so.”

His fingers find their way around a curl of hair in his high top fade.  “What’s all this energy about though?  I thought we could be cool about it?”

“Why would I be cool about anything with you  after you left me by myself in the city when we were supposed to be celebrating your promotion, right?  But you recall what happened instead?  After 5 and a half years together?”

“I wanted to talk to you in person-”

“You hadn’t done that either for a month, have you?”

James’ jaw flies open.  “Because the only thing you got to say is about picking up my stuff!  You never asked to talk and you didn’t answer my calls!”

“I shouldn’t have to ask to talk!  I’m not the one that said I can’t do this no more!”

“Are you sure Corrine?  Cuz you never acted interested in shit with what I got to do.  You don’t listen to nothing I got to say.”

Corrine scoffs loudly as James kneels to look through the boxes. 

“I never helped YOU?  I got you into a respectable corporate job that paid BILLS for the first time in you life when your cooking career wasn’t pulling weight like you hoped it would!  Now you can earn some capital so you can open your business steadily and not fall flat on your ass!  I gave you so much more mercy than you ever did for me!”

James sucks his teeth and comes to a standing, towering over Corrine.  “I stood by you while you worked to do this lawyer shit you got goin on.  Long nights studying in the living room, out to the library, hell week after hell week to pass your bar.  I barely got a kiss from you at your celebration party.  You always doin the most!”

Corrine grips her temples, completely taken back.  “I can’t believe you’re saying my ambition is a reason to leave me.  I can’t succeed while you’re down and out or you feel less of a man?  Is that it?”

James picks up his boxes in both arms.  “Shut up.”  He walks out the door heading for the steps.

“No, now I got it!  You want me to just stay quiet and patient while you figure things out but I couldn’t carry our relationship for you!  I needed your support too, whether I am studying for hours on end or you’re taking a month long business trip, only to come back unemployed!”

James was out the door about halfway down when he looks back at her.

“You think I wouldn’t know?  I got you that gig, how would I not check into it?  They said you never showed up.  Why?”

James looked off, sighing deeply like a load was taken off even though he was carrying two very heavy boxes.

“You had to get away for a month?  What were you doing for that long that you didn’t tell me?”

James continued to not look at Corrine.  His mind battling with what to say and what not to say was killing her as she looked for him to speak. 

“I won’t take you back James, I just want a good excuse so I can hate you less.  I thought you were going to marry me when you booked that room for us at that fancy spot.  But you broke my heart so bad.”

James continued to walk down the steps without a word.  Corrine watched him pack his car and turn on the engine to peel out.  

--

“Girl, and that’s what he did?”  Simone exclaimed over her half eaten salad.  Her pressed hair pulled back in a bun already gave her a naturally alert look, but Corrine’s turmoil made it that much more apparent.

Corrine pushed around a meatball in her spaghetti.  “That is all he did.  I have no closure to it.”

Bria pats you back gingerly.  “You’ll be fine and he’ll be fine.  It’s just because the break up is still fresh that y’all couldn’t come to an understanding.”

Corrine sits back and shrugs.  “Maybe?  But that’s a big ass lie he dropped on me.  He was gone for a month.  He could have a whole family in another state for all I know.”

Simone points at Corrine, big brown eyes bucking.  “That’s why I told you he look like Cousin Skeeter if he were a real man.  He is just as goofy too.  Nobody should leave for a MONTH without saying anything.”

Bria nods, adjusting her tortoise shell frames.  “He is not worth a thought but you take all the time you need to get past it.  Just move on.  You gave him chance after chance up until the last moment.  It’s time you got to breathe on your own.”

“And speaking of,”  Simone lowers her voice.  “You hear from our hotel daddy yet?”

“Oh God, don’t bring that up now,”  Corrine whines.

“Simone!”  Bria hisses.  “She hasn’t heard from him yet, and honestly by now, there would be some explaining to do instead of dating.”

Corrine lays her head on the table.  “Why is life so hard?  I can’t have a good time with nobody!”

Simone and Bria offer pats as her tears are absorbed by the tablecloth.

“Hey, you know what?  You do still have his number…”

“Simone, no.  I can’t.”

“But!  Instead of cutesy whats up and stuff, you can tell him off maybe?  Give him the lashing every wrong you’ve received deserves.  It might not be constructive but a quick shot of feel good sounds pretty good, right?”

Corrine sits up, dabbing her eyes and feeling the avalanche of snot coming to her nose.  Her cries put all ugly cries to shame.

“I just...it was...he said...he’d call!”  Corrine squeaks out between sobs.

One month turned into two, and so on until Corrine forgot about that night at the hotel.  Busying herself with work was the best thing she could do in order to keep herself feeling good from day to day.  That and happy hours with her girls who vigorously scoped men out for her as her wingwomen.  

Sometimes when she is turning in for the evening, she picks up the base of her little desk mirror to find the $5 bill under it that Yahya scrawled his number on.  The more she looked at it, she wasn’t sure if it ended in a four or a nine, so it’s probably best she kept from calling in order to not look foolish on someone’s phone.

James and her never got back with each other either.  But Corrine is more ok with that.  She figures whatever skeletons he has are bigger than she can manage and she deserves a break.  But Yahya seemed so good and promising, she couldn’t believe she got bamboozled that hard.  He could’ve left that morning, allowing her to sleep away the future but he gave her hope instead and that got snatched away.

So Corrine filled her days digging into practicing law and running errands and not much in between.  But she was ok.  Without the extra baggage of men in her life she felt as if she might’ve unlocked a new level in life.

---

“As you all know, the construction on the new building is being negotiated with several architects in order to get a broad scope of what design would fit the future of our practice the best for years to come.  Let me remind you all that if it weren’t for your dedication to your work around here that we would not be one of the most sought after and winningest law office in the state.”

Applause fills the conference room for Hogel of Garrett, Hogel & Truman as Corrine takes notes on the meetings main points.  Most of the meetings are supplied with a bullet list of the main topics, but she does not enjoy just sitting and staring or she is liable to daydream.

When the meeting comes to a close, it is close enough to the evening and the weekend that she hopes will allow her to get off early and head straight for bed.  Her feet kill her in the stiff three inch pumps she wears for ten hours straight, and her local Chinese spot was calling her name for some springfield chicken.

When she makes it back to her desk, her heart flips with joy as she sees no new files to review and archive, and since she got ahead of her projects for the week, it seems the weekend has finally begun.

She kicks off her heels to slide into her worn in athletic shoes, feeling her feet melt into the dips that the insole has created to mold to her feet.  Her heart beats in the bottoms of her foot from being released from their patent leather binding which is both uncomfortable and satisfying.  But even if they were chopped off at the shin, these feet would lead her to her car and get her to her home paradise.  

Corrine walks down the hall to the elevators, hearing noises from people as she gets close.  She feels a little anxious, preferring an empty elevator at her departure time but is willing to deal so that the exit is quicker.

As the group of voices rounds a corner leading away from her, she sees a man standing head above the whites that surround him.  A navy blue suit fitting tailored to wide set shoulder funneling down to a slim but sturdy waist, made her knees buckle a moment, causing her to slow her pace forward.  He walks away, laughing one of those polite laughs one gives to company they want to impress.  He hits the elevator button, listening to one of the partners speak until his gaze travels over them and spots her.

She feels her brain black out and her heart fall out of her ass and flight took over in her fight or flight response.  

“Corinne!”  he calls after her, but she pays him no attention rounding the corner.  Stairs would have to work, no matter how much her feet her from the day, anything would do over having to see him make up whatever excuse he had to not call her.  And what the hell is he doing at her job?  Is he a lawyer?  Is he looking for counsel?  What if he is a fraud that manipulates women and sues them for some old timey bullshit laws like alienation of affection.

She thanked God that coincidence didn’t find him in the parking garage as Corrine finally made it home but settled on some leftovers she had in the fridge instead of her beloved Chinese food.  At this point she still hadn’t calmed down from earlier.  What if he is at the Chinese place?  Where the hell does he live anyway?  To be in the same area as her work, he couldn’t be far.  She couldn’t remember where he said he was from, if they even covered that much information but she was not going to entertain his presence, he is a ghost to her.  

In her bedroom she takes the five and slips it in her purse to make sure she spends the bill, like it's the reason he is back.  She will have to treat him like a ghost.  He won’t know she ever waited for him or thought about him after that night. 

[is0gild]

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Bonus Chapter 6

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 9,761

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

Ice chips.

A whole paper cup full of them.

This was my current mission. My purpose. My whole reason for existence in this one very specific moment in time.

For if every wholesome, family-friendly sitcom from the 90s were to be believed, ice chips were like crack to women in labor - they just couldn't get enough of the stuff.

Why? No one knows, least of all me… okay, maybe doctors knew but if they did, not a single one had yet to clear up that little mystery for me.

The why didn't really matter anyway. All that mattered is that Rayne wanted them. And what Rayne wanted, Rayne got.

Especially when she was about to shove a brand new tiny person through her body and out into the world any second now.

...at least, in theory anyway.

I thanked the attendant at the nurse station and turned with the freshly secured cup of ice chips in hand, heading down the hospital wing back in the direction of Rayne's room in the delivery ward. As I hurried along, I anxiously ran my free hand down my frazzled braid, grimacing at all the little wisps coming loose before shifting to smooth my fingers along my rumpled dress that I'd been wearing since yesterday. Turning one last corner, my eyes immediately went to Rayne's door-

-only to be brought up short by the sight of fluffy, squishy, huggable reindeer plushie nearly twice my size already waiting politely outside it.

Well there was something you don't see every day.

It only took me a second to spot the shoes poking out underneath that had to belong to whoever was holding the thing from behind where I couldn't see them. I squinted.

I knew those shoes.

With a tiny, tired smile, I put one foot forward once more and approached the giant stuffed caribou with a lightly teasing, "If you're looking for the North Pole, you're off by about a couple thousand miles, Prancer. Or is it Blitzen?"

"Har, har. You're an absolute riot," came a voice from the other side of the massive doll. Though I couldn't see the eye roll, I could distinctly hear it in his tone.

Shaking my head with a soft snort, I dug my phone out of my pocket to check the time. "...1 p.m. already? Can't believe she's been in labor for nearly twenty-one hours." Twenty-one extremely long, extremely sleepless hours for the mother-to-be, not to mention all her loved ones here to support her. Tucking the phone away once more, I told him, "Thanks again for covering my early shift, I really appreciate it. Hope it wasn't too hectic of a morning over at the Ice Palace."

"Hey, don't mention it," Kristoff poked his blonde head up just over the plushie's shoulder. "If it's a choice between the two of us, it's no contest: Rayne'd much rather have you here with her than me." He paused, eyeing the closed door leading into her hospital room with a tiny frown. "...so, still no baby, huh?"

"Still no baby," I sighed, then tipped my head to one side. "Care to explain the reindeer? I didn't even know we made Svens in this size."

"We don't," he shifted his hold on the thing for a better grip. "We got a small batch to try and sell as a test run last year, but no one was really buying 'em. Still had a couple stowed away in back just gathering dust, so got the okay from Frozone to steal one for welcoming the new little Hewley into the world."

A grin pulled at my lips, "How sweet. I'm sure Rayne will love it." I then quirked an eyebrow at him. "...why were you just standing outside with it anyway? You know you could have just walked on in, right?"

His gaze darted to the door once again, then back to me. "...is the yelling still happening?" he whispered with a nervous little wince.

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes as I deadpanned, "It's the beautiful blessed miracle of life, Kristoff. Rayne's allowed to yell as much as she wants. Now come on, there's already one baby on the way, we don't need you being a big old second one." With that, I reached for the door knob, pushed it open and made my way inside.

And straight into the madhouse that was Rayne's hospital room.

"You did this to me, you bastard! I'm gonna KILL you for this, you smug son of a bitch!"

Ah, and there was Rayne now, shrieking her head off.

To be fair, if you'd been in labor for nearly a full day now, you'd probably be shrieking your head off too.

"Yes, hon."

And that'd be Riku, the absolute picture of patience and composure as he smiled lovingly through the abuse, both verbal and physical as Rayne's death grip just had to be murder on his hand right now. But he was soldiering through it like a champ.

Huffing and puffing, Rayne spat, "Don't you 'yes hon' me with that stupid, sexy, annoying, beautiful, infuriatingly perfect little grin of yours, pal! When I'm through with you, you won't have anything to grin about!"

"Yes, hon," he chuckled softly, gently sweeping a few of her messy bangs out of her face before pressing a light kiss to her sweaty temple.

"Oh-ho, no! None of that!" she snarled, narrowing her eyes at him. "It's stuff like that that started this whole damn mess, jerkface!"

"Yes, hon."

We were all handling being included in this special moment in Rayne's life a bit differently, each doing what we could to keep her happy and distracted from the contractions. As could be seen, Riku was doing his part by being a flawless model husband/punching bag combo. Sora-

"What does every moogle need in the morning?"

Sora was trying to make her laugh.

"A kup-o coffee!"

...and was doing a rather poor job of it.

As Rayne stared blankly up at him, Sora gave a tiny sheepish laugh from where he stood at the foot of her hospital bed as he scratched the back of his head. "That one was a dud, huh? Okay, okay, how about this one? What do moogles use when they go shopping? ...Kupons!"

More crickets from Rayne. This time accompanied with an unamused little eye squint.

Undeterred, Sora smiled brightly and held up his hands, "Wait, wait, I gotta million of these! What did one cactuar say to the other? ...looking sharp! What does a cactuar wear to a business meeting? ...A cac-tie!" Why did the chocobo cross the road? ...he was going for a wark!"

His new rapid fire approach did not seem to be helping matters.

"Alright, no, hang on, I'm gonna get you with this one for sure! You ready? Okay… Knock knock."

Rayne's eye twitched. Patting her hand, Riku obliged his cousin with a sigh, "Who's there?"

Barely able to contain his glee now, Sora replied, "Interrupting chocobo."

"Interrupting ch-"

"BWARK!" Sora crowed in delight.

The expecting mother-to-be looked just about ready to hurl the beeping heart monitor at him.

"Look, Ray, look!" Kairi suddenly chimed in, swiftly coming to her boyfriend's rescue as she shoved her phone in Rayne's face. For her contribution in keeping Rayne's mind off the pain, Kairi had elected to sit in the bed with her to provide cuddles and hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of adorable baby animals. "Aren't these little piggy-wiggies the freaking cutest?"

Frowning at the screen, Rayne said flatly, "...they'd look even cuter in the form of crispy bacon on a bun slathered in barbecue."

Kairi gasped in horror, snatching her phone back to hug protectively to her chest, "Not the piggy-wiggies!"

"Sorry, Kai, but I'm starving and they won't let me eat a damn thing until this little bundle of joy gets the hell out of me," she grumbled back.

She pursed her lips to one side, swiping her thumb across the screen several times now, "Guess I'll skip these pics of baby cows and chicks and- you know what? No farm animals at all, how about that?"

Sora was now sidling up along one side of the bed opposite to Riku, both hands covering his face as he went.

Oh dear.

One could only assume this was leading up to his latest attempt to get a laugh out of her and I was almost dreading how the next couple seconds would unfold.

"No frowning. No sad face. Okay?" he muffled out from between fingers as he blindly inched closer to Rayne. "This birth runs on happy faces, so ya gotta look funny… like me!" He suddenly threw his hands out wide to reveal he was wearing a pair of gag glasses, complete with a comically large plastic nose and mustache. "I-"

Rayne yelped in surprise and socked him in the stomach.

Yup. That'd gone about as well as I'd expected.

And correction… it seemed the role of punching bag would now be played by Sora.

Quite literally.

Eyes growing round as she clasped both hands over her mouth, Rayne said, "Oh god, Sora, you okay? I'm so sorry, but you scared the everliving crap out of me!"

"No, no, it's fine," he wheezed out a chuckle, doubling over and clutching at his gut while Kairi shot him a sympathetic pout as she rubbed his shoulder. "You're bringing a new little life into the world, so you get a free pass!"

Smothering his snickers behind a hand, Riku shook his head at him, "Where did those ridiculous things even come from?"

"These?" Sora held up the gaudy spectacles. "Saw 'em in the hospital gift shop and thought everyone might get a kick outta them."

"Or at least a punch," Kairi teased, sticking her tongue out.

Kristoff and I hadn't been spotted yet. Sensing an opening as the rest of them devolved into light laughter, I was just about to insert myself into the conversation when-

"Beep beep, coming through! Move it or lose it!"

Jolting, I just barely jumped out of the way in time to narrowly avoid getting steamrolled by Anna as she suddenly came charging into the room. Her arms were stacked so high with hospital pillows that she couldn't really see past them, so I suspected she had no clue that she'd just beeped-beeped her own sister.

Yesterday when we'd been racing our way back to Twilight Town, I'd called Anna to make sure she'd heard the news that Rayne had gone into labor. Since we still had had several hours left on the road to go yet before we'd be back and I'd been worried about missing the birth, I'd wanted to make sure that Anna could at least be there in my stead. However I discovered I needn't have even asked, for my sister had already been burning rubber out of Arendelle to get to Twilight Town herself even before I'd called. Thankfully we'd arrived with time to spare - plenty of it, as it was turning out. And bonus, I'd been getting to personally witness Anna's own unique brand of pitching in... that is, by doing anything and everything in her power to make sure Rayne was as comfortable as humanly possible.

Which to Anna apparently meant stealing every last pillow in this medical institution to offer up as tribute to Rayne.

"Ta-da!" she chirped as she dumped the tiny mountain of cushions onto Rayne's bed with a big, delighted grin. "I'm back with a whole friggin' variety this time, so pick your poison! I got soft ones, firm ones, big ones, small ones, some as big as your- you know what? Do you wanna go with all of them? Let's go with all of them! Sound good? Good!" With that, she began gently but eagerly stuffing them one by one behind Rayne's head.

"Anna, sweetie… do you think we're maybe approaching the point of too many pillows here?" Rayne delicately asked, shifting her back slightly against the already substantial collection behind her that Anna had managed to amass in the past several hours.

She wrinkled her nose with a snerk, "What? Nonsense, there's no such thing as too many pillows! And I think you'll be singing a different tune once you get a load of this puppy here," she proudly held up and fluffed a particularly plush looking pillow. "This right here is the Holy Grail of hospital pillows! I earned this bad boy too! Had to throw down with some greedy, wrinkly old fart who was trying to horde all the good bedding for himself!"

"Let me get this straight… you beat up an elderly old man and stole his pillow?" Riku gave her a dull look.

"I didn't beat him up! Just… got in a bit of a tussle, that's all," she brushed off with a tiny shrug. At all the blank stares she received, she huffed, "What, he was crotchety and mean and fought dirty, kept whacking me with his cane! The old coot friggin' deserved it!" She turned her head away with a razz of her tongue before her face lit up once more. "Besides, nothing but the best for the soon-to-be mommy, isn't that right, Ray-Ray?" she cooed as she fondly tucked "the Holy Grail" of hospital pillows (which was the last of her latest haul from all her ransacking and pillaging) behind Rayne. Then she clapped her hands together, "Now! Be right back with more in a jiff!"

Before Anna could dash off again however, Rayne snagged her wrist with a hasty, "No!" As my sister glanced back at her, Rayne winced and lowly hissed her way through what looked to be another contraction before blowing out a relieved puff and exhaustedly chuckling, "The thought's appreciated, sweetpea, really, but try as you might, I just don't think we can quite cram the hospital's entire supply of pillows in this one teeny room."

"But-"

"Ah-ah!" she interrupted her protest, holding up a finger. "Trust me, I'm good. 'Sides, if you keep going at this rate, soon there'll be no room left on the bed for me."

The corners of Anna's lips turned down in a tiny sulk. "I suppose you're right," she hung her head as her hands smoothed over Rayne's bedsheets, flattening any wrinkles. Then she froze mid-gesture, face brightening once again as she looked up with a delighted little intake of breath. "I can get you more blankets! So many blankets! All the blankets!"

"What?! Anna, no, I'm not even-"

But my sister had already blurred out of the room with nothing more than a quick, "Hi, Sis! Bye, Sis!" to me. She didn't even acknowledge Kristoff. Don't think she saw him behind the caribou.

"...cold," Rayne finished with a defeated sigh. Then she seemed to notice me for the first time. More specifically, what I was holding. She immediately perked up, "Ah, there she is! C'mere, oh Great Bringer of Ice! My Ice Babe, my Ice Queen, my Ice Goddess!" She stretched out her arms towards me, making grabby hands. "Gimme!"

Ah, my role in keeping Rayne happy.

Which if it hadn't been obvious already, that greeting should have just made it abundantly clear.

This was actually my first time being present for the birth of somebody's child. And if I was being totally honest here, I had to admit that the experience did make me a bit awkward and anxious. Gussy it up however you like, but the "miracle of childbirth" was some animal kingdom nonsense that I'd normally rather take no part in. It was all just so... er… messy. But this was an important day for Rayne and I wanted to be there for her. Which meant I just had to do what I did for all important things that made me awkward and anxious.

I let it go and did them anyway.

Taking in a breath to quell my jittery nerves, I braved a smile as I approached her bedside and held out the cup which she greedily snatched up. "Got it back here as quick as I could, hopefully it didn't have a chance to melt too much."

Popping a few frozen chips into her mouth, she closed her eyes with a contented hum. "Ahhhh, that's the stuff! You always treat me right, boo! Keep the good shit coming."

"D'aw," I grinned softly, reaching out to lightly pat her cheek, "you make me feel like I'm your drug dealer."

"Don't act like you don't like it," she crunched down on the ice with a cheeky little wink before digging a few more out of the cup to slip between her lips. Then she looked past me and went stock still. She blinked once. Then twice. Then, "...um?"

I glanced back to realize she just now seemed to be noticing the comically large, dopey reindeer in the room. How she hadn't spotted it sooner was beyond me. In any case, I cleared my throat and stage whispered, "Pssst… Kristoff!"

"Right." Taking that as his cue, he started jauntily bouncing forward with the thing, making it do a floppy little jig in the process. Remaining hidden behind the colossal doll the whole time, he adopted a deep, goofy voice to speak for the plushie, "Hello, my name is Sven and I'm gonna be your new lil gal's bestest friend! I'll make sure to give her all the snuggles and huggles and wub she'll ever need!"

For a second, Rayne's expression was unreadable as she just continued to stare at the thing's big, silly face. Then she burst into tears.

Fudge, was this a good crying or a bad crying?

With all the drastic mood swings she'd been experiencing since labor started, it could really go either way at this point.

Everyone began to scramble. Riku was murmuring softly to her as he caressed her cheek, Kairi was frantically trying to pull up what she was claiming to be an absolutely adorable picture of a dog and duck that were besties, and Sora was desperately shooting off lame, punny jokes so fast now that the punchlines were getting all jumbled and mashed together into pure gibberish. However it all turned out to be unnecessary as Rayne suddenly wailed, "Oh my god, I love him!"

Whew, okay, this was a good crying.

False alarm, people, stand down.

"Really?" Kristoff stuck his head up from behind the deer, flashing a lopsided smile.

She nodded her head vigorously, sniffling. "He's perfect for our baby girl! And good news! You've officially just been hired as our full-time nanny!"

He gave a bashful chuckle as he found a corner to deposit Sven in, "Shucks, you don't hafta-" But then he stiffened as her words really sunk in. "Wait, what?"

"Yup! Don't worry, I'll talk to the Ice Palace for you so they'll work your shifts around it. Ah, we're gonna have the happiest kid in the whole wide universe now that she's going to have her own talking, dancing, prancing reindeer to play with every day!" she clapped in glee.

"Every-" Kristoff spluttered and paled. "Now hang on, I never agreed to any of-"

"Da-dun da-dun! Candygram!" a new voice loudly sang out. We all turned to discover Lea now standing in the doorway, grinning like a madman with his arms loaded down with junk food. Way, way too much junk food.

"Good lord, where on earth did all that come from?" was the only greeting he got from me as both eyebrows shot up my forehead.

He shrugged, grin somehow defying all odds to stretch even wider. "Raided the nearest couple o' vending machines and picked the things clean. Hope all you boys and gals are famished cuz tonight we feast like Candyland kings! And you get a chocolate bar!" he tossed one to me, which I fumbled to catch before sensing Rayne's gaze narrowing on me and I hastily hid it behind my back. "And you get a chocolate bar!" This one went to Kristoff. "And you and you and you!" Sora, Kairi, Riku. "Annnnnd…" Lea stopped mid-throw to Rayne, smirking as he retracted his hand. "...not you cuz the Doc said that was a big fat no-no for you, Missy! Guess that just means more for me," he smugly singsonged as he made his way further into the room now.

Nostrils flaring, Rayne growled, "You are such an asshole, Red."

"One," he struck up a finger as he unceremoniously plopped down into a chair against the wall opposite of her, letting all the sweets pile up in his lap, "that's just part o' my roguish charm and you know it. Two, you said a naughty word." He tsked with a shake of his head as he began to peel the wrapper off a Snickers. "Now is that any way for a young lady who any second now is gonna be responsible for molding a young, impressionable mind of our future generation should be talking?"

"Fuck off," she spat out.

"That's more like it!" he laughed, toasting her with the candy bar before heartily taking a bite.

And this, my friends, is how Lea was doing his part to help distract her from the pain.

By being a royal pain in the butt himself.

Fighting fire with fire, as it were.

"Mm-mm-mm!" Lea hummed, putting on a show of enjoying his snack a little too much. "The way that chocolate just melts in your mouth and mingles with all that sweet caramel and peanuty goodness… golly, would I hate to be anyone who's not allowed to eat right now," he slyly broke off another piece between his teeth as he eyed Rayne.

She mutedly worked her jaw for a moment. Then in a dangerously low voice, she said, "Sorry, Elsa, but I'm sending your boyfriend to an early grave."

"Please don't. I'm actually rather fond of the little troublemaker," I snorted as I made my way over to him, quick to smother his mouth with my hand even as he opened it to spout off something else that would surely only tighten the proverbial noose even further around his neck.

I anticipated the little kiss he pressed to the inside of his palm. What I didn't anticipate, however, was him simply taking hold of my wrist and yanking my down into his lap (a rather awkward seat, mind you, considering I was sharing the space with all that candy) where he hugged me tightly, pinning my arms to my sides in the process so I could no longer silence him. Nuzzling his nose to my cheek, he then turned his head to regard Rayne once more as he chirped, "Just consider it incentive! Think about it: the sooner ya squeeze that kiddo out, the sooner ya get to throttle me! Now lessee here, where was I…"

Releasing his hold on me, he retrieved another bar from the heap, tore it open and chomped down. "Mmm… Almond Joy? More like Almond Nirvana! Seriously, this is too good. Raindrop, wanna bite?" he held it out towards her, giving it a little wiggle with an impish gleam to his eyes.

Pretty sure I could see a vein bulging on her forehead for a split second. Then she tried to lunge straight for him and it was only thanks to the combined efforts of Riku, Kairi, and Sora holding her back that she stayed put in her bed.

It seemed Lea was playing his part a little too well.

"Lemme at him, I'm going to murder him!" she snarled as she fought against all the hands restraining her.

"Ah-ah," Lea waggled a finger at her - a finger I hastily grabbed and forced him to lower in a futile attempt to keep him from antagonizing her further. "What did I just tell ya? Baby first, then murder."

Rayne's lips parted, a particularly nasty retort surely on the tip of her tongue, but then she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as it appeared another contraction wracked her body and she bellowed out wordlessly instead.

As if her howl was a summons, a new person suddenly came bustling into the room with a chipper yet soothing, "Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion."

Mind you, I was using the term "person" in the loosest sense of the word. Baymax here was actually a robot of some kind, though a rather odd one at that - I usually didn't picture robots as big, round, soft and inflatable. Then again, this was the first robot I'd ever met, so what did I know? It seemed it (he?) was some sort of prototype on loan to the hospital, making rounds in the role of a nurse as a sort of a test run to see how viable mass producing more like it (him?) might be.

The future is now, apparently.

"Yes, yes, so you keep saying every. Damn. Time that you come in here," Rayne panted out in reply to the bot, her grip firmly squeezing Riku's hand once more.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?" Baymax asked amiably as he began to lift her blankets to check how far along she was while the rest of us discreetly averted our eyes.

She huffed out a bitter noise that may have been some crude approximation of a laugh. "Trust me, we left ten in the dust hours ago."

"Good news" Baymax announced, still in that mellow yet upbeat tone he seemed to be programmed to never deviate from as he settled her bedsheets back into place. "You are dilated enough now to begin the birthing process. I'll page Dr Finkelstein so we can get started right away."

"Oh thank fucking god!" Rayne cried out.

Baymax turned to address the rest of us, "If everyone besides the father-to-be could please vacate the room and give us privacy, it would be most appreciated. Thank you and have a nice day."

As the rest of us quickly filed out of the room into the hall, I could spot Anna turning a corner down the way, her arms bursting with blankets now as she sprinted at full speed. Her gaze widened slightly when it landed on us and as she skidded to a halt, she asked, "What's going on? What happened?"

"I did it!" Lea chuckled triumphantly as he handed her a Butterfingers, which she bemusedly accepted. "I shit you not, I actually did it! I managed to annoy that baby outta her!"

"Huh. We really would make a cute lil anklebiter, wouldn't we?"

I blinked, taking my eyes off my phone screen to glance down at Lea instead. "...pardon?"

The two of us had laid claim to a row of chairs in the waiting room that were sans armrests and pushed together to form a makeshift bench of sorts. I was currently seated in one on the end with Lea sprawled out across the rest of them, using my lap to pillow his head. Looking up from his own phone, he showed me his screen. "Got curious and put our photos in one o' those 'what'll our baby look like' websites. Just lookit this adorable lil fucker."

I was greeted with the sight of a computer-generated yet still rather life-like picture of a little boy. He had short hair that was platinum blonde like mine, as well as my blue eyes, but favored Lea's more sharp angular facial features, especially in the nose. "He is rather cute," I grinned, one hand pocketing my mobile while the other gently stroked his wild hair. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I hesitated for a heartbeat. Then, "...what brought this up?"

Retracting his arm and turning his phone back towards himself so he could stare at the picture once more, he shrugged. "I dunno… Raindrop and Riku's lil squirt's gonna be here any minute… Mom made that comment 'bout the two of us making a kid…" He paused and shrugged again. "Hard not to get curious what with all that baby fever going round right now, I s'pose."

"You think about that kind of stuff?" I tipped my head to one side, my finger idly singling out one of his crimson spikes to fiddle with in particular. "You want children?"

"Well yeah," he laughed, tucking his phone away as he sat up, now only occupying the seat beside me. Grinning sheepishly as he rubbed at the nape of his neck, he added, "Not anytime soon, of course. But one day somewhere down the road with the right person? Definitely."

The corners of my eyes crinkled. There was absolutely zero doubt in my mind that Lea would make an amazing father some day. His words did sort of beg a certain kind of question however. One that I wasn't really sure I was ready to hear the answer to one way or another. Still, as I lowered my gaze to where my hands were fidgeting together in my lap, my face warmed as I couldn't seem to help but ask, "And do you… see me as the right person?"

Lea reached over, engulfing one of my hands in his and weaving our fingers together, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. I lifted my gaze to meet his and he smiled softly, "Maybe… yeah, I'd really… really like to think you could be." He used his free hand to tentatively sweep some of my bangs behind my ear, his palm lingering against my cheek. "...is that okay, El?" he murmured.

He was worried his answer might freak me out, make me feel pressured. And to be fair, it was the type of thing that probably normally would have. However, it wasn't a cold panic I felt seeping into my chest now, but rather a pleasant tingle, tiny but warm. I leaned into his hand, covering his fingers with my own as one corner of my lips turned up and I gave a small nod, maybe surprising us both a little bit as I whispered back, "Yeah, that's okay."

His grin stretched to the point of threatening to split his face in two. Then he leaned down to kiss me soundly, resting his forehead against mine after he drew back.

Personally, I'd never before really pictured children in my future. Not that I had seen myself not having any, but I hadn't particularly seen myself having them either. It just hadn't really been something I'd thought much about, to be honest. And it didn't help that like I said, the whole process of childbirth made me a bit squeamish. But now… thinking about the prospect of maybe one day having them with Lea…

...sounded like it might be nice.

But that was still years and years and years away, trust me.

Still… it was a pleasant possible future to think about.

A deep yawn suddenly overtook Lea and he gave a massive stretch before slouching further down into his seat, slinging an arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side. "Yeesh, it's been almost two hours now, what is taking that kid so damn long? I've heard of showing up fashionably late, but baby girl is really pushing it."

His yawn was contagious for I found myself doing the same as I reached for his hand. Absently toying with his fingers, I hummed a tiny laugh, "Maybe she stopped to pick up a latte on her way here."

"Well then, that kiddo better come outta Raindrop with a cardboard to-go tray bearing enough coffee for everyone."

I smiled drowsily, but made no response. Seated across from us, I could see my sister cozied up with Kristoff in another pair of seats, quietly chatting and giggling. As for Sora and Kairi, they were off grabbing a bite in the cafeteria. We'd decided to go in shifts so that there would always be someone in the waiting room in case news came at long last. Lea and I had been the first pair to go, with Kairi and Sora being the last.

As the hospital speakers paged a Dr Sweet to report to surgery, Lea piped up again, "Ya know, a lil caffeine infusion might not be a bad idea. The hospital coffee here is shit, may as well be piss for all the good it does. Once the kid's made her grand debut at long last and we can finally split, I was originally thinking we'd head back to my place to catch some Z's. But how 'bout instead we swing by Lucky Cat for some quality bean juice so we can get a jumpstart on moving your stuff over?"

"Move my stuff?" My brow furrowed and I turned my head to look up at him. "...where's it going?"

Lea blinked owlishly at me. I blinked owlishly right back. "Didn't we…?" he began slowly, then groaned, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Shit, I haven't actually brought that up to you yet, have I? Maybe I really do need that nap." His hand shifted down to scratch at his cheek now, "But c'mon now, El, think… the kid's almost here."

"Uh-huh," I nodded.

"And she's gonna need a place to sleep," he went on.

"Of course." Obviously. I wasn't exactly sure where he was going with this.

He looked at me pointedly. "...in a nursery."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Right." Still lost here.

His eyelids drooped. "Babe... your room's the nursery."

I just stared back at him blankly, not saying anything at first as my brain took a minute to churn over his words.

A rather long minute.

Give me a break, I'd been awake for close to thirty-four hours straight now.

But finally it clicked.

I gasped, "I need to move out!"

"There it is," he snorted, his hand rubbing my back.

"Crud, in all this flurry of baby chaos, that part completely slipped my mind." I was on my feet in an instant, hands wringing my braid as I began pacing back and forth. "Fudge, I'm entirely unprepared for this! What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?" I stopped momentarily, looking at Lea. He opened his mouth to respond, but I was already furiously pacing once more, muttering, "Well, not entirely unprepared. I of course knew this was coming, already had some of my things packed, been on the hunt for a new apartment, I have, I really have! You know I have!" Again I paused. Again his lips parted. Again, I resumed my patrolling without giving him a chance to speak, "But there's nothing lined up yet! Gah, the baby wasn't supposed to be due for weeks, I was supposed to have more time! But now there is no more time and… and…" I came to a halt once again, face hardening and shoulders squaring as I tapped the side of my fist into my palm with a firm nod. "Time to revisit the whole living in a box idea!"

Did I mention the whole thirty-four hours without sleep thing?

"Woah now, hang on! No one's gonna be living in a box," Lea hopped up with a chuckle, hands going to my shoulders and giving them a squeeze. "Doubt the new happy family would kick ya out just like that and make you homeless, they'd work something out for ya while you looked for a new home." Now his eyes darted to the left as he softly cleared his throat, "There's... another option though that, ya know... I'd like to think is slightly more appealing to all parties involved…"

I cocked my head. "There is?"

"Yeah." He took both my hands in his, holding them to his chest as he beamed, "Move in with me!"

"Move in with…" I echoed slowly, trailing off as I stared up at him.

Processing… processing…

I gasped again, "Oh no! No, we shouldn't- That's isn't- I couldn't possibly do that!"

"Aw, why not?" he pouted.

"Moving in together is a big step, Lea! A huge decision! One we definitely shouldn't be making spur of the moment like this, not to mention when we're both delirious from lack of sleep! There's so much to consider, so much to think about!"

He used the hold he still had on my hands to pull me to him and wrap my arms around his waist, freeing up his own arms to hug me instead. "What's there to think about? You're already practically living with me anyhow, you stay over almost every night as it is. I'd love to have you there, Bruni and Marshmallow would love to have you there… it's three against one, El, you're outvoted."

I drooped my eyelids up at him. "The dog and salamander don't get votes."

"You'll hafta take that up with them once you're all moved in and settled," he pressed a quick peck to my forehead before flashing a cheeky grin. My expression remained unamused and he snerked, "C'mon, is it really such a big deal? We were just talking 'bout having kids. Compared to that, the idea of shacking up together seems like small potatoes!"

"Yes, theoretical kids in a theoretical future. Me moving in with you is very real and very right now. We haven't even been dating for five months yet, that's way too soon to be living together."

Lea shrugged, "And you were with your ex for five years before almost tying the knot with him and we all know how that ended. Who's to say what's too soon and what isn't? All we can do is what feels right, and this feels right… doesn't it?"

...it actually kind of did.

Damn him, it did.

It didn't help that those beautiful green puppy eyes of his were murder on my resolve.

But my stubbornness flared and I hastily looked away. I wasn't ready to relent just yet and I weakly scrambled to maintain my defense, "But… it's just too soon, Lea. It hasn't even been a year yet, we haven't even… celebrated all the big holidays yet!"

Even as I blurted it out, it sounded lame even to me.

But it was the best I could come up with, dammit!

His eyebrows reached for his hairline and he fought a tiny smile. "...so just to be clear here, it's important to you that we observe all the major holidays in a calendar year together before making any further life-changing decisions."

I hitched my chin with a lofty little sniff. "Yes. Yes it is."

This was the hill was I choosing to die on, apparently.

"Duly noted," he glanced towards the ceiling with a tiny shake of his head before settling his gaze on me once more, eyes crinkling. "Fine, let's not call it moving in together then, call it… a temporary solution."

"...temporary?" I turned my head slightly, giving him some dubious side-eye.

"Mm-hm! Face it, babydoll, even though we both know Raindrop and Riku will be more than happy to accommodate ya, it's still gonna be a tight squeeze with all four of you in that tiny ass apartment while you're searching for a place. Wouldn't it just be more convenient for everyone if temporarily," he reiterated for emphasis, "you stayed with me instead just until you've found your new home? You know there's more than enough space for you and your things at my digs."

I tucked in my bottom lip. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking, but darn it, he actually seemed to be making a lot of sense. Still, I hesitated. "...I don't know what to say."

His eyes lit up. Great. Now the big dork knew he was winning. Hugging me more tightly to him, he grinned, "That's simple: say yes."

I squinted up to him, pursing my lips to the left. Then to the right. Then, just as I was slowly opening my mouth to speak-

-a throat suddenly cleared nearby.

Like, really nearby.

Both Lea and I tensed before turning our heads to discover none other than Saïx standing not two inches away from us looking quite perturbed.

To be fair, Saïx usually looked perturbed. It just seemed to be his face's default setting. But this was more perturbed than usual.

Lea quirked an eyebrow at him, but grinned, "Hey, big guy! Ya mind? Kinda in the middle of something here."

"And I do so hate to interrupt, truly," he said flatly, his cold unblinking gaze locked on his brother, "but I fear we have a rather pressing matter to discuss that cannot wait."

His eyebrows knit together. "...which would be?"

Saïx's hard stare was unyielding. "Do you think there is quite possibly something you may have forgot back at our mother's house?"

Cocking his head, Lea seemed even more genuinely confused now. Clearly racking his brain for a couple seconds, he then shrugged with a small shake of his head, "Like what?"

"ME, you DOLT!" Saïx snarled, slugging Lea in the shoulder hard enough to force a pained grunt out of him.

I inhaled sharply through my nose, eyes widening.

There was no way we'd actually-

We couldn't have honestly-

We didn't-

...did we really?

I thought back to yesterday, though it was a struggle to remember a clear picture through the fog of grogginess. Had Saïx been in the car with us on the trip back? Had he not? Try as I might, I just simply could not remember one way or another. But I suppose it could be (and in fact was) completely possible, especially considering Lea had had Saïx's car keys and I had had his code to start the engine.

In our state of panic and rush to get out of there, had we really just totally spaced on the fact that we didn't have him with us?

"Oh gosh, Saïx, I'm so sorry we left you behind!" I bemoaned in horror.

Lea laughed, "Relax, El, don'tcha know that with me as your boyfriend, that makes everything my fault? You're off the hook, I'm the only one he's mad at."

"He's right, I don't blame you at all." Although Saïx was talking to me, his irked gaze never left Lea. "You're not the one who forgot your own brother."

No, I just simply forgot a whole person. For a whole car ride. In his own friggin' car.

Elsa, Queen of Memory Lapse.

"Bah, I didn't forget ya, I just… thought you were in the backseat the entire time being really quiet!"

That earned Lea another punch to the arm.

Giving an annoyed huff as he rubbed his knuckles, Saïx asked with a bit less bite to his tone now, "I presume since I find you all still here at the hospital, the child has yet to be born?" At our silent nods, he moved to the nearest set of empty chairs and sat down with a soft huff, crossing his arms.

Huh. Guess he was going to join us for sharing Rayne's and Riku's joy in this blessed event.

I gingerly took a seat next to him, Lea plopping down in the chair on my other side. As his arm wrapped around my shoulders, he piped up with a huge smile, "Got some good news that I think'll clear up that black rain cloud hanging over your head there, Mr Grumps McSourpuss: El's moving in with us!"

My back stiffened and I whipped my head around to narrow my eyes up at him, "I haven't said yes yet."

Saïx was eyeing me oddly from the corner of his peripheral. "...you mean you weren't already living with us?"

"There ya have it! Saïx's official stamp of approval! Now ya gotta say yes," Lea beamed, smoothing his hand up and down my arm.

My eyelids drooped. "...one, in what universe was that even remotely a stamp of approval? And two, no, I don't 'gotta' do anything, least of all say yes."

"But you will," he winked at me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. Then he was looking past me towards Saïx once more, a thoughtful frown twisting his lips. "Hey… since we jacked your wheels, how'd you even get back here?"

Saïx fixed him with a dull stare. Then he shifted his crossed arms more tightly against his chest, closed his eyes and hitched his chin. "...wouldn't you like to know."

Lea snerked. "I would in fact, thus why I asked."

"What's that inanely childish saying you do so love to spout of? ...that's for me to know and you to find out?"

"C'mon, man," he groaned out. "This is gonna bug the crap outta me now until ya tell me."

One corner of his lips cruelly curled up. "I know."

Apparently, Saïx was swift to enact his vengeance when the need arose.

A tiny scowl emerged on my boyfriend's face, but before he could shoot off whatever acerbic retort he undoubtedly already had locked and loaded, I stopped him with a touch to his arm as I said, "Lea." He glanced down at me and I nodded towards the far corner of the waiting room. "Look."

He followed my gaze to a familiar woman with silver hair pulled back into a ponytail made of several tiny braids and the same green eyes as Lea. Aranea apparently was not aware that we had just noticed her, for she was too busy inspecting the selection available over at the hospital's coffee station with her nose wrinkled.

"Ah," Lea breathed, gracing his brother with a mildly sour look. "That's how ya got back. Ya bummed a ride outta our old lady."

Saïx said nothing, just continued to stare stoically straight ahead.

Blowing out a breath that made his lips flap, Lea turned his eyes towards his mother once more. A heartbeat of hesitation. Then making a sound that was half growl, half sigh, Lea muttered. "Be right back. Ma and I have some unfinished business." I smiled softly as he planted a smooch to my temple and I gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it as he stood up.

I watched Aranea perk up as she spotted Lea approaching. They exchanged a few words that I was too far away to hear, her grinning the whole time, him ruffling his fingers through his hair as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then it seemed they decided to find somewhere else to have their talk for they then walked out of the waiting room.

Off to a good start at least, it seemed. Letting go a tiny exhale of relief, I glanced over at the chairs across from us once more to where Anna sat as I considered possibly shifting over to a seat near her. But seeing as she was currently otherwise, er… occupied with, hrm… inspecting Kristoff's tonsils with her tongue, I decided against it.

Ugh, gross, I did not need to see that.

Instead, I turned my attention to Saïx. My lips parted and I took in a breath to say something, but then I hesitated and clamped my mouth shut, staring down at where I was fiddling with my fingers in my lap. Then I cleared my throat, looked over at him once more and tried again, "Would it... really be okay with you if… if I decided to move in?"

His eyes flicked over to me briefly without turning his head. Then releasing a nearly inaudible sigh through his nose, he stared straight forward once again. "I consider you among a small, select handful of people I can tolerate and would even go so far as to say enjoy the company of. If my asinine fool of a brother has against all odds actually managed to persuade you somehow into agreeing to move in with him, then by all means, your presence on a more permanent basis could only be a considerable improvement on our day-to-day lives around the apartment." He paused and for a second it seemed that was all he had to say on the subject. Then then added a bit more quietly, "Besides, you make my brother happy. Far be it from me to stand in the way of that, even if I wanted to."

A small smile tugged at my lips. "...he makes me happy too."

Saïx gave a low hmph at that, closing his eyes. "I would hope so. Otherwise, what would be the point?"

On that note, the conversation ended. As he seemed more than content to remain in a companionable silence, I reached over the seat Lea had vacated and towards the little table on the other side, plucking up one of the outdated magazines provided by the hospital from it and slowly began flipping through its pages.

A short while later, I heard a door opening and I glanced up to see that Lea and Aranea were walking back into the waiting room. Neither one looked like they wanted to murder each other, so I took that as a good sign. In fact, they almost, almost seemed somewhat chummy.

I set the periodical aside and both Saïx and I rose as they approached, which prompted a chuckle from Aranea, "No need to get up, I'm not staying. Just wanted to give my other knucklehead kid one last hug before hitting the road," she embraced Saïx, which he accepted as stony-faced as ever. Then she turned to me with a sly little smirk, "Plus I hear congrats are in order."

My eyes blinked. "...they are?"

"Course! You two lil lovebirds are gonna be living together soon, after all!"

I twitched, then shot Lea a flat look. "I haven't said yes yet."

He grinned, stepping closer to take my hand and bring it up to his lips. "Key word there: yet."

Oh-ho, he thought he was being cute. Even as I opened my mouth to prove just how wrong he was however, Aranea suddenly snagged me into a bone-crushing bear hug as she chirped, "Take care, shortcake!" She gave me one final squeeze before releasing me to rest a hand on my shoulder, "And if either of my boys give you any trouble, you gimme a call, I'll be only too happy to knock some sense into 'em!"

Smiling, I nodded, "Thanks, I'll be sure to do that. Have a safe trip back."

Lea received a hug from her as well and though he returned it stiffly, it was remarkably warmer than the one they'd shared yesterday in the foyer of her home. With that, she made her way towards the exit, waving goodbye to us over her shoulder before disappearing through the door.

"I take it you two are getting along now," I said to Lea as I settled into my chair once again.

He took a seat too, stretching his arm out along the backrest behind my head. As his fingers began to idly toy with my braid, he pursed his lips to one side in thought. Then, "Ya know how you and your folks 'get along' now?" he brought up his other hand to form air quotes. At my nod, he said, "Well, it's kinda like that. We're… gonna work on it."

I reached for his hands, lacing our fingers together as I told him gently, "I'm glad you decided to give her a chance."

"I think I am too," he admitted, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

Just then, the same door Aranea had left through opened once more, Sora and Kairi being the ones to step through this time, laughing over something they'd been talking about. It seemed their timing was impeccable, for that was also when the double doors on the other side of the room parted and in walked a very familiar white, inflatable robot. All of us immediately zeroed in on him and were on our feet in an flash as he greeted us with, "Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthc-"

"Yeah, yeah, we know all that already, get to the good part, you giant balloon!" Anna hastily cut him off, rolling her eyes. "Do you actually have anything new to tell us? How's Ray-Ray doing?"

"The delivery was a success," Baymax announced, managing to sound almost pleased somehow despite there being no actual change in the mechanical tone of his voice. "Everyone is happy and healthy. The new family is ready to accept visitors and have welcomed you all back to their room."

There was a mixture of whoops and relieved sighs all around before all of us, Saïx included, followed the robot as he led the way past those doors and towards the maternity ward. Not a minute later found us all crowding back into their hospital room. I spotted Riku first at his wife's bedside, facing her so his back was to us. As for Rayne, she looked absolutely exhausted and like she'd been to hell and back twice, but she positively radiated pure joy and love for the little bundle I could now see her holding in her arms. As she looked up at our entrance, she proudly beamed and said, "Everyone… I'd like you to meet Aria."

"...and Cayde," Riku added, smirking as he turned around to reveal he was cradling a second baby.

"TWO?!" Lea gaped, wide-eyed gaze darting back and forth between them while the rest of us were too stunned to even speak.

"That's right! Two!" Rayne chirped in delight.

Sora was the next one to find his voice, only to blurt out, "Twins?!"

"No, we liked the first one so much, we decided to randomly steal a second one from one of the other cribs when no one was looking," Riku deadpanned before snorting with a shake of his head. "Of course they're twins, doofus."

"But you never said anything about twins," Anna was already adopting a baby voice as she approached Riku, wasting no time making funny faces at Cayde.

Gently rocking little Aria as Rayne watched her fondly, she said, "We didn't know. No one did, not until Cayde shocked us all by showing up hot on the heels of his big sis. Guess the doctors missed him during all those check-ups and sonograms somehow."

"How do they miss a whole other baby inside of you for months?!" Kristoff shook his head in disbelief.

"Who knows, but it's not unheard of. We're not the first couple this has ever happened to." Glancing over to Cayde, Rayne grinned as she reached out a fingertip to tickle the underside of one of his tiny feet. "...he was a surprise, that's for sure, but a happy one."

"I'll say!" Kairi giggled, stepping forward to gently squish Aria's cheeks as she cooed, "This just gives Auntie Kairi and Unkie Sora twice the niblings to wub, doesn't it? Doesn't it? Yes it does!"

"Speaking of which… Kristoff." The man in question stood up straighter as Rayne suddenly locked eyes with him and told him in no uncertain terms, "We're gonna need a second reindeer."

He dragged a hand down the side of his face and sighed. "...I'll talk to Frozone."

Rayne crinkled her nose as she hummed a soft laugh, then her eyes landed on me as I approached her bedside. "Oh, Elsa, there was something I… we," she amended, exchanging a glance and a tiny nod with her husband, "wanted to talk to you about… we'd absolutely love it if you'd be the twins' godmother."

The finger I was waggling at Aria froze as my gaze widened and snapped up to meet hers. "Who, me? Really?" By the look in both the new parents' eyes, they were serious. Dead serious. "Oh! Why, uh… yes. Yes of course! I'd be very honored," I smiled.

"And Sora," Riku chimed in now, causing his cousin to pause mid-sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes at Cayde. "We were hoping you'd be their godfather."

Sora blinded us all with his signature huge, thousand-watt grin. "Absolutely! I'm gonna make the best godfather ever, you'll see! I- wait…" His brow furrowed and he gasped, whipping his head around towards me now with a slight look of panic. "Does… does that make us... god-married?"

"Yes. It does."

And who was it, one might wonder, to deliver that answer in full earnest and with a completely straight face?

Saïx.

That's right. Saïx.

Which is probably why Sora took him at his word and didn't even think to question it. Nostrils flaring and with a steely look of determination now, he informed Lea, "I promise to take good care of her."

Not missing a beat, Lea nodded firmly, "You better, lil man, otherwise I will end you."

I elbowed my boyfriend in the gut, forcing a wheeze out of him. As everyone else sniggered around us, I sighed, "No, Sora, that doesn't make us god-married, it doesn't make us god-anything."

"Oh good! Whew!"

At that point, conversation for the most part subsided in favor of everyone trying to squeeze in to fawn over the new babies. After a minute of this, I decided to take the opportunity to snag Lea (dragging him away from playing with Aria's "widdle toesy-wosies" - his words, not mine) and pull him off to one side of the room away from the others. They hardly even noticed us stepping away, so enamored were they all with the little ones.

I faced him, holding both his hands in mine as I took in a deep breath and released it before uttering a single word. "Yes."

His face immediately lit up, but he quickly schooled his expression and cleared his throat, asking casually, "Yes? Yes what?"

Ugh, he knew very damn well what, he just wanted to hear me say it. Rolling my eyes but unable to fight a small grin, I said, "Yes, I'll move in with you. It just makes sense, after all, now that they have twins, there's even less room for me in their apartment and-"

I didn't get to finish that sentence as he smiled fiercely and grabbed my face, planting a firm kiss to my lips before laughing as he hugged me, picked me up and spun me around.

"Temporarily," I insisted, arms instinctively latching around his neck to steady myself.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, temporarily," he agreed, putting me down while still grinning like an idiot.

I poked his chest a couple times, "I mean it. I'm going to keep looking for my own place and the second I find something, I'm moving right back out."

"Whatever ya say, babydoll!"

Funny thing is though…

...I never did end up actually moving out.

Author's Note: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Hope you all enjoyed the millions of teeny references I sprinkled in - my aesthetic, as I'm sure you're all aware at this point xP (My fave was something Lea said towards the very end, did you guys catch that it was a reference? I hope so :3) Regarding Sora's lil stand-up comedy act, I unfortunately cannot take credit for any of his material - I just googled a bunch of Final Fantasy jokes xD I can't even take credit for the cactuar jokes for even tho I couldn't find any ACTUAL cactuar jokes out there on the internet, I just googled cactus jokes instead xD And yes, there are IN FACT cactus jokes out there, and a LOT of them lawl! And woo, Lea and his mom made up… sort of! xD Sorry that happened off screen, part of it was I thought it wasn't a conversation that Elsa would really be present for, part of it was I didn't want to take focus off the main points of this chapter, and part of it was I was just too lazy to write it at this time xD Maybe I'll go back at a later date and write a Lea POV chapter for this lil chat with his mum, we'll see! But for now, at least we got a lil closure on that front! And aaaaahhhhh, our ice and fire bbies are taking a big step and moving in together, yaaaaaay! :3 I knew that was definitely a relationship milestone I wanted to cover in one of these bonus chapters and this just seemed like a fun way to bring it about xD

The next one-shot is set during Christmas time! Which I know, lil late, should have posted it today xD But I'd kinda locked myself into the baby chapter with the way the last chapter ended and the babies are born in September, so couldn't combine them into one chapter xD So consider next week's update just a bit of a belated Christmas present! And I'll say this about the next bonus chapter: It's gonna be pure crack xD Trust me, there will be no substance whatsoever, it's just mindless silliness and slightly scandalous and mildly salacious (but still 100% family friendly… ish... haha!). Basically, if PG horny hijinx doesn't interest you, you might wanna skip the next chapter xD You've been warned!

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

[alecmagnuslwb]

The Great Marriage License Mystery

Read on AO3

Magnus groans, back feeling like hell. He lifts himself up and immediately falls off the couch landing directly on his back onto a stack of red solo cups.

“Fuck,” he shouts out as he rolls to the side to lift himself up, a party mask on a stick digging into his side.

“Stop being so loud,” a female voice he knows well grumbles from above. Magnus finally lifts himself up into a sitting position to see Isabelle lying face down surrounded by a nest of multi colored feather boas on the couch opposite the one he’d just fallen from.

Magnus finds the inner strength to stand looking around the room. It’s his apartment, not that he remembers coming home at all, and it’s a wreck. Cups, half empty bottles of liquor and an array of party favors from the evening’s festivities cover every surface. His paintings on the walls are crooked, the strip of photobooth pictures that he and Alec had taken on their trip to Tokyo for their one-month anniversary are sitting sadly in a puddle of something. He walks over squinting his eyes against the sunlight streaming in and pics up the photo strip shaking them out best he can.

He sniffs them confirming the liquid to be vodka and not something worse. He pins them back up on the corkboard where they belong smiling at the happy looks on their faces despite the fact his head feels like there’s a tiny gnome with a hatchet running around inside of it.  

Isabelle shifts on the couch lying on her back now.

“Did we die?” she asks eyes still closed.

“Unfortunately not,” Magnus says picking up a pink cowboy hat from the chair nearest to him and plopping down into it heavily.

“What time is it?” she asks pulling a few of the feather boas around her like a blanket.

Magnus looks down at his watch about to answer when his bedroom door suddenly slams open. A flash of long red hair streaks across the apartment headed straight for the bathroom.

Clary shuts the door behind her and an unfortunate heaving sound follows. Izzy sits up quickly eager to get to her fiancée, a decision she clearly immediately regrets if the way she woozily lies back down is anything to go by.

The bathroom door swings open a moment later, Alec steps out looking disheveled as hell wearing a Hunter’s moon t-shirt he definitely hadn’t been wearing when the night before had started.

“I don’t recommend sleeping in a bathtub when you’re 6”4,” he says voice gravelly from misuse. He squints his eyes grabbing a pair of sunglasses laying on the table as he walks past it and slips them on. “You might want to check on your fiancée, she’s throwing up half her body in there.”

Alec sits down heavily on the couch beside his sister patting her on the shoulder. She nods, takes a deep breath and centers herself standing up slowly. This time she makes it picking her way through the trash littering the floor her 8-inch heels somehow still secured to her feet.

“Your weddings in like four hours, just a reminder!” Magnus shouts and wishes he hadn’t. Judging from the way Alec plugs his ears and Izzy flips him off no one else does either. Hangovers all around it seems, a sign of a good bachelorette party.

Magnus listens for a few moments to Isabelle softly reassuring Clary, heels clicking on the tile of the bathroom floor. He looks over at his boyfriend once again heaving himself to stand and flop down beside him on the bed of boas.

“Good morning baby,” Alec grumbles lifting his arm and wrapping it around Magnus’ shoulders. Magnus hums reaching up and entangling his fingers with Alec’s. He shifts enough to toss his legs over Alec’s and looks down noticing a piece of white paper sticking out from his pocket.

He raises his eyebrows leaning back enough to pull the paper from his pocket. He unfolds it and practically jolts up from the couch. In looping script that looks like Isabelle’s is his name and what appears to be one half of a marriage license.

“Ummm Magnus!” Isabelle yells rushing out of the bathroom and directly to them on the couch. Alec shifts seemingly having fallen back asleep. She shakes a piece of paper in his face almost identical to his half. “This was in MY pocket.”

Magnus takes it from her lining it up with his. A piece of the full sheet is still missing only the last name Lightwood on Isabelle’s section the first name missing. She falls beside him seeing the almost full document.

“There’s no way,” he says laughing nervously. There’s no way.

Isabelle is just as alert as he in now, eyes in a panic. Alec sits up taking off his sunglasses. He looks from the papers to Magnus’s eyes, his eyes just as wide as his sisters.

“I also have this,” she says holding up her left hand revealing a diamond band on her thumb. “It’s stuck.”

“That’s one of mine,” Magnus says looking down at one of his empty fingers. “Oh, shit that’s one of mine.”

Alec falls back into the couch, no longer pressed into Magnus’ side.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Isabelle says dropping her head into her hands.

Clary comes out of the bathroom, eye makeup resembling a raccoon with a huge bottle of mouth wash in her hands. Chairman Meow appears circling around her socked feet trying to trip her up, she takes it in stride and steps over him easily.  

“Just in case,” she says when she notices Alec judging the bottle. “So, I’m guessing from those repetitive oh my gods it’s not us that got married last night.”

“No,” Isabelle moans dramatically throwing herself on the ground, arms tossed over her eyes. “I married my brother’s boyfriend probably as a dumb joke or something the night before my wedding. Jace will never let me live this down.”

“We don’t know that. It just says Lightwood, it could be us!” Magnus argues looking at his boyfriend uncertainly. Alec looks a little bit like a deer in the headlights so Magnus scrambles. He’s not really sure what’s the better option: accidentally marrying your boyfriend of two months in a drunken stupor or marrying your boyfriend’s sister as a joke in a drunken stupor. At least he hopes it was a dumb joke if it’s the latter, the former well he’s not sure if he and Alec are ready to get into that no matter how quickly their relationship has progressed. “Or you know it’s fake, fake is an option.”

Clary steps over inspecting the paper.

“Paper’s too high quality for a fake,” she shrugs sitting down on the coffee table. Magnus gives her a pointed look, making it clear she’s not helping this situation.

The four of them sit there silently for a while. Alec is the first to speak up.

“Okay, what does everyone remember from last night? Let’s piece this together,” he says reasonably opening the floor to whoever wants to start.

It takes about twenty minutes but they get a vague timeline from memory and other evidence pulled from their pockets. They scour the apartment as they talk making hangover remedies while desperately searching for the missing piece of the license.

So far they’ve determined things started here, pre-gaming with cocktails and dinner then it was the Hunter’s Moon where Magnus absolutely demolished Alec in a series of pool games. That’s when Alec lost his shirt as well, a beer spilled on him by Jace who’d already had far too much to drink. Magnus had forgotten the detail, but Alec recalls it with annoyed clarity.

After the Hunter’s Moon, Jace had been sent home in a cab, Maia, Bat and the rest of their friends had come along with them to Pandemonium and that was where things got blurry. By 11:30 their friends had all called it a night, but the four of them had hit the dancefloor. Dancing then turned into competition when Izzy had challenged Magnus and Alec to a couple’s tequila shot off. Magnus assumes they won considering how Clary handles her liquor.

Then it all goes well and truly blank for them all. Clary’s phone is missing entirely, Alec’s is dead and seemingly has been since at least midnight. Izzy’s phone is just a series of back and forth drunken texts with Jace that are increasingly sarcastic and misspelled.

Magnus is the only one with a possible lead. There’s evidence of a Lyft being called that took them to the venue where Izzy and Clary are getting married in mere hours and a 15-minute call with Raphael somewhere around one in the morning.

Magnus dials his number immediately hoping for answers.

“You asked me to go through the whole ceremony,” Raphael says after five minutes of making fun of them all. Magnus’ childhood best friend never did finish the process of becoming a full-blown preacher, not finding it for him in the end, but he’s ordained for weddings and had happily offered to do the ceremony when Clary and Izzy still hadn’t found someone two weeks before.

“Why?” the four ask in frustrated unison.

“Dios, I don’t know. You were all trashed but you insisted, so to get you to leave me alone because some of us who are involved in this wedding wanted to get a good night’s rest, I went through the whole thing, start to finish,” he explains.

“Did vows get exchanged or anything?” Alec asks.

“Not really, but you did all say ‘I do’ at some point I couldn’t tell who though, I’m pretty sure you were all outside,” Raphael answers. “Which in theory I guess would mean someone got married, but not that it matters I mean ordained or not without a license it’s not legally binding.”

They all sigh.

“That’s the problem,” Magnus grumbles. They end the call after that saying goodbyes and see you soons.

“Alright,” Alec says sounding the level headed big brother and leader he always is. “Here’s the plan’ everyone needs to shower first. We’re short on time so that means couples, no funny business though. Raphael said we were outside, so that probably means we couldn’t get into the venue when we decided to go. Magnus and I can ask around while the two of you get ready since we have to be there anyways.”

Everyone nods their heads in agreement.

“And what do we do if it was us that got married?” Magnus asks gesturing between him and Izzy.

They’re all silent. Clary is the first to pipe up, taking this whole situation surprisingly well. Maybe throwing up half of one’s body weight brings clarity.

“I mean only the four of us saw it, it hasn’t been officially filed, just signed and if we give Raphael permission to mock us about it for the rest of our lives he won’t say anything,” she reasons.

She grabs Izzy’s hand pulling her to the shower leaving no room for argument.

Magnus blows out a long breath leaning against the kitchen counter where they’d all gathered. Alec joins him, crossing his arms.

“Are you mad I may have accidentally married your sister?” Magnus says quietly.

Alec snorts.

“No, we were all beyond drunk last night and knowing you and Izzy it was some competitive dare that went a step too far.”

Magnus chuckles, that does sound like them.

“And what if,” he pauses a little worried. “What if it was us that accidentally got married?”

Alec turns reaching up to pull a piece of confetti from Magnus’ hair. His hand slides down brushing Magnus’ cheek.

“Then we got married,” he shrugs.

Isabelle’s phone rings breaking the moment, on today of all days he’s fairly certain she’d appreciate them picking it up. It’s the caterer and the call takes long enough that he and Alec have barely five minutes for a shared shower before calling a cab to get to the venue. They don’t get to talk about Alec’s casual shrug about them being married like it wouldn’t be a big deal.

Once they’re at the venue people start filing in Maryse and Maia take charge of Isabelle while Clary is drifted away by Simon and Jace. They both lock eyes with Magnus and Alec trusting them to get answers or burn the pieces of marriage license before the days over.

Alec is the first to be fully ready so he heads around to ask the staff some questions. He eventually is led to the night security guard who simply shrugs saying he’d fallen asleep on the job. The only evidence that they were even there is in the form of Magnus’ Lyft history and a feather boa exactly like the ones in Magnus’ apartment tangled in a bush outside. Alec sends him a picture of it attached with the message, ‘I have a feeling we’re going to be finding these around New York for the rest of the year.’

Everything goes by in a rush after that. Magnus never gets the chance to bring up anything to Alec as they take their places as groomsmen.

The wedding is beautiful, Raphael does an excellent job so much so that Clary’s stepdad bursts into tears only two lines in. Clary and Izzy exchange vows that make everyone else cry and Izzy dips Clary as they kiss to everyone’s delight. They look the happiest they’ve ever been, clearly no longer thinking about the possible mistake marriage that was.

Magnus however can’t think of anything else. The sun has fallen and the cake has been cut by the time he gets a moment alone with Alec. He steps outside for some fresh air just beside the bushes where the feather boa still flaps in the wind and Alec slips out behind him. Two long arms wrap around his waist and Magnus leans back into a strong chest.

They stand there quietly, the muffled sound of music behind them.

“You know,” Magnus says eventually. “You were pretty casual about the concept of us being accidentally married this morning.”

Alec once again the picture of nonchalance just shrugs.

“I mean at first it was a lot, but once the worst of the hangover subsided I realized if it was us well, that’s not the worst thing. I love you; I have intentions to be with you for as long as you’ll have me so that works.”

Magnus shifts so that Alec is standing in front of him eyes a little glassy. Alec takes the tears to be a bad thing.

“I get it though if it’s way too soon to be thinking or saying anything like that, or,” Alec freezes as Magnus puts a finger in front of his lips.

“I feel the same way,” he smiles. “I mean it’s not ideal and like Clary said it’s not official till it’s filed, but I do feel the same way. I have no doubt in my mind we’re heading that way one day.”

Alec smiles kissing the tip of Magnus’ finger where it still rests against his lips. He pulls Magnus into a hug. Magnus rests his chin on Alec’s shoulder eyes still open and that’s when he spots it. The feather boa shifts in the wind and a small white piece of paper is revealed skewered on the prickly end of the bush.

He pulls back from Alec leaping down the two small steps to pick the piece of paper from the bush.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says snatching up the sliver of paper and flipping it over. The missing piece of the license. Alec steps over, joining him.

“Is that?” he starts looking over Magnus’ shoulder.

Magnus nods holding it up for Alec to read. Alec smiles, pulling the Lightwood piece he’d been holding onto from his pocket as Magnus does the same with his part.

Alexander the missing piece reads in Isabelle’s looping script.

“Guess your stuck with me now,” Magnus says with a smirk.

Alec rolls his eyes fondly.

“Technically it hasn’t been filed, so not officially,” he jokes, pulling Magnus in by the waist. “Plus it’s in three pieces I don’t think the courthouse is going to accept it.”

“Pfft, just needs a little tape,” Magnus says gathering the three pieces of paper and folding them carefully before placing them in the inner pocket of his wine-red jacket a compliment to Alec’s black one and Isabelle’s deep red dress. “Plus, Clary’s stepdad is the Mayor, we can totally get some strings pulled.”

Alec laughs shifting to drape his arms over Magnus’ shoulders.

“You mean it?” he asks.

Magnus nods. “We have to have a party bigger than this one at some point though,” he says gesturing back to the reception hall. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Of course,” Alec says seriously.  “So we’re gonna be Mr. and Mr. Lightwood then?”

Magnus hums tapping a finger to his chin in thought.

“I was thinking Mr. and Mr. Bane actually.”

“I like the sound of that,” Alec says before pulling Magnus into a kiss.

They never do piece together the night exactly. Eventually Izzy gets the ring off her thumb and it fits Alec’s ring finger perfectly they discover, Magnus in turn realizes he has an exact double of it that he starts wearing himself. Why Isabelle filled out the license or if they kissed after they said I do or even actually said it is never truly answered.

Their actual marriage will be a mystery for the rest of their lives, but Magnus does get his party an acceptable six months after Clary and Izzy’s.

[rohad93]

Authority Online : Ch 1

 4:50 PM on a Friday

Just ten minutes left in the day and there was still a three inch stack of things sitting on her desk that needed her immediate attention.

Jaune ran her fingers through her once carefully combed, short, blonde hair with one hand and flipped through the deposition from her last session of court with the other. It was a fairly cut and dry case, the defense was merely dragging their feet and wasting her time. She grunted before sliding the offending documents back into their case and glancing up at her laptop as her email dinged almost simultaneously with her phone. 

A quick tap on the track-pad began opening up her email as she glanced down at her phone and grimaced the second she glimpsed her mother’s contact photo. She couldn’t ignore it forever, as much as she wished she could, but she could certainly put it off for a little while. 

Amber eyes instead turned to the now three new emails sitting in her inbox, two from clients and one from her assistant who chose that moment to step into her office, a tablet in one arm and quickly flicking at something on the screen.  

“Ms. Roche, I sent the contracts you wanted and scheduled your meeting for Monday morning so they can be signed.” She continued to tap at the tablet without even looking up.  

“I got them,” she mumbled almost distractedly as she quickly typed out a reply to the other two emails and downloaded the documents to her hard drive before closing the laptop and sliding it and the rest of the papers and various manilla folders on her desk into her bag before finally looking at her phone and opening her mother’s text.

‘Dinner will be at 6. Don’t be late.’     

Jaune rolled her eyes and sighed. She had forgotten about the dinner she had tentatively agreed to on Monday for no other reason than to get off the phone with the older woman so she could get some work done in peace.

 Honestly she had barely been listening as her mother had blabbered on about some show she was dying to go see and was unconsciously humming in agreement while reading through some paperwork when she had apparently agreed to dinner at her family’s estate. 

What she really needed to do was go home, order takeout and look over these files for her Monday meeting. She’d never hear the end of it though if she did. With another, more resigned sigh she stood from her desk and shouldered her bag, shutting and locking the drawers of her desk. 

This was her assistant's cue to look up from the screen she nearly had her pointed nose shoved against.   

"Goodnight, Daisy, I'll see you Monday." She nodded to her assistant as she walked out.

"Have a nice weekend, Ms. Roche." Her assistant's nasally, high pitched voice followed her into the hall.

"I wouldn't bet on it," she grumbled to herself as she stalked out to the elevator.. Hitting the ground floor button a little harder then she had intended. 

Dinner with her mother was the absolute last thing on her list of things she wanted to do this evening.

Especially with the kick her mother had been on for the past few months.

Apparently she had been single much too long, in her mother’s opinion, and had started trying to foist a random assortment of women on her at every social gathering, function and event they ever went to together anymore. It was becoming tiresome to say the least. 

She didn’t have time to date, even with two partners and about a dozen other lawyers beneath them, she had an ever-constant stream of work making its way onto her desk every week. 

True enough, she could assign a number of her cases to the more junior lawyers, but then she rarely got all the results she wanted. 

Perhaps she was a micromanager...

It got results though. 

In seven years she had turned her father’s successful practice into a proverbial giant in their field with a series of successful high profile cases. 

Ever since they had a constant inflow of cases and clients that did not leave her much of a social life. Which was her mother’s main complaint. 

How many times now had she watched her mother lay on the antique fainting couch in her drawing-room and lament her only child’s lack of a love life with the kind of over the top melodrama that one could expect from a retired cabaret dancer?

Several times that she could think of off the top of her head at this moment. 

Just last Tuesday, in fact.  

Tonight would probably be much of the same if she cared to wager on it.

She wasn’t against dating, but besides not having much time for it, it wasn’t as though she knew anyone who was worth even making the effort for. Certainly not the often, vapid women her mother had been trying to push onto her. 

Rich and affluent, but the kind of woman that Jaune knew she had nothing in common with. Most of their interests, like her mother’s, included spending all day at spas, and country clubs. Where her mother usually met them. Several she had run into at the opera. 

Something she couldn’t stand. 

She had a penchant for music and performing, as to be expected considering her mother’s influence on her as a child, but all opera did was give her a headache. 

When the elevator finally stopped, she walked quickly through the front lobby, glancing at her watch. 

The sight of the golden yellow Mercedes parked in her reserved spot on the ground floor of the parking garage made her relax a little as she pulled out her keys to unlock it. 

She tossed her bag into the backseat of the car and slid into the driver’s seat with a tired sigh.

She would bear dinner for the bare minimum she had to, but it certainly wouldn’t be with a grin.

~ ~ ~ 

By the time she managed to navigate the 5 o'clock traffic and pull up the gates of her grotesquely large childhood home it was only five till six. The large black, wrought iron gates with the stylized ‘R’ in the center swung open when she pulled up, allowing her to drive up the immaculately kept, two hundred yards up to the main house. 

The large, white, American colonial styled mansion had been large to start with but had been added onto several times over the last eighty years it had been in her family, resulting in a twelve thousand square foot, two-story, fifteen bedroom and twelve bathroom monstrosity that was much too large for the number of people that lived in it. Namely her mother and a handful of staff, some of which had been working on the estate since she was born. This didn’t even account for the land the house was sitting on.    

She mostly didn’t even notice the sprawling acreage all around her anymore, but she did notice the unfamiliar, black Ferrari, parked in the driveway next to her mother’s white Aston Martin.

Was someone else here for dinner?  

Her mother would have said if she had bought another car, and she knew the older woman well enough to know that she would never buy a car in any shade but stark white.    

Jaune frowned, her instincts telling her to just turn around and go home, but she swallowed them knowingly and put her car in park behind her mother’s before climbing out of the car and moving up the walk to the front door. 

She didn’t bother with knocking and let herself in. The foyer was empty but she could hear her mother’s cloying laughter from down the hall. 

Inhaling deeply through her nose she followed the noise till she found the woman in the drawing-room, sitting across the room in her favorite chaise lounge, smiling at the two people sitting across from her. A much older, balding man and a woman with long black hair, perhaps around her own age. 

The man, even from the back, she recognized as an old friend and previous business partner of her father’s. The woman though was not familiar. 

It was at that moment that Blanche Roche happened to glance up and spot her daughter standing in the hall. 

“Jaune! We’ve been waiting for you.” She smiled, clapping her hands together, prompting the guests to turn and look at her. 

“Jaune, how good it is to see you again.” The man smiled brightly and walked around the couch to stick out his hand, which she grabbed more out of reflex than anything.

“You as well. I didn’t know we were having guests this evening...” Eyes flickered to her mother who was smiling coyly at her.  

“Ah, Well, we happened to run into your mother at the club this afternoon and she was kind enough to invite us to dinner, which reminds me, I don’t think you’ve ever met my daughter, Alice.” He held out an arm as the woman who had been sitting on the couch came around to shake her hand. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” The woman smiled.

“Dear, Alice here has been planning a trip to Spain, perhaps you could tell her about some of the things you did when you went last year,” Blanche suggested and Jaune immediately caught onto her mother’s game.

This was a setup.

She kept a carefully neutral look on her face even as she seethed inside at this ambush.

It was at that moment that her mother’s favorite maid, Penny, a tall, thin woman who kept her light colored hair in tightly coiled buns on the sides of her head, walked into the room to announce that dinner was ready to be served. 

Their guests followed her to the dining room, allowing Jaune to glare at her mother from across the room before having to follow. 

~ ~ ~ 

The next hour seemed to drag by for Jaune as her mother made not so subtle attempts to create some kind of connection between her and this woman that just did not exist. 

Her answers were short and to the point. Verging on curt, but just shy. Not shy enough if the looks her mother was sending her were any indication. 

 It took everything she had not to sigh in relief when they announced they needed to be going. They walked them to the front door, saying their goodbyes before walking out.  

Alice stopped in the door just long enough to turn to Jaune and hold out a business card with her number on it., which she took.

“When you have time we should get together again.” She smiled before walking out the door. Jaune glanced down at the card.

“Well, you were perfectly surly, this evening.” Her mother’s annoyed tone cut the silence. 

“I don’t appreciate being ambushed.” She turned to her mother with a scowl. “Did you plan this all week?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffed, turning on heel and walking to her study, Jaune following, stalkingly, right behind her. “I ran into them today and thought it was a good opportunity.” She tossed a hand flippantly as she sat at her desk and reached for the decanter of brandy sitting on the desk and poured herself a glass.   

“That you tactfully did not mention to me.” Amber eyes glared into black ones for a long moment before Blanche sighed, resigned at being caught red handed in duplicity. 

“It was just one dinner, dear.” She picked up the glass and swirled the liquid around. “You act as though I had planned an entire wedding.” 

“If you could I’m sure you would.” Jaune snorted, crossing her arms.

“I’m only trying to help…,” she started.

“I don’t need help!” Jaune snapped, making her mother’s eyes widen a fraction. She sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in a vain attempt to warn off the headache she could feel coming on. When the tightness finally receded somewhat she opened her eyes to look at her mother.

“We have talked about this several times, and I know you just want me to be happy, but I’m perfectly fine as I am now, mother,” she assured, though it was said in a level tone, there was certain pointedness to the words.

Blanche looked at her for a long, quiet moment before sighing tiredly, seemingly more to herself. 

“I know you are, Jaune, but fine and happy are not the same thing,” she said before finally lifting the brandy filled glass to her lips and taking a deep drink.

~ ~ ~ 

It was only when she was home, sitting in front of her laptop in her home office and nursing a large glass of wine after a near boiling shower that she cared to think about what her mother had said. 

She could, grudgingly, admit that while she wasn’t unhappy, that didn’t mean she was happy either.

She was…content, perhaps would have been the right word.

Content could be improved, of course, she’d just never really cared to try. Though it was now becoming apparent that if she didn’t put in some kind of effort, even minimal, she was going to continue to be ambushed at dinners. She drummed her fingers on the wooden desktop, nails clicking on the high polished surface.   

Where would she even start, it had been a while, and she was short on time most days, not even mentioning that bars and clubs had never been her style to start with.

She glanced at her computer for a long moment and took a long drink before setting the glass down and tapping the screen, bringing the device to life. She hesitated only a moment before she opened the browser and typed.

‘Online dating’  

Several hundred pages popped up, making her grimace and take another long drink. 

She scrolled through about half a page, unimpressed with the majority of the offerings. 

Especially Tinder.

She was about ready to close the computer and walk away when one website happened to catch her eye, if for no other reason then the bizarre name.

‘The Authority: Online dating for adult professionals’ 

Curiously, she clicked the link. 

It had a similar look to some of the other dating sites she’d seen before but perhaps more streamlined and with less frills, not that she was going to pretend to be an expert on web design, dating or otherwise.

It touted a large user base of professionals all over the world and a superior matching algorithm. She rolled her eyes, scrolling through the front page. 

With a final sigh she clicked the signup and started filling out the various questions. Height, weight, hobbies, the standard affair. If nothing else, the next time her mother inevitably brought this up she could tell her that she was at least making an attempt.

It took her longer than she cared to admit to find some photos of herself that were both recent and not dressed for trial, though she added one in anyway. The other two, her on the beach and in the markets in Spain last year.

It wasn’t a vacation, it was work, but they had finished a couple days early and Daisy had convinced her to do some sightseeing. 

She couldn’t off the top of her head think of the last time she had traveled that wasn’t for work purposes. 

Putting that aside for now, she finished putting in her personal information and moved on to the questions about what she was looking for.

She was relieved to see the women seeking women option. She remembered all too well when all the lawsuits had been going on against a popular dating site that had adamantly refused to cater to any sort of LGBTA clientele. 

She’d considered taking some of the cases at the time, but had been swamped with other things at the time.

Clicking the right box and selecting her desired age range and city before it finally took her to her newly created profile and prompted her to write a short bio.

She quickly typed out a short paragraph, just the basic information, her profession, where she went to school and a few random tidbits about herself. 

The screen began to buffer before a message popped up.

‘Congratulations, your profile is complete! Now send some messages!’

“Not tonight…” She shut the computer and stood, taking her wine with her as she flicked off the light and closed the office door behind her.

[mtg-thrill-of-possibility]

A Reflection on Magic, the Pandemic, and the Dark Side of Arena

Hello to all the readers who may stumble upon this in the search for new Magic content. I wrote this mostly to fill a void in my life that has opened up over the last year and more of a mental health thing than some form of Magic related advice but since it is about that, I thought they’d go hand in hand. I love Magic. Or at least I have loved Magic? It’s hard to tell. Like nearly everyone on this planet, I’ve been shut off from in-person Magic and it had/has me left down. I normally volunteer at my LGS and help them organize their tournaments and judge the events and generally whatever else they ask me to do because I really love Magic. I love playing with my locals who don’t spend hundreds of dollars and craft GP/MF level decks. I love watching a group of people playing draft chaff and off beat home brews and where adults and teenagers can compete with one another on that level. I enjoy sitting off to the corner on the store’s EDH night and listening to games and drawing tokens for games in my own corner while I wait for my own games or sometimes my ow turns. I also love traveling with my wife to cities and go compete in GP/MFs where we usually both scrub out of the main event by round 3 or 4 and then hit the vendors and side events as well as explore the cities for new restaurants. I miss Welcome Days where adults bring in kids and I show them the ropes. I love meeting adults who poke their noses in and ask me “Magic is still a thing? I played that in high school” and show them the changes. I can still remember the Theros Beyond Death prerelease last year and thought how much fun it was to not work the event for once and just play. And looking back, boy am I glad I entered the THB prerelease.

February was the start of the downturn. Our EDH night was slightly less full but I just figured it was due to the weather since the winter usually has a downturn in the attendance for every event. But then the rotating cast of 10-15 FNM players was 6; Pioneer on Saturday had 3. The next week, the EDH crowd was down to from the usual 6-8 pods to 2. FNM and Pioneer failed to fire. The news that COVID-19 was starting to creep into the Midwest prompted me to ask the store what precautions we wanted to take and when we were going to stop in general.

I work in chemical research and I have a background in pharmaceuticals and once (or twice) studied the MCATs and considered going to med school. I was definitely concerned but in February it hadn’t reached my state (yet) and I wanted the store to be ready for the imminent shutdown and continued downtick in participation (my LGS and I had been strategizing how to move up in events and the store ranking on the WPN). But it’s a red state. Science denial must be a recessive trait that the Midwest incorporated into its identity for a long time and I was told that I had some freedom but to not go crazy. I thought I’m a volunteer. I’m not spending what little money I have on stuff for you guys. So, I did the best thing I could think of for free, I started a Discord server. I was really excited at the prospect. I had just bought a webcam in case my workplace started working from home and thought how cool it would be to be able to organize events in Arena and talk through Discord when the store wasn’t available. I asked if we could hang up a flyer and tell all the Magic customers that they continue with tournaments and Magic if they joined the Discord I set up in the store’s name.

My LGS asked how much this was going to cost them and I said exactly as much as it costs them now if not a little less since we don’t need the store’s utilities or a cashier behind the counter in the after hours to work the tournament. They were happy and I got the greenlight. Things worked okay at first. Those with Arena accounts showed for a few weeks. Others I knew were interested were convinced that we were overly sensitive to the virus and FNMs continued to limp along with 4-6 people until everything ground down to a halt.

Come mid-March, COVID had finally reached the state and the city. Cases were light, a few hundred people tested each day, single digit cases detected but I again was worried. My workplace had already begun educating everyone on how to wash their hands properly and disinfect every surface and everyone was issued a bleach spray bottle with their name and a serial number on it. While the mayor and governor hadn’t ordered a shutdown yet, I advised strongly that the store go ahead and if they wanted to continue that I wouldn’t be there to assist until the curve was sufficiently flattened.

I’m not sure why but they trusted me and listened. I was glad and I pushed again for people to join the Discord server. Players were reluctant but I assured them that this may be the future for some time and if they get on now, they can still get the Ravnica intro quests and start building up their Arena collections. I got more on my side, we had 8-10 and got them all to try and hook anyone else they knew to join us. However, by the end of March, my workplace had moved to 100% virtual and with my extra time, I had begun to unwittingly shift the power dynamic in the store by accident. You see, I really love Magic. I was now working from home for a job that required me to have direct physical access to hundreds of thousands of dollars or sensitive equipment that need recertification when they get moved 12 inches down a work bench and dangerous chemicals I don’t want near me unless I know there’s an inspected chemical shower nearby. When the campus shut down, I got very bored. I did what research I could from my home portal, attended virtual conferences and webinars every day, but I had tons of down time. That meant watching my wife play Animal Crossing, playing with my dogs, marathon sessions of Civilization but most crucially, I also began grinding Arena.

My local meta had been defined by the understanding that none of us were really Arena players. I had played when the Kaladesh and Amonkhet closed betas were happening, but I was turned off by the fact that all my playing of those formats amounted to nothing when it launched with Ixalan and I would start from square one. Everyone in the group typically shied away from tier 1 tournament decks because to all of us, it was more fun to goof around with RG auras and Tilonalli’s Summoner decks than it was to grind Esper Hero or the new Uro decks. And the limitation that everyone didn’t have all the shocklands meant we were all playing on roughly the same card pools with some variation due to our play styles. So when I suggested we all start playing Arena to replace the tournaments, it worked because it meant we all played the same dumb decks we’d play in person with a few exceptions of having less than perfect mana bases.

But I would find myself grinding Arena everyday where my friends and locals were not. Even though I jumped into Arena at mid-March, I finished the Theros Beyond Death mastery at level 78 when Ikoria began to creep around the corner. I had just begun to get back into Magic when Fate Reforged hit and didn’t realize how much I love wedge color alignments over shards but boy did I love Abzan in Khans standard and now I was in love with Abzan again in Ikoria standard. Grinding the way I did meant I drafted most afternoons for the first month of Ikoria (and forced Temur every time) and started climbing the ranked ladder in the evenings. Ikoria would also mark the first time I spent money on Arena. I’m notoriously spend-thrift in video games and anything you can free-to-play I do religiously because you shouldn’t make a game grindable over the course of years if you give me that option. But drafting took gems and I really love drafting but most people at my LGS are too concerned about rares than learning to do it properly and a lot of younger players feel lost when I draft a zero rare deck and go 4-0 and collect my prizes. By the end of April, I would reach Platinum in constructed and Gold in limited. But now my LGS was far less inclined to play with me. I didn’t brag about any of my rankings but the skill disparity had begun to creep in as well as the difference in our collections. Having played so much Arena, I could see the tells the software gives away that paper Magic doesn’t. I learned to read when the game would hang up on the beginning of combat and end steps because they’re holding potential responses. I began to do the full control shortcut to bluff counter spells and removal. In paper Magic, if my opponent would sequence things wrong or tap their mana wrong, we’d make jokes and rewind it because it’s one of those human errors that we all make and redo it the right way.

But Arena was different; some learned the hard way to not trust the auto-tapper, some didn’t realize that the way they normally stack triggers in paper is backwards and too late to fix after a spell or ability resolved. And I couldn’t help them. And I let them make their mistakes because I can’t change Arena. If they use the auto-tapper and they realize that Arena doesn’t tap the Castle Vantress even though they couldn’t activate it anyway and they lose a dual source, I couldn’t help them. If they have the lethal Explosion in hand but forgot to hit Control in their second main so they can stack the Wilderness Reclamation triggers in their end step, I don’t concede out of pity.

In May, I try and keep the Magic going by suggesting that we shift the format to a draft limited but they’re unconvinced of the website that allows you to simulate an 8-person draft and then import the drafted card lists to Arena. Why? Because they don’t have the cards already and I’ve changed the dynamic. They know I’m much more skilled at Arena and Ikoria drafting. The news has also been reporting that the curve was flattening, and our state was lifting restrictions on gatherings. They want to play EDH and paper Magic, not this digital intangible game. I reluctantly agree but keep grinding on Arena anyway. My friends didn’t want to play Magic on Arena and I couldn’t understand why. I was getting burned out on drafting at this point and the drafts were harder to fire off a month and a half later, work was returning on a limited schedule where I was onsite 75% and virtual 25%, it really did seem like things were returning to normal.

In June I finish the Ikoria mastery and at this point my wife had begun to show more interest in playing on Arena and trying to get her account a little more stocked since our normal paper system is I aggregate everything we typically need and I make her desired deck and hand it off to her to wreck people on FNM but since I didn’t have to judge, I got to play and we couldn’t both play from my account at the same time. I casually start hers and I get the wild hair that maybe I should make a loaner account in the store’s name and if anyone says they don’t have the cards, they can borrow the store’s account for the tournament. I make the account but put the pipe dream on hold when Wizards announces that in-store play can resume with the Core 2021 prerelease. I could read between the lines and see that the curve was trending the wrong way and thought it was a bad idea but at my insistence, everyone would have to wear a mask at all times and hand sanitizer was available every 15 feet and the store had lots of space for players to spread out. The turnout was low which helped as well, and I had everyone who showed up at least aware that I was trying to keep the Discord going and that in case there’s another shutdown that there was another avenue for them.

Well, I got my wish because within a week of the launch of Core 2021, my state had regressed, and cases were exploding and gathering restrictions were sent back in place. Shortly after that, Wizards suspended in-store play again and with that I created the store’s Arena account. At the time, things were pretty good. The locals weren’t playing as much and my server was still fairly empty but most of the Magic Twitch community I interacted with had strongly adjusted to the new paradigm. EDH streaming was commonplace, I had my new Arena account to focus on building up as well as my own. Pro level events and Opens were being held on Arena and the expansion of Amonkhet Remastered gave me hope that Magic was on the mend. But I also think it was with Core 2021 that things started to slide into the negative for me. Grinding the second account was frustrating me a lot. The lack of human interaction was tilting me out for no reason. Some days the server would have me wait a whole minute (the horror?!) for a game and then my opponent would be the world’s slowest red player where everything seemed delayed. There would strings of games I would play where I couldn’t get a third land drop after a mull to 4 and other times where I’d flood out and would have won if it weren’t for generic whiny reason why everyone says they lose.

Maybe it was when I began to see that Arena is not Magic the Gathering as much as it is a video game that it began to really sour on me. For those of you who don’t play a lot of Arena and instead interact with humans over webcams is that Arena is designed for you to not play off beat home brews except in direct challenges with your friends. The game is meant for you to play the best combination of 75 cards and for you to help it machine learn through millions of matches what is and what is not the correct play pattern based on the available information you have. It wants you to play the very best decks in a format against the other best decks. I started to see this in Ikora standard when decks would scoop if you were on the play and went turn 2 Agonizing Remorse. Decks were and still are so linear that they can’t handle that kind of disruption or it’s a matter of the players know it’s faster to accumulate wins by scooping than grinding out a long game.

If you need evidence of whether or not this is true, you should play Arena now and see how often people scoop against the double Ruin Crab opener with a Fabled Passage back-to-back. Or if an opponent against your Lurrus Auras deck will time out when they know they can’t win. In paper Magic, when you drive 4 hours to a major venue, pay your entry fee, you never see your opponent rage scoop unless it’s Legacy and you know what your opponent’s on and you mull to zero so you can see what’s in their deck. You call a judge to your table if they start stalling. Nothing is more annoying that an opponent spamming “Good Game” at you through a match when it’s obvious that you’re not killing them that turn but they’re empty handed and have nothing relevant on board.

I’ll admit myself that what my wife calls “Wizard Chores” for the Daily quests, if I’m 1 red spell short of finishing a quest, I’ll log in for one more game and Boulder Dash my opponent’s creature or cast Shock to face and immediately scoop. Who is that helping? I’d spend the week at work in my down times thinking about what dumb cards I hadn’t played with from a set, start making a list, furiously find the cards on a Friday afternoon and grab dinner with the wife and then race to my LGS for FNM.  Magic used to be something I only got to do twice a week with people in a shared setting and we’d unroll our playmats, shuffle up our jank, and laugh and generally have a good time for three to four hours. With Magic at my fingertips, Arena is a distillation of efficiency at spell slinging combined with the minor rewards system we’ve come to recognize the free-to-play traps to “encourage” us to play different things. If I want to play 100 matches in a day, all I need to do is sit at my computer long enough. If I want to play my old jank on Arena, I can’t even count on the Casual play channel to help since it’s always filled with people with 55 of the 60 cards that make the best deck learning how to play before they commit the wild cards for the deck.

Zendikar Rising has been a pretty dark point for everyone on Arena I believe. It seems like a lifetime ago that Omnath was printed and that I had immediately cashed in four mythic rare wildcards for the deck I would get to play with on Arena for 2 weeks before Wizards realized their mistake. Honestly before I had started writing this in the week before Kaldheim will hit Arena, I forgot that Omnath was part of the most recent set as all I can remember Zendikar Rising giving us is the extremely irritating Ruin Crab and Soaring Thought Thief. The few locals I had left on my Discaord server when ZNR released had lost interest in Arena since they enjoyed the Ravnica standard that was rotating out and Pioneer was not yet available for Arena. I’ve encouraged nearly everyone I know from my LGS to buy webcams since October given that the current state of the COVID world is not likely to go away and the new culture and channels that have opened up in the world to fill the void of EDH has some level of benefit even when in-person play resumes. Not many people play and I’ll search for an occasional game on the official Discord when the craving strikes. Some of my friends have been taking advantage of the webcam world and started playing older formats with me over webcam such as Pioneer and Modern to rekindle their love for Magic and the hope that we can start playing tournaments over webcam. Finishing up the ZNR mastery passes on my two accounts and my wife’s account has been giving me a much-needed break from Arena and honestly, it’s probably done the most to lift my spirits.

I’ve been taking a lot more time to reflect on why I love Magic and I plan on doing in the future. The first thing I know I’m going to do and stick to is not get a Mastery Pass for mt LGS store’s account. They don’t pay for all the work I put into the one already grinding multiple accounts is not good for my mental well-being. The second thing I know I am going to do is relearn how to have fun in Magic again. Not really hinted at in this article so far is the fact I love the art in Magic and I’m often inspired by my own crazy mind to illustrate my own works or reimagine my favorite cards with my own art. Since the release of Rise of Skywalker, I had been working on a personal project of creating a second expansion to the largely underground Star Wars the Gathering card game and ended up making 200 unique, draftable cards. I wouldn’t call myself an artist because I’m still learning and I don’t necessarily aspire to an artist but I would love to improve my skills and one day make a piece that’s so good someone wants on a card. Over the last two years, I’ve been deeply jealous of how amazing and hard working the Magic cosplayers are and that I should put my art to good use and make my own cosplays. And then there’s the playing of Magic. I miss the Gathering part of Magic. So this brings us to the bedrock of this piece. I hope to continue this blog steadily as time moves forward. I’m rarely ever satisfied or have my attention on any one project for too long but 2021 is a new year. And I hope that the title is a hint to the future. Whatever it is; whether it’s deck construction, art alters, or Magic cosplay, story, general discussion, that’s what I’m here for. It’s the Thrill of what I might work on next and I promise because I’m terrible right now at doing so, I’ll be sure to take pictures and try and stream when I can to keep myself honest about the whole deal. I hope you’ll all join me or at least join the Discord to yell at me.

[gerbiloftriumph]

So you wanna be a king (pt6)

Or, at the least, you want very much to cosplay one, and you have put too much time and energy into this to stop now. Let’s finish this costume.

Part 6: The Adventuring Cap (and also hair and some makeup)

The rest of the tutorials are here: cloak, tunic, pants/boots, bracers/pouch, accessories, and as always, I’m a novice cosplayer making all this up as I go along, so feel free to ignore me or steal my ideas and run.

There’s one last piece to this costume. Something important. Something that unifies Graham across the years from 1983 to 2015: his adventuring cap.

Even when he has his crown on, that old hat isn’t far away. So let’s get into it. 

But before we can actually start sewing a hat, we need to talk...hair. Because that will probably alter the hat size.

Hair (and also make-up):

Should you be blessed with the slightly curly black hair Graham has, then that’s fantastic! 

I do not have such hair.

You remember how hot this costume is? At least three shirts, one and a half pants, a cloak, a cowl, bracers, and knee high boots? Let’s make it worse by adding a wig.

I buy all my wigs from Arda Wigs--I love that quality and those nice prices. I’m the sort of person who pulls the wig out of the bag, fluffs it up with hairspray (got2b glued is a miracle in a can), and runs, but should you want to try heat sculpting, they’re great wigs for that too.

Since I’m revealing all my secrets, this particular wig is a Benny in Deep Brown (when I bought it it was called Natural Black, but I think it’s the same color). It’s warmer than their pure black, which I wanted for this sunshine boy. https://arda-wigs.com/products/benny-classic?variant=27836199174

Incidentally, while we’re here, some quick make-up things:

If you can’t grow your own beard, spray some hairspray on your chin and sideburn patches, take an old tube of mascara (the older and weaker the more control you have--gosh that sounds mean), and build up your own with downward brush strokes. A little goes a shockingly long way--I tend to overdo it myself. Use an eyebrow wand brush to shape the beard and make it look more natural. Seal with more hairspray, maybe a touch of setting powder. 

For the freckles, I smear a thin layer of eyeshadow primer across nose and cheekbones, and then go ham with a marker eyeliner in dark brown. Seal it with a touch of setting powder. I promise, it will go absolutely nowhere, even in the hot RenFest July sun, unless you yourself rub it. (I carry both beard and freckles makeup tubes in my pouch, just in case.)

Okay, fine, we’re done stalling. You want the hat, so let’s do it.

Hat time!

First, vocab lesson! Repeat after me: bycocket. That’s the name of your hat. It’s a medieval cap popular among men, women, nobility, and business classes. And also, yes, with Robin Hood too. 

http://honorbeforevictory.com/14th-c-embriodered-bycocket-cap-of-maintenance-with-a-split-loop-seam-tutorial/ - I found my template from this page and scaled it up. Other Robin Hood hat tutorials will also likely suit, but this is my semi-tutorial, so this is what I used.

I bought what looks like less than a yard of some light blue denim and some dark blue denim. I wanted the stiffness of the fabric to help hold the triangular shape, thus, the denim. I also happened to have a large quantity of semi-stiff orange felt for some reason, which I used as a core strengthener, but this core is almost certainly unnecessary. The hat keeps its shape really well once it’s on your head--no wonder it was so popular. Feel free to skip the core if you want.

Grab your measuring tape, plonk your wig on your head, and measure where the hat will sit. I got 24″ around. Feel free to make tests with that boundless scrap from the rest of this cosplay to get the size you want. My shape is 14.5″ long, and 11″ from its highest tip to its brim. Don’t forget to add half an inch of hemming space to your pattern (which in my case is made of scraps of paper taped together because I Am Cheap). 

Test your samples, adjust the pattern as necessary to make sure you’re happy with the brim length and how it sits. 

At this point, I made another one of those choices. For some reason, I intentionally transposed the colors, putting the darker color for the main body and the lighter color for the brim. I don’t know why. 

The following tutorial will get confusing if you look only at the colors. I didn’t have a lot of images of the process, and I felt like redoing the hat with the correct color order this week. Because I could. So, ignore the colors as some pictures are old and some are new, and look at the text instead. For reference, all things will be referred to via this image terminology: 

Your top color will be cut exactly to the pattern size you like (with that .5″ hem margin, as usual). Your brim color, however, gets an additional half inch on the bottom, where you wear it. For a visual, like this:

This way, you can fold the brim over the rest of your hat sandwich (...I’ll explain that, hang on), to sew a video-game-clean line. 

Cut two identical shapes from each color, not forgetting that extra half inch on the brim bottom pieces. Sew them along the half inch hemline, so that you have two (three if you’re making a core) separate triangles, open at the bottom since that’s, y’know, where your head goes. They’re kinda like little tents.

Take your scissors and cut out tiny triangles close to, but not into, the hem stitch at the top curve, so that you can poke a smooth arc into the top (see visual below). Iron all hems flat. Take your top piece and turn it inside out, with the hem sitting inside. The core (if you’re making one) and your brim will remain inside-out looking, because that’s how you’ll build your hat sandwich.

It’ll look like this. I stuffed the core piece inside the top piece, then shoved the brim piece into the core piece. All three pieces are tightly, cleanly, stacked together. It’s a hat sandwich! Stitch the hats together in key places so they don’t shift--like at the top of the arc, and in a few places along the hemlines.

Starting at the hemline in the back, fold the extra half inch from the brim piece up, curl it over itself just a smidge so your line stays nice and clean, pin, and hand stitch the top and brim together.

It’s a bit tricky to get a photo of what it looks like, but once it’s all done and you fold up the brim, the stitches will be hidden, giving you that nice clean edge.

Should you be so inclined, at this point you could get fancy with embroidery (that split loop stitch from the bycocket tutorial is one I eventually want to add), or determine a nice way to add the trim to the brim. Which I haven’t yet so...you’re on your own.

(Incidentally, if you’re in a hurry and you have one fabric choice like a sturdy felt, or maybe you’re doing Ch1Graham and don’t want to deal with this double-color nonsense, you can always go with a single sheet method. Cut the usual two triangles of your single sheet, sew them together like normal, but stop sewing when you get to the fold of the brim. That’s about 4.5″ along the back for me. Turn the whole hat inside out, so the nice hem is along the top, pin and sew the back flap that you had left unstitched, and when you fold up the brim, the ugly hem is hidden inside. A visual example is here:

For the feather, I chose an ostrich feather because A: It’s huge and flouncy and bouncy and I like that, and B: ....it’s what the craft store had at the time. Because I figured I’d need to eventually replace it over time and wear, I did loose ugly stitchwork just under the brim, so I can unpick it and replace it as needed. 

And with that, my friend, you are A Whole Entire King. 

Go memorize some addenda, go act with bravery and compassion and wisdom, go make friends with some squirrels, and please watch out for fairy tale obsessed goblins. 

Always seek adventure~!

(And that’s all for the cosplay how to semi-tutorial series! I hope it was helpful! If you have questions, feel free to DM me. I’m happy to help you look your best! At this point, that’s my last post on this topic unless someone asks for how I made the crown. 👑 Let me know if you want that too~)

[bi-cookie]

“Strawberries & Cigarettes“

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Liam x Julia Sherwood

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : NSFW / cursing / +18 / Liam with a beard and desk breaking.

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.5k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲 : The crown prince deals with the aftermath of the royal scandal that erupted the court while dealing with a broken heart of his own.

— 𝐀/𝐍 : This fic takes place after two months of book 1 finale. Thank you so much @furiouscloddonutpeanut for literally being with me every step of the way 💓. And @pixelchoicest my nugget hoe sister 💕.

It’s been two months since the scandal erupted both of their lives. Not long ago she was America’s sweetheart that captured the heart of the Cordonian prince. Now she’s the shameless foreigner who brought dishonor to the royal family. a slut, a whore, a gold digger these are the few names the press choose for her at least these are the nice ones .

Liam resided to his study locking himself up continuing on his duties as usual. His heart broke with each passing day every minute, second without her was a complete and utter torture.

Sure physically he was alive and kicking but emotionally he was gone from this world, for how can he ever be whole again without his Queen.

Meanwhile Julia was back in New York busting tables and saving up tips hustling her way through life mending a broken heart of her own.

[ Sunday morning - 6:30 am - Julia’s place ]

‘Buzzz buzzz’

the sound of her phone buzzing on the nightstand woke Julia up from her slumber, she picked up the phone without looking, struggling to open her eyes she answered

“H-ello.“ she yawned

“Sherwood” a husky voice called out from the other end of the line

“DARKE? Wha- what are you doing calling me on a Sunday this early ? is everything alright , oh god did something happen to Liam is he—“

Clutching her hand to her beating heart she got out of bed awaiting his answer

“Woaah calm down Sherwood , Liam is alright— for the most part“

Drake trailed off

“He’s—oh god he’s a huge mess without you. he keeps locking himself up in his study refusing to eat or to talk to anyone, I’m not sure he’s producing oxygen at this point. I don’t know what to do Sherwood none of us do”

The line went silent for a moment.

But then . . .

“I’ll be on a the first flight to Cordonia.”

[ Sunday Afternoon - 4:45 pm - The crown Prince’s Study ]

A light knock echoed through his majesty’s study but the crown prince couldn’t be bother to answer.

a gush of wind crept into the room as a familiar figure stepped inside.

without looking up from the stack of documents he was signing off Liam dismissed the figure with a wave of his hand as if to say I’m busy at the moment.

“Liam . .“

His entire body froze unable to move at that moment. Dear god that voice he knew that voice too well, it’s .... it’s the voice of his angle, his saving grace , his Queen Liam looked up hands shaking, eyes tearing up meeting hers. The pen he was holding was now laying on the cold marble floor.

Closing the door shut behind her she ran into his arms hugging him so tightly like her life depended on it. Liam held her so close fearing that she might disappear at any given moment, fearing that she’s merely but a dream a very beautiful one.

After what felt like forever they let go of eachother eyes locked on one another, Julia reached for his stubble covered cheek cupping it in her hands brushing her thumb against the facial hair.

“oh my, what has the world done to you my love ?“

“J-Julia .. “ he stuttered her name through muffled sobs and heart skipped a beat at hearing his voice for the first time in two months. He couldn’t contain his emotions any longer. He finally broke after holding it all in for so long.

The hurt , the pain , the agony all came crashing down. his wounds won’t heal just like hers didn’t she knew that much.

“Shhh , it’s gonna be alright I’m here now”

Rubbing his back to comfort him, Liam buried his head in her shoulder seeking shelter from the cruel world that broke him.

After a few long moments he broke the embrace

“Wait - what are you doing here ? Someone could see you. they’ll talk about you again and -“ she cut him right off putting one finger on his lips

“Let them talk Liam it’s not like there’s not much to be said the damage has been done. Besides I don’t care about anyone or what they say I care about you When Drake called this morning I-“

“Wait, Drake called you ?”

“Yes, he said you’ve been locking yourself up in your study since I left, he also said that you haven’t been yourself for quite sometime now. What’s going on ?talk to me Liam ?”

“ I - I don’t know Julia I’m a mess without you , I can’t even go a second without you crossing my mind , you consume me my thoughts , my heart , my soul all of me.”

He pulled away from her walking towards the window looking out the Royal garden

“But I understand that you must go, I’ve caused you enough pain that’ll last a lifetime and I can begin to describe how truly sorry I am for what happened if I had known I would’ve-“ his hands formed into fists punching the wall in a fit of rage.

Taking a step forward she wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him close, gently hugging him. Despite his pain, his heart fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against his. Her touch made the room warmer somehow. In her embrace the world stopped still on its axis. There was no time, no wind, no rain. Liam’s mind was at peace. This was the love he’d waited for, yearned for and prayed for.

“You don’t need to apology for anything , it’s not your fault . Besides if I get the chance to do it all again I would change nothing because all that pain has led me to you”.

“My Julia I truly don’t deserve you.”

“It is I who don’t deserve you Liam , you are a kind hearted soul that’s too damn good for this world “

She turned him around to face her reaching for his hand spraying small kisses on his bruised knuckle

“I . . Will . . Forever . . Be . . Yours . . Liam.”

Their eyes lock in one electrifying moment, and any trace of self control that he had was thrown out the window.

His want for her becoming unbearable as he reached over to cup her face brushing a stray of her raven hair aside taking the sight of her for the first time since she stepped into the room. Then suddenly his soft lips pressed against hers with a hum of desire, longing, and pain.

One of her hands running through his messy blonde hair, the soft strands surrounding her small fingers. The other hand slowly trails up his chest, her fingers splayed across the white material.

Smiling into the kiss her thumbs moved to trace against his cheekbones

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too, my love.”

Liam effortlessly picks Julia up pressing her against the wall of his study. He trails passionate kisses along her jaw, his mouth dropping over her throat and down her collarbone to the valley between her breasts.

“Tell me, My Queen, what do you want.”

“You.”

He would never know how one simple word could hold some much love and devotion, but it did, and it always would.

He leaned off of her slightly, looping his arm around her back, then slowly sliding down to her thighs.

Lifting her up and walking to his oak desk.

He gently sat her down, then with a smirk swept all his paper off the desk. Papers of importance, but not as important as her.

Liam quickly ripped-off the piece of garment that kept him from his queen tossing it on the ground.

He then started sprinkling feather-like kisses on her abdomen causing her back to arched, his tongue was sucking on her sensitive skin setting her ablaze with each touch. as his right hand gripping her thigh, pushing her skirt up until it sits bunched around her hips.

Hands sliding up and down her thigh, he kisses down her stomach until his teeth grab the edge of the lace material of her panties tugging the garment down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Heart beating so fast it could power a whole city shivers ran up and down her spine with each touch. As he pulls her underwear all the way off, tossing them aside.

And without a warning he shoved his fingers inside of her, three at once pumping and stretching her. Another loud moan spills out of her and fills the room. Julia’s breathing grows harsh and unsteady as he fucks her with his fingers, her walls already beginning to contract around him and the ache inside of her builds up all the way to her belly. He thumbs at her clit and pulls his fingers free from her making her whine at the loss. 

Liam’s fingers are wet against her thigh as he grips her closer to him with a mischievous smirk on his face he kneels down kissing her pelvis his stubble scratching her smooth skin.

“Your stubble tickles.”

she smiles at him not so innocently.

He bit at the sensitive skin of her thigh even harder looking up meeting her fiery gaze.

“Tell me, Does it turn my Queen on ?”

“Oh God, Yes.”

“Then let’s put it to good use shall we ?”

Their eyes locked. as he inched towards her center, his beard prickling her thighs when his mouth finally made contact.

The rough stubble combined with his smooth tongue twirling and sucking at her core made her go insane with pleasure, good god the wonders he could do with that mouth of his.

The electrifying sensation that was coursing through her was too much, she bursted out into a million pieces right there arching her back on the wooden desk yelling his name for the entire kingdom to hear and not giving a damn about it.

“You taste even sweeter than I remember, my Queen”

he licked off her juices sucking his fingers tasting her once more.

As she came down form her high Julia sat up pulling Liam closer kissing him hard, tugging at his clothes

“I believe your too dressed for the occasion, Your Majesty”

“Hmm. and what do you suggest we do about that, My love ?”

He smirked biting her lower lip.

She quickly disposed of his clothes tearing them up to shreds before throwing them somewhere on the messy floor.

She splayed her hands up and down on his chiseled chest Casing every muscles in his body to contract at her touch.

“Tell me ... �� she whispered as her splayed hands traveled all the way down to his pelvis , until she reached her desired destination. She grabbed at his throbbing bulge feeling his hardness already forming in her hands as she applied pressure to it even more.

“What does his royal highness wishes me to do ?”

At this point Liam couldn’t even form thoughts let alone speak. His right hand gripped her thigh in order to keep her wetness close to his hardness yearning for the contact as his left arm held her in the place he wanted.

Julia didn’t need him to say anything she already knew what he wanted and she was more than happy to oblige.

Almost immediately she started to massage his scalp with one hand as her other one tugged his boxers down, his hard length springing free from it’s confines. she began stroking him, slowly, taking her time. While keeping her eyes fixated on his face, watching each and every reaction. She loved the fact that she has complete control over him. He's at her mercy. She wanted to Taste him, savor him, love him and so she did with each stroke he was a trembling mess in her hands.

His head fell back and he moaned loudly, as she took him all in her mouth. She bobbled her head up and down his cock Feeling it stiffen With every move between her cheeks.

Liam couldn’t hold it in anymore, he has to feel her. Consequences be damned.

He pulled her up sitting her back on the desk pushing her legs wide open as his tip rubbed against her dripping entrance teasing her. He took the opportunity to pin her arms up and in one smooth push he entered her.

The tight, wet feel of her causes him to groan loud turning her on even more. He lifted her leg over his shoulder and fucked into her, hard.

They both groaned. Julia grabbed his shoulders to steady herself, taking in the feeling of every single inch of him inside her.

She lifted her pelvis with each thrust intent on meeting his own and taking her own pleasure. His cock plunged deeper, messaging the sweet, sensitive spot inside of her. 

“Dear god, Liam.” She called, her mouth opening as she felt him hit all the right places.

“Yes, my love ...” He grabbed her butt, helping her up and down.

He was high on her and he could never get enough.

With each thrust a thrill was sent up and down her spine as her stomach grew taut with the impending orgasm. Liam’s own breath is as labored as hers, he watched her flush as her breasts bounced lightly from the force of him. He dragged a hand across her stomach and cupped her breast, pinching her nipple until she moaned and whimpered.

His name never leaving her lips.

He tilted his head back and let out a loud groan as he felt her tighten around him. His hand on her hip was bruisingly tight and she knew damn well she’ll have plenty of bruises to remember him by but she didn’t mind it one bit.

He rammed into her until there was nothing left.

She came undone right then and there in his arms, Her body trembling with pleasure.

It only took Liam a few moments to follow right after her. He muffled a scream of her name as he crashed and bit on her shoulder.

Their ragged breaths and pleasure cries filled up the room as they held each other for a couple of minutes, catching their heartbeats and slowly coming down from their highs.

Liam gently picked Julia up and got her scattered clothes off the floor. dressing her slowly zipping up her skirt back on. As he was getting dressed she turned around letting out a sigh

“What now Liam ?“ she asked with a worried look on her face.

“I don’t know, but we hope for the future. At this very moment you are mine and I am yours and there’s nothing that can keep us apart. Know that I love you with every waking bone in my body, I won’t make the same mistake and let you go again. I will fight for you this time, you are not an obligation Julia, you are my forever.”

He walked up to her slowly and pulling her closer to him wrapping his arms around her. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her seemed to melt away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.

[summers-even]

Writing Overview - 2019

Last year was a huge year for me - I started my writing blogs @drowning-in-dennor and @hanas-helltalia-house, and with their creation my passion for storytelling has only grown. I’d like to take this time to look back at my old works, from January to December!

January - Solitary Pathos (Unpublished)

  Margaret’s blood runs cold. At the corner of her eye, she sees the nearby guillotine at the church, just a few footsteps away. And a pair of guards, pushing someone out of a wooden cart. 

  A someone with the soulful dark eyes and serene face that Margaret has looked into all too many times. 

  She wants to scream, to jump out of her seat, to push Jennifer out of hers and plead for forgiveness. Valley’s hands are tied back, her head bowed. She does not look at the guards, or the crowd, or the nobles. She does not shake, or cry, or plead. Margaret’s lover is slowly escorted to the deadly platform with quiet acceptance. 

  Something keeps Margaret in her seat and keeps her from snapping. Probably the gaze of Jennifer, spiteful and malevolent, that threatens the same fate if she steps out of line. 

  The princess nods at the black-garbed executioner, who pushes Valley to her knees and places her head right beneath the blade. She is not provided the mercy of a blindfold.

  Margaret is motionless, rooted helplessly in her seat as the executioner pulls on the rope of the blade, drawing it up high. Jennifer almost appears to have a smirk on her face. 

  Valley draws her head up the moment before the blade whistles down, giving Margaret one last, loving smile. 

February - Clear Your Mind (Unpublished)

  9 a.m., a meeting with your boss. 11 a.m., a talk at the local kindergarten. Use your human name, Lukas Norsson. 12 p.m., lunch with Arthur and Aleksander, and make sure to bring those interesting books you found. They’ll get mad if you don’t. 1:30 p.m., complete that stack of paperwork. Don’t forget to send those documents to Germany. 4 p.m., supervise the building of the new school. 6 p.m., a meeting with the Nordic Council, then dinner. 

  Norway runs his schedule through his head one last time while packing his bag for the day. Each notebook, each sheet of paper, each folder drops into the bag neatly, before he scoops up his bag and heads downstairs. He checks his reflection in the mirror once (is your hair neat?), twice (your shirt is wrinkled!), thrice (is your clip polished?), before he deems himself presentable. Putting on his shoes, he slings his bag over his shoulder (but not before checking that he’s brought everything), grabs his coffee and leaves.

  The meeting with his boss goes well enough — he’s lucky that the coffee manages to wake him up after a stressful, sleepless night. He leaves at ten o’clock (is that enough time for me to catch the bus?) and heads for the kindergarten.

March - Saga Ills (Published)

  Mette opens the door of his cell, holding rope in her hands. “It’s time to go.”

  His hands are tied behind his back, and the blonde leads him out into the light. He does not speak.

If they laugh or jeer or they plan your demise,  (Poised above my kin with its gaping maw of steel,)

  The people are shouting. Some are jeering. Some are throwing stones, all of them deftly deflected by the Norjon King. Mette pushes him to his knees and places his head into the guillotine. She apologises. He does not speak.

I shall fight for you, the most loyal of your court,  (And uncaring still, your gaze is cast up high,)

  The blade screeches as Mette draws it up high. His eyes scan over the crowd. They do not show sympathy, except for somebody at the very front.

  Her face is mostly hidden by a hooded cloak, but the shining eyes are familiar. She is crying, but notices when he tries to make eye contact with her. 

  Sula tries to smile, and he smiles back. He still does not speak.

So please smile, for you’re the fairest of them all!  (And in your final moment, you say my favourite line!)

  The blade falls with a deafening whistle, and he shouts the line that once delighted Sula.

  Then the blade cuts into his neck and he sees no more.

April - The Wolf Who Fell In Love With Red Riding Hood (Published)

  He starts to hum. He swings his basket a little, and smiles.

  The smile fades when Tino hears leaves crunching behind him. He turns.

  The boy from last week is leaning against a tree, staring at him with those scary green eyes. To Tino’s horror, he starts walking towards him.

  Holding the basket like a lifeline, Tino takes off again. His legs ache and the cold air hurts his throat, but he runs. His heart thumps wildly, so quickly that he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. Don’t let him catch me, don’t let him catch me, please, where’s the village!?

  The ground flashes before him. 

  Tino drops the basket and throws his arms out. He lands on the ground with a thud, pain rippling through his body.

  “Ow…” Tino rolls over to sit on the ground and pulls his knees up to his chest. At least my knees hit the ground and not my face.

  Footsteps sound, and Tino looks up. His stomach sinks.

  It’s him.

  Tino inches backward, his blood running cold with terror. He follows, steps slow and steady. “P-Please don’t hurt me!” He tries to say, fighting back tears. “I won’t run into you again, I promise!”

  He stops walking, instead crouching down in front of Tino. His eyes, somehow, look slightly less scary. Wordlessly, he points to Tino’s scraped knee. Before Tino can speak, the boy tears off a strip of cloth from his dark cloak and tugs at his leg.

  “Huh?” Tino stretches his leg to lie flat on the ground. “Do you want me to do this?”

  The boy nods. He wraps the strip of cloth around Tino’s knee and over the wound, knotting it. 

  “Oh!” Tino runs his fingers over the makeshift bandage and tugs at the soft cloth. “Oh, um… thank you.” It’s better than the bandages that Mother ties, he thinks. And my knee doesn’t hurt too much any more.

  By the time Tino gets to his feet, the boy is already gone.

May - Celebration (Published - My first story at drowning-in-dennor!)

  The two of them shut the door to Norway’s bedroom and sit, side by side, on his bed. Denmark speaks first, his normally loud voice now soft and gentle. “Happy birthday, Norge.”

  Shyly, Norway inches closer until there is no space between him and Denmark. He rests his head on the taller’s shoulder, eyelids drooping in exhaustion. “It’s been two hundred and two years,” he murmurs.

  “Hmm?”

  “Two hundred and two years, since my Constitution was signed.” His eyes close in contentment when Denmark wraps one arm around his waist. “It feels like such a long time ago.”

  “Time really does fly, doesn’t it?” Denmark laughs. “It seems like ages ago when I called you at midnight.”

  “Oh, that. Well, I’m tired again.”

  “Don’t go to sleep yet. I haven’t given you my present yet.”

  Norway straightens up a little, staring into Denmark’s bright blue eyes. “Oh?”

  Before he realises what’s happening, gentle fingers curl under his chin and lift his face up, and Denmark seals their lips in a kiss.

  “I love you,” he whispers against Norway’s lips.

  “I love you too,” Norway whispers back.

June - Night Sky (Published)

  The park is next, and the two approach it with joined hands and cheery conversation. They sit on a bench with malt crackers from street vendors and talk, conversation straying from silly younger brothers to recipes to an intense debate about just how the Renaissance came to be. Vincente’s argument on the Crusades is cut off when Madeline leans in to kiss him, the gesture sweetened by malt syrup and making his next point fade away before he can say it.

  But all talk of Renaissance and revolution disappears when Vincente’s phone rings, bringing a call from Yao at exactly 12:00a.m., like the clock striking midnight after a ball.

  Except there’s no glass slipper left behind.

  They return to the apartment to find it dead quiet, everyone else probably in their bedrooms. The door swings closed behind them and, exchanging smiles, head for the guest room, where Madeline stays. Her suitcase is still half-unpacked, boxes of cookies and other souvenirs strewn across the floor. Vincente watches as she clears up the mess and digs around for a clean set of clothing, then walks past him for the bathroom. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  So he goes back to his own room, cringing a bit at Leon’s snoring on the way and closing the door. His curtains are still open, and the dark sky is dotted with lights, bright advertisement-flaunting billboards and sparkling buildings and little stars of apartment windows like his. The sky he showed Madeline over video call, the sky they strolled under just minutes ago, the sky his girlfriend is so amazed at.

  He thanks the sky, the sky that cloaks the city that never sleeps, for bringing out the most beautiful part of Madeline: her eyes, bright and blue reflecting the noon sky and deep and soulful mirroring the night sky. And he thanks his home city, for making Madeline laugh and smile in a way he can’t. He thanks everything that makes Madeline happy: his siblings, the bakeries, the books, the world itself.

July - Rosenhave (Published)

  The guard turns.

  He launches.

  Stellan hitches up the skirt of his gown and dashes across the path, jumping up the gilded iron gates and scaling it before the guard can turn around again. He lands on the soft grass, dusts the soil off his slippers and straightens up, heading deeper into the garden.

  The garden is all red — soft, pale stargazer lilies, crimson azalea like little bunches of red fabric, delicate Danish orchids that remind Stellan of vermillion bells. And, at the very end, a rosebush with beautiful, blood-red blossoms dotting the thorny branches.

  He feels out-of-place in his blue garments and dull accessories, like a pebble among diamonds. He strokes his pendant, his most valuable possession, pensively as he waits.

  Clank, clank, clank.

  Creaking footsteps near the castle entrance. The door creaks open, and out steps an armoured boy. The scabbard attached at his waist knocks against his fauld, and the visor of his helm flaps as he takes it off, revealing messy golden hair, glittering blue eyes and a bright smile.

  Stellan does his best to look annoyed, placing his hands on his hips and glaring at him. “You’re late, Henrik.”

August - Home (In progress)

  The city of Macau never slept, and neither did Vicente.

  His brother told him of how he, as a baby, would stay up for hours, staring out the window at the street lamps and billboards through his crib with wide eyes. Vicente didn’t remember much about Macau except for those lights, shining like stars even when the clock struck midnight. They were such a stark contrast from his brother Yao, who had eyes like pools of ink that always twinkled in the night.

  One night, Yao had scooped him up from his crib and carried him, grunting from his weight, to look out the window and into the night. “Look,” he’d whispered in his accented Cantonese, “look at where we are. It’s huge, isn’t it? When you grow bigger, Mother and Father will take us out there, and we’ll walk and walk until we know this place like the back of our hands.”

  He told him a story another night, under the soft glow of Vicente’s night-light. “Before you were born, Mother, Father and I lived in Beijing,” he’d said, “and it was nothing like Macau. The nighttimes were always dark, and I don’t think anybody walked in the streets after sunset. This is far more beautiful, don’t you think?

  Yao spoke to him like that almost every night, sitting by his crib and talking. He remembered Yao saying once, when he was almost two years old, “Mother made us egg tarts today for dessert. One day, she’ll teach me how and we can eat them together, while walking through the streets. We’ll buy books in that new bookstore that opened up nearby, and then play in the park.”

  He helped Vicente towards the window and pointed at a particularly bright building. “Do you see that? That building is called the Venetian. I heard that the inside looks like a castle, and a river runs through it! We’ll go there as well, and we can ride boats on the river and pretend to be princes.”

  That day never came.

September - Romeo and Mercutio (Published)

  “Love,” Francis muses, “is love a blessing or a curse? It takes, it hurts, it kills, but with it comes new life and changed man. People do insane things in the name of love, whether good or bad. Tell me,” he asks himself, “when the Lord allowed us to love, what type of gift was it?”

  “Love is love.” Basch sets down a plate of flan on the table. “Simple as that. Love is something nice that one person feels for another. No blessings, no curses, no nothing.”

  Dramatically, Francis sighs. “Oh, how you wound me, Zwingli. Seeing love as something so mundane and technical… I’ll bet you’ve never been in love before.”

  “And so what if I haven’t?” Basch retorts, “my parents loved me. It was nice. There was nothing taken, nothing given, nothing changed nor anything hurt. There weren’t any dramatic sacrifices like in those love stories you read too much. That’s all love is to me, and all love is in real life — something nice.”

  Francis bites at a spoonful of flan. “Nice, nice, nice. Is that all you can say about the most beautiful thing in the world? Why not ‘radiant’, ‘elegant’, ‘pretty’, some lovelier words than plain old ‘nice’?”

  Basch rolls his eyes, tired of his antics. “Because I don’t need flowery words to describe love. Love doesn’t hide behind snobby vocabulary. Four letters and that’s all. Easy as pie.”

  Taking another bite of flan, Francis stares out the window. “How I wish love were easy. Alas, unrequited love is as painful as a blade digging into one’s heart, and there is nothing one can do about it.” He sighs. “When you’re pining after the most stunning person you’ve ever laid your eyes on, knowing that nothing can bring them to love you back, that is pain worse than the blow of a sword.”

  “You’re talking about Erika Vogel, aren’t you?” Basch asks, “the Queen.”

  He doesn’t reply, continuing to gaze wistfully out the window. “Untainted by the cruel world, pure and immaculate unlike anything else in this kingdom. Compared to them, I am nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Basch repeats, “you’re the King of the entire Diamond Kingdom. You’ve run the kingdom peacefully for, what, ten years? You could have anyone you want.”

  “If only it were so simple, Zwingli.” Francis closes his eyes. “If only.”

October - Game Of Love (Published)

  Denmark drops to his knees, kissing Norway as he does so. “Oh, don’t lie to yourself. You know why you fuck me like this, why you touch me this way.”

  “Do I really?” Letting Denmark cradle him, Norway arches an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, Denmark. Just why do I touch you like this?”

  “Well, maybe it’s because you feel something. You know, something like a little spark, a flame, a - “

  “Love.” Norway reaches out a trembling hand to caress Denmark’s face. “Maybe it’s that.”

How’s that? You like that, don’t you? Well, Denmark, it looks like I’ll be with you from now on. Is that shocking? I won’t push you away, don’t worry. Why? Well, it’s simple. You’re the only one…

Who I truly love.

…

  Jos puts the script back down, staring at it. “Well, that was… a journey.”

  “Don’t say that, Jos.” Francis grins, flipping through the pages of his copy. “I think Kiku did a lovely job with this, for somebody who’s never written a script before.”

  “A script?” Jos repeats incredulously. “This reads less like a script and more like some erotic fiction written by an overzealous author.”

  Francis kicks his chair. “Well, too bad. I’ve given the script to Jens and Eirik, and they’ll be playing it out two days from now.” He winks. “So I hope that it’ll grow on you by then.”

November - The Summer Side (Published - my proudest work yet!)

  Whatever he tries to say gets stuck in his throat. Stellan finds himself lost in Henrik’s eyes, the shade of the bright summer sky. For the third time since arriving at the fairy realm, he cannot speak.

  “How about you?” Somehow, for Stellan didn’t think it possible, Henrik closes the already-narrow distance between the two of them. Their lips are almost touching — it is practically an invitation for a kiss. “If I were to leave, what would you do?”

  A shudder, thrilling, riveting and perhaps even enchanting, ripples throughout Stellan. He clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse with emotion when he speaks. “I don’t know,” he replies, “because wherever you go, I’ll follow along.”

  Right after answering, like he is possessed by the spirit of someone lovelier, more romantic and far bolder, Stellan teeters up on his tiptoes and kisses him.

  Henrik’s lips taste even sweeter, even more addicting than fairy fruit. They bring the scorching intensity of the summer sun, the balm of fountain water; they are softer and gentler than feathers. And though Stellan closes his eyes, stars explode before his vision as he sways, pure, untouched adoration igniting in the very depths of his heart.

  Stellan opens his eyes. It seems that all but Henrik has disappeared from his view and there is nothing else he can focus on, except the touch of his lips. 

  The sight of Henrik, after he pulls away, flustered and red-faced and devoid of his usual winning charisma is nearly amusing. Once again out of breath, Stellan tentatively reaches out to cup Henrik’s cheek, like Henrik did to him when they first met. Henrik seems to flush even deeper. “I — “ he stammers, “I, er, well.” He coughs. “Yes. Do — do you mean it? Do you, um, really, y’know, want to stay with me?”

  It feels nice to be the one with charming words this time. “I meant every word.”

  With a little gasp, Henrik grabs Stellan and cradles him to his chest, laughing joyously. Arms once again ‘round his waist, he spins them around and around, laughing still, and Stellan cannot help smiling along. It seems dream-like, fantastical — he has fallen in love with the fairy king, and the king loves him right back. 

December - The Soldier Who Challenged Fate (Published)

  With no intention to be anywhere near fires, nor to listen to the horrid toys and their words, Henrik limped away from his tittering tormentors on his solitary leg.

  Across the large table he went, until he came across a vast castle, a grand thing made of cardboard. It was very pretty, but even prettier were the little ballerina figures inside. They had dresses sewn from scrap cloth, and golden hair made of old thread.  Upon their dresses were lovely ribbon sashes, fastened with the shiniest little spangles. One of them, who stood at the very corner and away from her fellow dancers, didn’t look as charming as the rest. Her elegant face was marred by a stain of ink, right over her eyes. Just wait, though. She’s the most extraordinary of them all.

  One by one, the ballerinas fluttered out of their castle, their dresses bouncing. The ink-stained one stumbled out last. She nearly fell down, and she would have, if not for Henrik’s being in front of her. He held her steady with his arms, and looked at her face. She indeed was very lovely, despite the ink blinding her. Henrik gazed at her lovingly, and noticed the little words stitched at the hem of her gown — they read  “Linnea”.

  Linnea fumbled, reaching out for Henrik’s shoulders. She placed her hands there, and Henrik set his hands around her waist. She lifted her leg up high, so it appeared that she, too, had only one leg. And all night they remained like that, holding each other as the fire crackled, keeping them warm and happy.

...

I’d like to thank all of you for supporting me since my writing blogs were created. I’ve improved so much since January, and I know I have a long way to go before my writing is the best it can be. Until then, I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll keep writing for you all! Thank you for a lovely 2019, and let’s hope for an even better 2020!

[nocteverbascio]

watolock - i’m useless now

Pairing: Sherlock/Wato Tachibana Summary: Wato can’t sleep and just wants to be near Sherlock but her presence "is bothersome" to Sherlock A/N: Started as a cheesy ploy for cuddling but ended up being subtext with unresolved romantic tension. Also Sherlock is basically my child that cannot deal with her emotions like a normal human being 

ao3 link

Wato wakes up in a cold sweat again.

Her eyes shoot open and she’s staring at the ceiling, blinking until her eyes adjust to the darkness. She doesn’t move, clutching the blanket to her chest; the sensation is paralyzing. All of her nerve endings fire signals across the synapses that she can feel it all over her, but she can’t move.

In. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Out. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

She counts her breathing until it becomes innate to her again.

The LED clock reads 3:42 AM and she lets out a quiet sigh. She has to be up for the clinic soon and she can’t go dead on her feet.

The adrenaline doesn’t stop coursing through her veins even though she knows the rush will stop soon enough. Then she’ll be able to go back to sleep.

Except she can’t.

Because when she closes her eyes, she dreams about falling. She dreams about Sherlock’s screams to her. The brief moment she feels Sherlock’s cool hands around hers before she pulls away. Wato reaches, always, she always reaches for Sherlock’s hands but she’s falling backwards over the edge, watching Sherlock scream for her.

Wato clutches the blanket up to her chin. It doesn’t bring her comfort though. The hollow sensation in her stomach remains like she’s still falling.

When she tries to close her eyes, the only thing she sees is Sherlock.

Sherlock screaming her name. She says that emotions impede logical thinking, but Wato can only see the worry and fear and anguish on her face.

“Shit,” Wato curses as she shoots up from her bed.

Sherlock is the only thing on her mind. And it’s obvious that she can’t sleep until---

Wato hops out of bed, forgoing her slippers to go downstairs. She has to know. She has to see for herself.

There’s a light from under the door of Sherlock’s room. Her racing heart starts to slow as she gently pushes the door open.

There she is.

Wato releases the breath she didn’t know she was holding. The air rushes into her, relieving her of the stress.

Sherlock sits, fingers pressed against each other, eyes focused on the empty space in front of her.

For a brief moment, Wato thinks that Sherlock hasn’t moved since she went to bed, but she sees a few chocolate wrappers open on the small table in front of her. The papers of their current case are scattered on the table, on the stack of books next to Sherlock, and on Wato’s chair.

Wato bites her lip. Her heart stops racing and beats normally once more.

Instead of calling for Sherlock, breaking her from her deep thought, Wato creeps into the room quietly. She wants to be nearby because her room is too far from Sherlock in that moment. And she wants to get sleep knowing that Sherlock is really there.

Wato makes her way as carefully as she can towards the couch until she feels a hand grab her wrist quickly. She looks at Sherlock’s hand gripping her wrist firmly.

“What’re you doing here?” Sherlock slowly asks.

Wato swallows as she slips out of Sherlock’s grasp slowly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sherlock sits back in her chair, looking up at Wato. Observing her. Wato feels warm under the stare. “Go back to sleep,” she waves off. “You are exhausted. Even if you can’t sleep, you won’t be useful helping me solve this case.”

Wato pouts. “Why do you say such things?” she mumbles without any ire.

Sherlock narrows her eyes. “Can you tell me why Tanaka ended up on that dock when she had no reason to be?”

Wato winces because she doesn’t really have an answer. At least for a moment. She thinks about Tanaka at the dock. She thinks of Tanaka dressed as if she got off of work with a simple charm since high school around her wrist and a necklace with a ring too big for her. She thinks about Tanaka staring out into the water; the beautiful sunset in the horizon.

Wato takes a small breath. “Maybe she just wanted to be there,” she answers with small resignation. “Somewhere she found beautiful and safe.” She looks at Sherlock, staring at her dark eyes that always seem to twinkle in the right angle. It looks different at this hour because Wato can spy the quiet calm when Sherlock gets time to focus by herself.

Sherlock stands up from her seat, still observing Wato. “That’s irrational.”

Wato sighs with a smile on her face. If anything, she finds Sherlock’s antics more endearing because she’s there and she’s unapologetically herself. “I must be useless. It is 4am.” She resigns and moves to lie down on the couch.

Sherlock follows her curiously. “The couch is uncomfortable. Go to sleep in your bed.” She nudges Wato’s shoulder.

“Lies,” Wato returns, reaching for the throw. “It’s fine. I want to sleep here.”

“Why?”

“Because-” I want you nearby. Wato feels her heart skip a beat and she doesn’t know what to say because Sherlock is just going to say she’s being emotional and irrational. She just feels so tired but she can’t sleep unless she knows Sherlock is there.

“You had a nightmare.”

Wato snaps her attention up to Sherlock. Of course. She doesn’t let on though, looking away. “No, I didn’t,” she lies.

Sherlock bends over until her face is inches from Wato’s, eyes searching hers carefully. Wato gasps and sits up straight to give them space.

“Don’t do that so suddenly,” Wato chastises.

“You’re lying.”

Wato fakes a yawn, arms coming up to stretch quickly to make Sherlock move out of her personal space. “I’m suddenly very tired, I’m going to sleep.” But Sherlock doesn’t move.

“If you are having nightmares because PTSD, you should tell me,” Sherlock informs as if it’s the easiest thing for Wato to do. “We can approach the problem rationally so that you can move past your PTSD and perform optimally.”

Wato sighs. “Sherlock, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Of course it does. Try me, tell me what your nightmares are of,” Sherlock demands as if it isn’t a big deal.

“No,” Wato settles the throw over her and relaxes onto the couch. “I don’t want to.”

“Eh?” Sherlock quirks her head to the side. “You don’t make any sense. Tell me. You’ve already interrupted my concentration.”

“No,” Wato turns away from Sherlock so she can sleep. “Go back to your case.”

Instead of hearing receding footsteps like she wants, she feels a weight at her legs and suddenly she’s being pulled to sit up.

“What, Sherlock?” Wato whines. She doesn’t want to talk about her problems. They’re her problems. They just happen to involve Sherlock and she’s already doing her best to put herself at ease. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I want to know. I don’t understand what is going on,” Sherlock insists, brows furrowed. “You need to explain it to me.”

Wato sighs. “I’m having emotions. You never want to hear about that.”

Sherlock scrunches up her nose in distaste. “You may be right about that, but that is clearly what I don’t understand. You are bothered by something that is causing you nightmares and you are here in the middle of the night in my room when you have a perfectly comfortable bed in your own.” She lets out a sigh of frustration. “This is bothersome.”

“It is late Sherlock,” Wato points out. “You need your rest too.” Wato is getting tired. Or maybe it’s the comfort of knowing Sherlock is there. She feels at ease and she wants to rest her weary limbs. She drops her head back onto the couch, facing away from Sherlock.

Sherlock huffs and pushes against Wato’s back. “Move, move,” she urges.

Wato tries to look back, “What? What’re you doing?” but she’s pushed further into the couch.

Sherlock lies down behind Wato, curling up behind her. No doubt precariously because the couch isn’t all that big. She throws her an arm around Wato and shoves the other underneath Wato until she actually holds Wato against her chest.

“What’re you doing?” Wato carefully asks, feeling warm instantly. She doesn’t dare look back, shocked at the fact that Sherlock is actually holding her. When she wanted Sherlock nearby she didn’t mean this close. It feels warm though, right to her core.

“You’ve made me useless for the rest of the night,” Sherlock grumbles into the back of Wato’s neck. “I can’t concentrate anymore.”

Wato heats up at Sherlock’s breath against her neck. She involuntarily shivers. “Sherlock…”

“Shh,” Sherlock quickly snaps. “I want to sleep and not be---like this.”

LIke this?

Wato glances back or at least tries to but Sherlock’s arms wrap around Wato firmly and she buries her face into the back of Wato’s neck. Wato momentarily freezes at Sherlock’s lips pressed against the back of her neck. She unconsciously reaches for Sherlock’s hands to hold.

Sherlock doesn’t fight it, letting Wato’s fingers intertwine with hers.

Mm, Sherlock is here. Wato reminds herself. She relaxes into Sherlock’s arms and falls asleep, feeling Sherlock’s warmth enshroud her. Sherlock is here.

[justeverythingprettymuch]

High School AUs (based on real experiences I’ve had) pt. 2

So, here’s another fifty weird prompts, since people seemed to like the first ones...

(Part 1)

51. You're twice my size and have huge muscles, but you got told off by our teacher for going on your phone, so she took your phone and placed you next to me. I was super nervous, but then you began whispering to me about how the only reason you kept using your phone was because you work at an old age home, and one of the nurses there is sending you updates on the residents. I think I just melted.

52. My friends and I have been calling you "Muscle Man Mark" for the good part of the last two years, but we don't actually know your name or anything about you. All we know is your biceps are the size of your head. One day, you overhear us talking about you and buRST OUT LAUGHING WHEN YOU FIND OUT YOUR NICKNAME.

53. You and your best friend are Russian exchange students and you're in my art class. You are at least a head taller than me and look like you could crush my skull with one hand, but your best friend is the scrawniest motherfucker I've ever seen. You glare at everyone, while he smiles like sunshine. I kind of ship you together... but I'm pretty sure you overheard me say that to my friend, because you both keep looking at me now.

54. Some freshmen stole my group's usual spot and they woN'T LEAVE. You see me getting increasingly irritated because this has been our spot for the last three and a hALF YEARS AND I WILL BE DAMNED IF I LET THEM TAKE IT NOW. You stroll over and tell the freshmen to leave without even explaining why, and they just get up and walk away. Turns out you're their class' assigned prefect, so you pretty much own them AND I AM AWED BY YOUR POWER.

55. My friend and I went to a department store after school. We were apparently more rowdy than I thought because the store manager is coming up to us, looking really angry, but he's wearing a purple shirt and I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind when I'm nervous... so I say "Doctor Banner this is not the place to Hulk out" and he fucking loses it.

56. Everyone in our friend group knows that we're no longer welcome at the comic book store down the road. There are some crazy theories as to why, but in reality it's because you bought a sword from there and forced me to ducktape it to your arm, then proceeded to try picking a fight with everyone in the store.

57. We were walking through a park in the middle of the night and saw a really weird light in the distance, and our conspiracy-enthused asses immediately assumed it was something crashing to Earth. You turn to me and say; "If this is it, I need you to know... (insert whatever you want)." ... Turns out it was just a weirdly shaped paper lantern.

58. You're my best friend and you've just realized you aren't as straight as you previously thought, but instead of coming out to me in some quiet sort of nervous way, you just turn up at my house one day and throw open the door. Without even checking who was home you yell out; "I'm bisexual, bitches!"

59. We've been friends for years, but we've never been that close. One day you get drunk before school and a teacher noticed, so you get suspended for the rest of the week, and for some strange reason you only told me about it??

60. We were on a school trip and you asked if anyone had a pair of scissors, but no one did. Instead, my best friend pulled out a craft knife and I pulled out a pocket knife with a four-inch blade. You're a little bit concerned.

61. We've been out all night walking around and we've just wandered on to our school's grounds. You insist on climbing up onto the roof - and no, of course we can't just use the stairs, we have to climb a tree and scale the second-storey wall because you're fucking hardcore like that - just so that we can watch the sunrise.

62. You're this really scary-yet-super-smart kid that never really talks to anyone other than the teachers, but one day it's really, really cold and you turn up in a Christmas sweater, and I just... can't compute?

63. You were sitting next to me at lunch while I was searching through my bag for my house keys. I absentmindedly unpacked all the little trinkets I've collected over the past few weeks and just haven't taken out, while you become increasingly curious and simultaneously afraid. I've just taken out 3 lighters, a pocket knife, lip balm, a bus card, a first-aid kit, a small flashlight, a box of matches, like 6 pens, and what looks like it might be a wooden cube covered in blood.

64. We sit next to each other in our music class. I don't know a damn thing about music, while you're pretty much the top student. You're literally in the orchestra and three different bands, all at the same time. I'm barely scraping by in the class, so you take pity on me and teach me a few things.

65. Since sophomore year, you've always been followed around by the younger kids at lunchtime. No one has any idea why, but it always happens. Every semester of every year, you pick one of the students to pretty much become your protege. By senior year, the challenge of becoming your protege has pretty much become our school's Hunger Games and it's absolutely hilarious.

66. Most of our friend group is staying the night at your house, so we've been drinking some beer and playing random games. You and your best friend then decide to put on all your goalie gear and wrestle in the garage, while the rest of us sit on the pool table and question why we're friends with either of you in the first place.

67. I just moved out of my parent's house and into an apartment. You and your best friend are my new roommates, but I only meet you after four days of living there. You call a house meeting as soon as you walk through the door, but when we find you in the living room you've got branches in your hair, mud on your clothes, and you're only wearing one shoe.

68. I had a huge fight with my parents, so I packed some things into a bag and walked out the door. Three hours later, I'm wandering aimlessly through a park and decide to call you for advice, since you moved out of your parents' house for similar reasons. You pick me up twenty minutes later and offer to let me take your couch for as long as I need.

69. I was sitting in the library before school when you came past me and hit me on the head with a pile of paper. When I turn to look at you, you're showing off a twelve-page essay and say; "'Can't do it the night before,' my ass."

70. You had six shots of espresso one after the other right before lunch, then came to sit with our group. You spend the entire hour asking us weird philosophical questions, until eventually you just start asking us what would happen if we laminated certain things. Now we're going around the school asking every technology teacher we find if they have a laminator so that we can test some of these theories. It's for science!

71. You took one of the freshmen under your wing this year, so you go to check up on him at least once a week and insist on buying him food. You have dubbed him your son and will literally tell anyone willing to listen about how great your 'sweet summer child' is.

72. We sit together in class, but we never hang out outside of that class. One day, my friend buys four tickets to a movie premiere for us and a couple of our friends, but one of the people who were meant to go had to cancel, so I ask you if you want to go 'cause I know you've been looking forward to seeing the movie too.

73. We went to go ask a teacher a question, but he gets side-tracked because I'm wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt and he wants to talk about the band. You keep giving me exasperated looks and whispering; "Stay focused, we're on a mission."

74. I was walking down one of the hallways, when you suddenly pulled me into an empty storage room. Before I can even ask what is going on, you shove $70 in my hand, and then push me back out. Why in the hell are you just giving me money???

75. We were on a school field trip, but you were only there when they were taking the roll (at the beginning and end of the trip), so the next day you ask me to give you a quick summary of everything we saw and learnt for when the teacher inevitably asks us what happened.

76. You came in to a meeting for a club we're both in carrying three bags stacked up with apple crumble in little foil trays. And everyone is just like ???? Why?? Turns out no one in your hospitality class likes apple crumble, so you got 30 trays of it for free.

77. We both take the same bus all the way to the exchange every day, but you usually just get on another bus, while I leave the exchange 'cause I live nearby. One day you have to go to a store that's in the same area, so you ask me what street you have to go down to get there and I'm like "How would I know?" and that's how you find out I don't even know the name of the street I LIVE on, I just walk there through muscle memory alone.

78. I was at the grocery store with my mother. I saw you staring at me, so I smiled and said 'hi' as I passed you, but then you tried to say something back, while still walking, and ended up walking straight into a display. I feel really bad for laughing, but that's honestly the funniest thing I've seen all day.

79. You and your girlfriend just broke up, so you come over to my house to distract yourself. We end up watching all the Godfather movies, drinking a 24 box of beer and most of a bottle of vodka. By morning, we are both somehow passably fluent in Italian, though we have no idea how that happened.

80. You stay the night at my house and sleep on my bedroom floor, but you get woken up at three in the morning by my cat who is not happy about you taking up his pile of blankets.

81. We have a movie night/sleepover with our group of friends. We are each other's wing-people with our respective crushes, but neither of us sleep that well and we seem to be the only people who can put up with each other for extended periods of time, so now it's about four in the morning and we're trying not to wake everyone else up while we're giggling about random inside jokes we have.

82. I came for a sleepover at your house, but you have two siblings who are much younger than you, and for some unknown reason your 8-year-old brother is up at six in the morning playing with fuCKING BEYBLADES ON WOODEN FLOOR BOARDS AND IF I HEAR THAT GODDAMN THING GO OFF ONE MORE TIME, I SWEAR TO GOD.

83. Your best friend, my best friend, and the two of us are passing a relatively small bottle of 'water' (it's vodka, guys) between us, while we walk with the rest of our group through a super posh neighbourhood in the wee hours of the morning. Given that one of our friends lives in the neighbourhood, we've been ordered to be on our best behaviour and not bring any alcohol to this party. Unfortunately, turns out you are the lightest of all the lightweights and now we're trying our best to hide the fact that you're drunk from the rest of our friends.

84. We're walking around our neighbourhood, just trying to explore a little, but we're also drunk and there's this buff as all-hell guy taking his very small dogs for a walk. The first time we pass the guy, we just coo and tell him he has cute dogs, before continuing on our way, but then we pass him again on our way back around the block. The guy lets us pet his dogs, so we end up just sitting on the side of the road petting these tiny dogs while this big-ass guy just laughs at our weird drunk asses.

85. We met at a party a while ago and exchanged numbers, but we've never really spoken much since. One day, you text me out of the blue asking if I want to come to a family BBQ on Saturday. Apparently your parents are super conservative and literally don't approve of anyone that isn't prim and proper. You want to scare them into leaving you alone when it comes to who you date, and I'm the only person you know that a) wears Iron Maiden and Megadeath t-shirts, b) is very openly queer, c) does not give a single fuck about what others think of me, and d) has a reputation as someone who likes to piss off overbearing parents. So... you think I'll be perfect for the job.

86. We both live really far out of town, so we usually get dropped off really early and have to bus for hours to get home. Because of this, we usually end up spending like and extra 3-4 hours a day together, and so we've sort of gotten super close and know way more about each other than anyone else does. Including your strange obsession with making the perfect whiskey.

87. We've been on-and-off frenemies since freshman year, but we've been hanging out a lot lately. Like, almost the entire school day and then we meet up outside of school to watch movies, go to parties or have sleepovers. In the past week or so, this guy in one of my classes has been trying to hit on me and hang out with me whenever I've got a spare moment, but he keeps getting shut down because you're always with me. Now, practically everyone we know is convinced we're dating.

88. You and your best friend sometimes spend your lunchtimes with my group of friends, and you are both super intimidating, but super cute underneath. Most people don't realize this until they see the two of you together because that's almost the only time you guys let it show. Like that time you hand-fed each other pizza, or that time you were trying to sing together but you kept getting distracted and laughing. I ship it SO HAAARD.

89. We were in class and our teacher knew that none of us would be doing any work today, so she gave us a short quiz to do and then started just chatting with us. She is a really adorable and sweet old lady who is always friendly and supportive of us all, though she thinks partying and smoking and stuff like that is horrible. The conversation somehow got onto this fact, and you called me out as being someone who parties relatively often, so I called you out by saying; "Well, you smoke all day every day, so let's focus on that." And our teacher thought I meant you smoke marijuana, and that's how we ended up finding out that this adorable tiny lady doesn't mind people smoking weed as long as they’re responsible about it. AND she once accidentally threw out $300 worth of her son's weed because she didn't realize what it was.

90. One lunchtime you brought up some kind of fact about the Soviet Union, and it reminded me of the story of Lyudmila Pavlichenko... and that's how we found out we were both obscure history buffs and we ended up spending four hours talking about all the random stuff we knew.

91. You're an art student and your folio is due in a few hours. You haven't slept in two and a half days and you've had so many energy drinks that you can hardly even see straight, but you're still really determined to get things done. I come to the art studio at lunch time to keep you company, but I end up having to stop you from drinking dirty water and walking into a wall, since apparently your brain isn't doing the job for you.

92. We're frenemies, so we don't always get along, but we live nearby each other and are usually free at the same times because we have our free period at the same time and often work the same hours. Because of this, we are often the only members of our group of friends that can meet up regularly. One day, I owed you some food so I bought you a 6 for $5 pack of muffins ('cause I'm cheap and don't like you) and came over to your house to watch the Breakfast Club. Your sister and her friend are also there, and they think they're being quiet, but I can hear them talking about how they think we're dating.

93. We went to the beach to hang out with a bunch of people we were friends with, but who were not in our immediate group of friends. Because of this, we weren't as comfortable around the other people there, so we mostly stuck to each other for the night. Anyway, around 9PM a large group of college students sort of stumbled in to where we were all sitting around a fire, and asked if they could join us. By the end of the night, all of the college students are convinced we're dating, won't believe us when we say we're each other's wing-people, and have dubbed us 'Star-crossed Lovers'.

94. You're house sitting at your neighbour's 50 acre farm and invite me over for a few days because the farm has goats on it and you know I love them to death. By the time I have to leave I'm genuinely considering just stealing one, while you think my love for goats is the cutest thing you've ever heard.

95. We went to the beach for a party, but at one point I managed to somehow hurt my toes. I don't remember how it happened, only that you were there and I ignored it at the time. In the morning my toes are kinda blue and I can't bend them, and we later discover that I somehow managed to break two of my toes. You feel really bad since the whole night had been your idea, and you had been involved in how I got hurt, though you won't tell me what happened.

96. You broke your nose twice within a couple weeks, so you have to get surgery to fix it since it's so bad that you can't breathe properly anymore. After the surgery, you aren't allowed to really do much of anything for a while, so I come over with some of our friends to keep you company and make sure you're okay.

97. It's waaaaay too hot outside, but we're supposed to hang out so you come over with ice cream. You find me lying down on my kitchen floor, feeding my cats ice chips.

98. We have our birthday on the same day, so we decide to throw our party together. We invite all of our friends, mutual and otherwise, to your house for the day. By the end of the night, there's been at least three fist-fights, one guy climbed on your garage's roof in nothing but his underwear, and we're both questioning why we ever thought this was a good idea.

99. You're my ride home from a friend's house, but you have to stop at your house to grab something before we go. Once we get there, you make me hot chocolate and leave me alone with your dog, while you go get ready. When you come back, your dog is sitting on my lap - despite being huge as hell - and refuses to move.

100. We jokingly proposed to each other because we're the only people we know who want to have a pagan handfasting ceremony instead of a 'normal' wedding, and one day your mum came up to us while we were at your house and asked you, "Well, have you asked her yet?" And when you asked what she meant she sarcastically said; "To marry you, obviously." Caught off guard, you immediately blurted out; "How did you know about that?" ... turns out your mum actually wanted to know if you'd asked me to come camping with the family yet, but she was suddenly much more interested in "WHat do you meAN YOU PROPOSED?" which led to an awkward hour of us having to explain that you hadn't actually proposed, it was a joke. We swear.

Hope you like my rollercoaster life. Like before, if you happen to use these for a story, I would love it if you could tag me or send me a link or something. I’d love to read them!

[jae-bummer]

My Idol 2: Part Four

My Idol From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

My Idol is a South Korean competitive reality dating game show. It currently airs on Wednesday nights on Jae-bummer’s blog. First broadcast in 2016, the show offers the opportunity for a lucky fan to go on seven blind dates with seven idols. The idol plans the date with the show throwing in specific missions to complete during the day. At the end of the initial dates, the show opens up an audience vote to decide what three idols will move on to the second date.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Johnny looked toward you, an expression of confusion mixed with hesitation on his handsome features. His hand hovered in midair as the camera men stuck a red envelope in his direction. He eyed it warily before looking back to you and wincing. 

“I got this,” you grinned, taking the envelope instead. “Don’t let the missions scare you.”

“I have never been so ready to admit how afraid of a slip of paper I am,” he exhaled, crossing his arms. “I know girls are interested in a guy who isn’t afraid of anything, but I am not that guy.” 

“I think I can look past it,” you chuckled, sliding your finger underneath the flap of the envelope. “Now maybe I should ask you...are you ready?” 

“Not in the least,” he nodded. “But that shouldn’t stop you from opening the envelope. I could easily stand here for hours avoiding a situation. It’s kind of what I do best.” 

“I can remedy that,” you smiled, finally pulling the mission card from it’s confines. “Happiness is finding the perfect dance partner. Learn the dance as instructed and perform it flawlessly. Get an all pass from your instructors or suffer the penalty.” 

“That should be easy enough,” Johnny hummed, looking up from the card. You appreciated his optimism. 

“It sounds it,” you nodded, biting your lip as you began to contemplate. “Too easy actually.” 

“I’m sorry - what?” he croaked, taking a short step away from you. “Mission cards are now worded to provide a false sense of security as you go into a challenge?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,” you sighed. “But it does seem like we’re getting off a bit easy here.” 

“What do you have to say?” Johnny asked, pointing to the camera men standing before you. “You two have any intel?” 

“If we did, we wouldn’t tell you,” one of them chuckled. 

You rolled your eyes and stuck the mission card into your back pocket. Grabbing Johnny by the arm, you tugged the front door open with your free hand. “I’ll ask again, are you ready?” 

He nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Born ready. Matter of fact, ready is my middle name. So ready that I-”

You attempted to hold in your laughter as Johnny continued to ramble, trying much too hard to impress you. 

“I should probably shut up now...shouldn’t I?” 

“Shut up? No,” you laughed. “Calm down a bit? Maybe.” 

“I can do that,” he nodded. “Definitely.” 

You grinned up at the tall boy as you entered the building housing the dance studio. After blindly following along a few dimly lit passage ways, you had managed to discover the practice room you two would be dancing in that day. 

“Please, come in!” your instructors nodded, motioning for you to enter as you began to crack the door. 

You looked up hesitantly at Johnny, your stomach doing a flip as your eyes met his. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, placing his hand on your lower back and giving you a gentle squeeze. “I got you.” 

You turned around and nodded, his words enough to propel you to enter the room with a bit more confidence. Johnny cleared his throat as he followed and shook his head. You could have heard incorrectly, but you swore he had whispered, “Well...I hope I got you.” 

“Hello! How are we today?” the female teacher chimed much too loudly. There was both a male and female instructor, presumably to lead by example in dancing with a partner. You and Johnny both nodded politely toward her as she continued to speak. “My name is Min, and this is my partner, Luis. We’ll be the ones teaching you today! Now, I understand this is your first date?” 

“It is,” Johnny nodded, gazing fondly down at you. 

“And what a wonderful destination for a first date,” Luis chirped, speaking for the first time. “But I must ask, before we go any further and jump into the instruction, why don’t we make things a little bit more festive?” 

You glanced over, following the man’s outstretched hand to a pile of fabric folded atop a bench. Two pairs of shoes sat neatly beside the stacks. 

You blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear your vision. “Um...Sorry...but uh...well...What are those?”

“They’re looking like high heels, Y/N,” Johnny chuckled, walking slowly toward his heap of what appeared to be clothing. 

“No...but like...what are those,” you repeated, pointing to the near three inch heels waiting near the outfit changes you were being provided. 

“If you’re nervous,” he whispered, leaning down so his lips were only inches away from your ear. “We could always switch shoes.” 

You lifted your brows as you turned to him, eye level now that he was crouching. “Don’t tempt me.” 

You tugged at the flowing black dress now hugging every curve on your body you hadn’t realized you had. Wrapping your hands self consciously around your waist, you teetered forward towards the instructors and sighed. “How do I look?” 

“Incredible,” a deep voice answered from behind you. You spun around to see Johnny had entered the room as well, his focus obvious in it’s intent.

The breath you were about to inhale was held captive in your throat as you caught his own change of clothing for the first time. He looked even more handsome than he had last appeared, donning a pair of slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled quarter length. He ran his fingers over his already styled hair and smiled. “I mean...you looked incredible before, but I have to say, this is a LOOK.” 

You felt your face grow hot by his words, causing you to look down toward the floor. You monitored carefully from your peripherals as his shined shoes grew closer to your own heeled ones, pausing only once they had reached your side. You bit your lip before looking up through your lashes and trying not to pass out. He was still staring. 

“Alright you two, you look great!” Min nodded as she began to circle where the two of you had gathered. “Now that we’re dressed, do either of you have any experience with dance?” 

“I do,” Johnny said quietly, finally ripping his eyes away. “I dance quite often.” 

“He’s an idol,” you supplemented sheepishly. 

Of course he was an idol. You were sure they figured that out whenever the My Idol production staff had contacted them to book the studio. 

You swallowed and tried to remind yourself to remain calm. Nerves and butterflies were not your typical mode of operation. You had to get ahold of yourself. 

But who were you kidding? How could you be anything but a standing assembly of nerves while you were on a date with Johnny Seo. 

“An idol!” Luis nodded, feigning surprise for your benefit. “Then you should have no problem today! Now, why don’t we get started.” 

It didn’t take long for the instructors to push you and Johnny close, his hand wrapped around your waist and your hand balanced on his shoulder. He gripped your fingers tightly in the opposite hand as the two of you began to walk through the steps. Beginning slowly, you started with a simple timing exercise.  Before long, you had both begun to move with ease, your bodies becoming familiar with one another. The stiffness and confusion quickly oozed away with every count of “1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7.” 

To no one’s surprise, Johnny turned out to be a wonderful lead as he spun you and danced, his true talents shining through his experience. He was wise to take you to a salsa class on your first meeting, it had only made you grow more attracted to him as you watched his body move. He was right, body language was simply universal. 

After a bit of practice, the instructors had stepped back and began to clap before choosing to dance beside the two of you. You felt proud as your body had seemed to memorize your motions, feeling only a fraction of what Johnny had grown to feel on a daily basis as an idol. 

“Good job!” Min clapped, releasing her grip from Luis as she gazed happily at your movements. “I think you’re ready to begin your mission.” 

“I thought this was the mission?” Johnny sighed, looking toward you uneasily. 

“That was a nice thought,” one of the camera men croaked. “The wrong thought, but a nice one.” 

“How do you put up with these two?” Johnny grumbled, shaking his head. 

“They’re kind of endearing after awhile,” you muttered. “I promise.”

“Maybe I can stick around long enough to find out,” he smiled weakly. 

“Alright you two, your mission, if you so choose to accept,” Min chuckled, approaching you both with something in her hands. “Dance the routine you were just taught, blindfolded.” 

“Easy,” Johnny nodded. He grinned at you proudly. “You call this a chall-”

“And you have to successfully switch off partners twice before it’s considered a success,” Min continued. “Luis and I will be dancing beside you and will be waiting for the change.” 

“...I retract my words,” Johnny hummed. “They were foolish and I shouldn’t have said them.” 

“We got this,” you said weakly as you glanced up at him. “Uh...fighting?” 

“Fighting,” he whispered with a wince, lifting his fist half-heartedly into the air. 

You didn’t have this. 

As soon as the blindfolds were situated to cover your eyes, you instantly felt the butterflies reawaken in your stomach. As if dancing with an idol wasn’t difficult enough, you now had to accomplish the feat while being submerged in complete darkness. 

You started out strongly enough. Johnny quickly grasped you and led as the music began, guiding you across the hardwood in perfect time. You felt confident for just a moment, quickly realizing you would have to successfully find Luis and do the routine with him, before finishing up the dance with Johnny. You took a deep breath as your hands left the familiar calluses belonging to your date and found the muscular fingers of your dance instructor. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as you danced in his arms, happy to have located him in an eight count and completing your steps as caught. Granted, your chemistry wasn’t quite as culpable as it had been with Johnny, but the simple fact that you had identified him was a success. 

The music began to change again, signaling another shift in partner as you felt Luis slide from your fingers, and causing you to spin around the dance floor. You waited anxiously to be reunited with your partner. 

But that moment never came. 

The music continued as you stood empty handed, hearing a shuffle across the room followed by laughter. 

“Y/N, we got this!” Johnny gasped, his voice not even remotely close to where you were standing. 

“I...uh...Johnny,” you hummed, beginning to lift your blindfold from your eyes. “I’m not dancing with you.” 

“Then who am I...” he trailed, lifting his own blindfold as well. You tried to hold in your laughter as Johnny clutched tightly to one of the camera men. “You’re correct.” Dropping the hand of the camera man, he stepped away quickly, a bright blush painting his cheeks. “This is very much not you. Not you at all.” 

You let the laughter rip through you as you bent over, your sides hardly managing to put up with your stuttered breaths. 

“I have to say though, he does have incredibly soft hands,” Johnny hummed. “You must moisturize constantly.” 

“I’m not interested,” the camera man said gruffly. “But here.” 

Your laughter slowly died off as another red envelope was being thrust Johnny’s way, a sure sign that you had definitely failed the mission. 

“It’s okay,” you nodded, noting the instant look of disappointment on his face. “It was bound to happen eventually.” 

“I can’t read it,” he sighed, pushing the envelope toward you. “Please, can you?” 

You nodded silently as you took the card from the camera man’s hands and slipped it from the red envelope. “Mission fail. Your second challenge will be replaced with a penalty. Please move on to your next location.” 

“There’s another location?” you asked, lifting your brows. 

“Of course there is,” Johnny grinned. “But that’s the part you’re concerned with? Not the whole ominous penalty thing?” 

“How bad can it be?” you chuckled, patting him lightly on the arm. “I’m with you after all.” 

“Now that I’ve successfully assaulted you AND failed a mission, I can at least feed you,” Johnny grinned, tugging the door open to a quaint Mexican restaurant. 

“Please do not tell me,” you hissed, trying not to explode into a fit of giggles. “You took me salsa dancing...and now we’re about to eat chips and salsa.” 

“Not to point out the obvious,” Johnny smiled. “But what else are you supposed to do after a salsa class?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you gasped, looking up at him in amazement. “And I love it.” 

“Love...yoooou,” he cooed awkwardly followed by a nervous chuckle. “I mean, love this date. Right. Lovin’ it. Sorry, I was just...you know...I get excited and say weird stuff...but like weird can be attractive too sometimes? Right?” 

“Right,” you giggled, always caught off guard by Johnny’s small bursts of nerves. It was amazing to watch him pinball between confidence and embaressment. “Totally attractive.” 

“So how about that salsa?” Johnny laughed, plopping down at one of the tables. 

“Penalty!” the camera man grumbled, handing yet another red envelope to you. 

“Right,” you sighed. “This.” 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny winced. “I’ll do better next time...assuming there’s a next time. Gosh, I hope there’s a next time.” 

You placed your hand lightly on Johnny’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Calm,” he hummed. “Right.” 

“Right,” you nodded. You opened the last red envelope for the day and read along. “Penalty. The salsa you danced was spicy, but this one is spicier. Enjoy your dinner and good luck.”

“And just when I think I’m being clever,” Johnny muttered. “Salsa after salsa and now our tongues are going to fall off.” 

“Is that what happens when you eat spicy food?” you grinned, watching as a waiter brought over a bowl of salsa, dark red in color. 

“You know, it’s what I’ve heard,” he chuckled. “But I refuse to let even a drop pass those cute lips. I’ll handle this penalty on my own.” 

“While that is a sweet gesture, I would prefer for you to keep your tongue in tact,” you laughed, grabbing a chip from the nearby basket. “To us!” 

Johnny took a deep breath as he loaded up his chip with the intimidating dip. “To us!”  

The edges of your lips tingled with a mix of heat and numbness. It was as if your lips had fallen asleep and there was no foreseeable way to wake them. 

“That...ahhh...that wasn’t too terrible,” Johnny whispered, reaching down to entangle his fingers in yours. “I’ve had worse.” 

“I appreciate the lie,” you chuckled. You attempted to exhale quickly, allowing a swift wind to pass through your lips.

“I give the date a ten out of ten,” Johnny smiled, squeezing your hand lightly. “And I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised I got to go on this adventure with you.” 

“Is that right?” you hummed. “Johnny?” 

“Y/N,” he nodded. You had paused, jerking his arm back to halt him from moving forward as you made your slow walk back to the SM entertainment building. 

“I have a question,” you said slowly, unsure if you should make this statement a recurring theme in your dates. 

“Will I marry you?” Johnny teased. “Unsure if I know you well enough just yet, but I’m always open to negotiation.” 

“So really? It’s that easy to get you to marry someone?” you laughed. 

“Not just anyone,” he grinned. “I do have some standards. But concerning most potential marriage inquiries, all it really takes is some video games and a box of gushers.” 

“I’ll try to remember that,” you nodded. “But really, I have a question.” 

“Then please, ask,” he cooed. He shifted his stance, moving so he was standing directly in front of you. 

“Why did you join the cast of My Idol?” you breathed. You were afraid of the answer, afraid of the brutal honesty that could be hurled your way. 

“Well...” he trailed, his eyes searching your face as he spoke. “I’m unsure if you realize, but being an idol is an incredibly lonely existence.” 

“But your members-” you trailed, only to have Johnny begin to laugh. 

“The members are great,” Johnny agreed. “They’re the brothers I never had...or in some cases the brothers I never really wanted. They provide a lot of support...but that’s not what I’m talking about. 

I’m a romantic at heart. And in this string bean body sits a perfectly squishy and soft reserve that really only hopes to be loved. It’s hard to meet people and date people with my profession. Not a lot of potential romantic interests understand or want to open up for the right reasons...whatever that may be. I’m not stupid. I know I don’t know you and you don’t know me...but when I was presented with My Idol, I was presented with a chance to connect with someone who knew what they were signing up for and admittedly, had been vetted enough to be here for at least some of the same reasons I was. 

It was just made better to learn what kind of person you were. And I look forward to learning even more.” 

“If you make it through,” you whispered, biting your lip in an attempt at being cheeky.

“If I make it through,” he smiled sadly. “But even if I don’t...please don’t sue me for breaking your wrist...and I won’t sue you for breaking my heart.” 

“It’s not my choice!” you gasped, smacking him lightly on the chest. “The viewers vote!” 

“I know,” he grinned. “But it sounded good, didn’t it?” 

[ketoeasyrecipes]

healthy recipes to lose weight

Looking for Healthy Recipes to Lose Weight?

If certainly one of your targets is to prepare dinner extra (and more healthy) at residence to stay to your weight loss targets, you may need to set your self up for achievement. A key a part of that's ensuring you've got received an arsenal of recent healthy recipes to lose weight to whip up, which are *additionally* scrumptious. It can really feel rattling close to torturous to place collectively one thing nutritious and flavorful after an extended day of labor. But upon getting a meal-planning playbook, your dinner recreation goes to enhance. Also, you will not be tempted to order takeout if you have already got a yummy, weight-loss pleasant meal prepped and able to go. These 14 healthy recipes to lose weight every have 500 energy or much less and can depart you glad sufficient to stave off cravings till breakfast. Eating wholesome after 5 p.m. simply received a lot simpler.

healthy recipes to lose weight

1. Chunky No Bean Chilli

I’ve stacked this recipe at the start of the article because it’s one of my all-time favorites. There are a couple unusual substitutions found in this recipe but as you’ll see, they pack an extra punch of savory satisfaction.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

1 ¼ pounds ground beef

2 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon dried onion or ¼ cup finely chopped fresh onion

28 oz can crush tomato

15 oz can dice tomatoes

2 tablespoons chili powder

¼ cup balsamic vinegar

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon allspice

½ tsp ground cayenne pepper

1 teaspoon cumin

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 packet sweetener optional

INSTRUCTIONS

Brown the meat and drain fat if needed.

Add the garlic, onion and chili powder and cook with meat for a couple minutes.

Add the remaining ingredients.

Simmer for about an hour.

NOTES

Also try this 19 Quick an Easy Dinner Recipes

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healthy recipes to lose weight

2. Egg & Bacon Muffins

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

1 to 3 packs of smoked or unsmoked bacon (at least 12 strips)

6 small organic eggs

Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 375ºF/190ºC/Gas Mark 5.

Grease 6 wells of a non‑stick muffin pan (or ramekins) with butter, then wrap two or three strips of bacon around the inside of each muffin cup. You may need more or less bacon depending on the size of each strip.

Gently crack one small egg into each muffin cup lined with bacon. Sprinkle a little salt and pepper.

Bake for 30-35 minutes or until bacon is crispy and eggs are cooked through to your taste.

Serve with fresh grilled juicy tomatoes.

NOTES

Also try this 14 Simple Meal Plan to Lose Weight

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healthy recipes to lose weight

3. Thai Fish Cakes

Fish cakes are a tasty treat and infusing them with Thai flavors make them even better, these will definitely activate your taste buds and leave you wanting more. 

They have great texture on the exterior and the interior is light with a slight crispness from the green beans. When accompanied by a sweet dipping sauce it really amplifies the dish. You have an amazing plate that can be served as a snack, side or an appetizer.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

18 oz. white flesh fish fillet, boneless and skinless

2 tablespoons Thai red curry paste

1 tablespoon corn starch

1 beaten egg

4 kaffir lime leaves, finely minced

Salt and pepper to taste

5 green beans, trimmed and thinly sliced

Olive oil for frying

Dipping Sauce

3 tablespoons Reduced Sugar Tomato Ketchup

2 tablespoons chili sauce

INSTRUCTIONS

Add the fish fillet to a food processor along with the red curry paste, corn starch, beaten egg and lime leaves. Season with a little salt and pepper then process until a paste forms. Transfer the paste to a

bowl, add the thinly sliced green beans and fold into

the fish cake mixture.

When the mixture is done divide it into 8 equal portions, form the fish cakes with your hands and place them onto a platter. Once this is done fill a deep pan or wok with enough oil to deep fry the cakes and

heat oil until hot.

Fry the fish cakes in small batches for 3 minutes or until golden brown. When they are fried place them on paper towels to drain the excess oil.

As the fish cakes are draining make the sauce by adding the reduced sugar tomato ketchup and chili sauce into a small bowl. Mix well.

Plate and serve the fish cakes with the dipping sauce and enjoy every bite!

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healthy recipes to lose weight

4. Salad Niçoise

Salad niçoise is the ideal way to display a wonderful bounty of fresh ingredients. This salad is packed with protein and features seared tuna, anchovies, eggs, asparagus spears and an array of vegetables. This French salad recipe is definitely unlike any other salad you have ever had. It is loaded with great ingredients that work surprisingly well.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

Vinaigrette

¾ cup olive oil

½ cup fresh lemon juice

1 small shallot, minced

1 ½ tablespoons fresh basil leaves, minced

½ tablespoon fresh thyme, minced

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard

Pinch of dry oregano

Salt and pepper to taste

Salad

2 tuna steaks, 8 oz. each

Olive oil

½ lemon, juiced

1 tablespoon sesame oil

1 tablespoon soya sauce

Salt and pepper to taste

10-15 asparagus spears

1 cup fresh green beans

2 heads lettuce

2 ripe tomatoes

1 red onion, thinly sliced

6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced in half

¼ cup olives

Anchovies

INSTRUCTIONS

Add tuna steaks to a baking dish and coat with olive oil, lemon juice, sesame oil, soya sauce, salt and black pepper. Cover and marinade in the fridge for one hour.

Heat a large pan over medium high heat and add tuna steaks. Get a nice sear on each side. This should take about 2 minutes per side. Remove from the pan and set aside. 

In a bowl add all the vinaigrette ingredients. Whisk until emulsified.

Place asparagus spears in a pot and cover with hot water from a kettle. Bring to a boil. Cook until tender. Drain, sprinkle with a little salt and pepper. Set aside.

In a smaller pot bring salted water to a boil.

Prepare an ice bath.

Blanch green beans for 3 minutes or until tender.

Place into the ice bath to maintain that lovely color. Drain beans and set aside.

Tear lettuce leaves and place into a salad bowl. Add some of the vinaigrette and toss.

Arrange on a serving platter.

Cut tuna into ½ inch strips and coat with a little vinaigrette. Place in the center of the lettuce.

Toss green beans in about 3 tablespoons of vinaigrette. Place at the end of the bed of lettuce along with the asparagus spears.

Toss tomatoes, red onion and 2 tablespoons vinaigrette in a bowl and place on the lettuce.

Add hard boiled eggs, olives and anchovies

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healthy recipes to lose weight

5. Pan Fried Steak Tomato Salad

There is nothing like a steak dinner that allows the meat to shine on the plate. All that is needed with it is a simple, lightly dressed salad. One great meal that encompasses these characteristics is a pan-fried medium steak with a tomato and rocket salad. The steak is juicy, simply seasoned, and has a nice crust on the outside. The salad has a nice peppery kick.

The sweetness from the tomatoes and a balsamic vinaigrette made with olive oil to dress the salad. The steak will be restaurant quality and the salad is light and fresh with a very satisfying depth of flavor. The first thing to do is focus on making a perfect pan-fried medium steak.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

Steak

Sirloin steak, about 1 inch thick

Salt and pepper to taste

1 teaspoon garlic granules or powder

Unsalted butter

1 teaspoon honey

Salad

1 cup cherry tomatoes

1 cup rocket

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 ½ tablespoons lemon juice

Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

Steak

Bring the steak to room temperature.

Season steak liberally on both sides with salt, pepper and garlic.

Heat a large skillet over high heat.

When skillet is hot adding about 1 tablespoon of butter into the non-stick pan.

Immediately place strip steak on top of the butter (the butter helps to create a nice crust on the exterior).

Allow to sear for about 3 minutes undisturbed.

Turnover and cook for 3-4 more minutes for a medium rare steak.

Remove from skillet.

Allow to rest (resting helps retain juices).

Salad

Halve cherry tomatoes.

In a large bowl combine tomatoes and rocket.

Make a quick dressing by whisking olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper.

Add to salad and toss to coat. Season with a bit more salt and pepper if desired.

Now that your steak is rested and the salad is ready, slice and serve on top of salad.                    

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healthy recipes to lose weight

6. Stir Fry Shirataki Shrimp Noodles

Japanese Shirataki noodles are a great alternative to pasta, they contain no bad carbohydrates, the noodle is low calorie and low carb. Stir fry shrimp noodles is everything you want in a stir fry and so much more. 

All the textures and tastes in this dish just work. You have your crisp elements thanks to the veggies, tender shrimp and softness from the Shirataki noodles. Aside from texture, the aroma is truly unforgettable.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

4 tablespoons dark soy sauce

2 tablespoons sesame oil

1 tablespoon Chinese cooking wine or sherry (optional)

1 thumb size piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced

1-2 teaspoons ground white pepper

1 teaspoon granulated sugar (optional)

¼ cup olive oil

1 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined

4 celery ribs, thinly sliced diagonally

4 scallions/spring onions thinly sliced diagonally

2 medium sized carrots, shredded

1 head of garlic, peeled and minced

1 package Shirataki noodles

INSTRUCTIONS

Prepare the sauce for the stir fry by combining the soy sauce, sesame oil, cooking wine, ginger, white pepper, sugar and mix well.

Once the sauce is done, add half of the oil to a deep saucepan or wok and heat over medium high. Add the shrimp to the hot oil and cook for 4‑5 minutes or until pink and opaque. Remove the shrimp and set those aside.

In the same pan or wok add the remaining oil along with the celery, green onions, carrots and garlic. Stir fry for about 10 minutes or until the vegetables are warmed through but still have crispness and bite. When they are done set them aside.

As for the Shirataki noodles, they are packaged in water so just take them out of the packaging and run them under hot water. Once this is done add the noodles to the hot pan or wok and stir fry for 3 minutes before adding in the sauce, shrimp and vegetables.

When all the components come together stir fry until everything is warmed through and coated with sauce. Now that the dish is ready, serve and enjoy every bite.

NOTES

Also try this 19 Vegan Dinner Recipes

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healthy recipes to lose weight

7. Baked Cod with Vegetables & Herbs

Cod is a wonderful product to cook with. It is a very delicate, mild fish that pairs well with so many ingredients. 

With a few super fresh fillets and some thyme, it is easy to create an impressive dish that pleases all the senses. 

One dish in particular that is quite phenomenal is cod fillets baked in foil accompanied by leeks and carrots. This trio is then seasoned with herbs and spices and cooked until flakey.

Baking in the foil allows the fish to steam until it is perfectly flakey and the vegetables cook down while still maintaining their bite. As for the herbs and spices, they bring the dish to new heights. 

In the end you have little packets of elegance to serve and enjoy.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

Salt and pepper to taste

Dry white wine of choice

2 cod fillets (6 oz each), boneless and skinless

Lemon wedges

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

3 garlic cloves, minced finely

2 teaspoons lemon zest

1 teaspoon fresh thyme, minced

1 ½ tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped

1 cup baby carrots

2 leeks, cut into matchsticks, white and light green part only

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 375ºF/190ºC/Gas Mark 5. Add the butter, a little garlic, a portion of the lemon zest and all of the fresh thyme to a small bowl along with a sprinkle of black pepper. 

Mix to create a seasoned butter for the cod. 

Once this is done, add the remaining garlic, parsley, and lemon zest to a separate bowl and mix to combine.

In a medium sized bowl toss together the carrots and leaks along with some salt and pepper. 

Tear off two sheets of aluminum foil and lay them flat on the counter.

Place a mound of the leek and carrot mix in the center of each sheet of foil and add a splash of white wine along with the juice of a lemon wedge. 

Add a fish fillet on the top of the vegetables and season with black

pepper. 

Top each with half of the seasoned butter and fold the foil to create little packets. 

Place both packets onto a baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes. After this time remove from the oven, unwrap each package to allow steam to escape and check for doneness by making sure that the fish flakes easily with a fork. 

When the fish is done top with the garlic, parsley and lemon zest mixture and serve with lemon wedges.

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healthy recipes to lose weight

8. Chicken Chasseur

Chicken chasseur, which translates to hunter’s chicken, is a classic French dish. This super easy main course is exceptional. The chicken is super tender, the tomatoes add some acidity, the herbs provide a pronounced flavor and the mushrooms bring an amazing earthiness. Making the entire recipe in one vessel ensures that the end result is a beautiful dish that pleases all the senses.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

1 can chopped tomatoes

2 sprigs fresh thyme

2 bay leaves

4 sprigs fresh tarragon

1 small pot double or heavy cream

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour (optional)

Salt and pepper to taste

4 skinned and boned chicken thighs

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large onion, peeled and sliced (or shallots)

1 cup sliced chestnut mushrooms

3 garlic cloves, minced

½ cup dry white wine

2 cups chicken broth

INSTRUCTIONS

Pre-heat an oven to 425ºF/220ºC/Gas Mark 7.

Quickly season the 2 tablespoons of flour with a little salt and pepper. Once seasoned coat the chicken thighs with flour and shake off the excess (this will help brown the chicken).

When the chicken is coated, add oil to a large pan and place over medium high heat. Put chicken thighs into the pan and cook until golden brown on both sides. As soon as the chicken is brown add the sliced onions along with the mushrooms and garlic. Stir continuously until the onions and mushrooms are fragrant then pour in the wine and bring to a boil for 3 minutes.

Follow by pouring in the chopped tomatoes and let the sauce boil and reduce once again for 5 minutes. Add the chicken stock, thyme, bay leaves as well as the fresh tarragon and give it a good stir. Transfer the dish to the preheated oven.

Bake for 30 to 40 minutes. After the 30 to 40 minutes have passed check the chicken for doneness (it should not be pink). Remove from the oven, stir in the heavy cream and serve with vegetables.

NOTES

Also try this 16 Chicken Dinner Recipes

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healthy recipes to lose weight

9. Stuffed Cabbage Rolls

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

1 large white cabbage

Olive oil

1 onion, peeled and finely diced

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 carrot, peeled and finely diced

½ cup mushrooms, finely chopped

2 pounds ground meat of choice(beef, turkey, chicken or pork is fine)

18 oz. can of tomato sauce

1 tablespoon tomato puree

1 teaspoon brown sugar (optional)

1 tablespoon lemon juice

Pinch of red chili flakes

1 cup chicken broth/stock

Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

With a sharp knife carefully core the cabbage and place it into a large pot. Cover the cabbage with water and bring to a boil over medium high heat. Cook for 7-10 minutes or until the leaves are pliable and tender.

When the cabbage is cooked, drain and remove it from the pot. Once cool enough to be handled remove the leaves and lay them flat. Allow to cool for a few additional minutes.

As the cabbage leaves are cooling add about a tablespoon of oil to a large pan. Heat over medium and sauté the onions, garlic, carrots and mushrooms until softened. Once this is done add the ground meat and brown. As the meat is browning preheat the oven to 350ºF/180ºC/Gas Mark 4 and grease a large baking dish with olive oil. When the meat is cooked the filling is done.

Now that you have the filling add about 2 tablespoons in the center of each cabbage leaf, fold in the sides and roll. If the leaves are too thin use two per roll (just make sure to align the spines). Once the rolls are done place them in an even layer in the non-stick baking dish.

In a medium saucepan add the tomato sauce, tomato puree, brown sugar, lemon juice, red pepper flakes and chicken broth/stock. Season with salt and pepper. Once seasoned bring the sauce to a quick and pour this over the cabbage rolls. Now just cover the dish with foil, and bake for 45 minutes. After this time uncover and cook for an additional 5-7 minutes.

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healthy recipes to lose weight

10. Cauliflower Mashed Potatoes

If you like mashed potatoes it is time to try mashed cauliflower. The appearance is very similar but the taste is so much lighter and brighter. Mashed cauliflower still has that rich quality and is packed with essential vitamins and minerals. It is also low carb and low in calories! Here is how to make this healthy mashed potato alternative.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

1 large head of cauliflower

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 - 3 garlic cloves, minced

Olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

Fill a large pot with water, attach a steamer basket and bring to a boil over high heat. If you do not have a steamer basket on hand simply cover pot and bring water to a boil.

As the water is heating up cut the head of cauliflower in half with a sharp knife and carefully remove the stem. Once this is done chop the cauliflower into small pieces.

Steam or boil the cauliflower for about 15 minutes. During this time drizzle a little oil in a small pan and sauté the minced garlic. Sauté while stirring until softened and fragrant.

Check that the cauliflower is tender and remove pot from the heat. Drain the water and transfer vegetable to a mixing bowl along with the garlic, use a hand held potato masher to crush the cauliflower, then add the butter, some salt and a generous amount of pepper. Pound until smooth, taste and adjust seasonings as needed.

Now that the mashed cauliflower is done simply transfer to a plate and serve as desired.

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healthy recipes to lose weight

11. Zucchini Lasagna

Lasagna is a lovely dish. It has the signature layers, the richness, tomato sauce and of course cheese. Although often made with lasagna noodles, why not reduce the carbs and replace the noodles with zucchini (courgetti)? Doing so brightens up the dish and takes out the heaviness while retaining the richness that every lasagna should have.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

Olive oil

1 yellow onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 lb. ground beef or turkey

24 oz. tomato sauce

1 teaspoon oregano

2 sprigs fresh basil, chopped

16 oz. shredded skim-milk mozzarella plus more for topping

½ cup freshly grated parmesan plus more for serving

2 eggs

4 medium zucchini (courgetti’s), cut in ⅛-inch-thick slices

Salt and pepper to taste

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 350ºF and heat a large skillet over medium. Add some olive oil into the skillet along with the onion and garlic. Cook until softened and fragrant. Add the ground meat into the skillet and brown. Season generously with salt and pepper.

Pour the tomato sauce into the pan with the browned meat, add in the oregano, basil and simmer for 10-12 minutes.

As the meat sauce is simmering, combine the mozzarella, parmesan cheese and egg in a bowl to make the mixture for the cheese layer. Mix until the egg is evenly distributed into the cheese.

Direct your attention to the sauce. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed. When the sauce and cheese mix is done, lightly coat a 9 by 13 inch baking dish with oil and arrange the slices of zucchini in an even layer on the bottom. Top this layer with half of the meat sauce and a layer of the cheese mixture. Repeat the layers and finish with zucchini.

Top with mozzarella cheese and cover the lasagna with foil. Bake in the oven for 45 minutes before removing the foil and returning it to the oven for an additional 15 minutes.

Remove from the oven, cool for about 5 minutes, plate and serve with a little parmesan cheese if desired.

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healthy recipes to lose weight

12. Gluten-Free Pizza

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

3 cups (440 g) gluten-free flour blend

1 cup (160 g) white rice flour

1 cup (160 g) brown rice flour

1 cup (120 g) tapioca flour

¾ tsp xanthan gum)

1 tsp salt

½ tsp baking powder

3 Tbsp (37 g) sugar, divided

1 Tbsp (10 g) yeast

1 ¼ cup (300 ml) warm water, divided

1 Tbsp (15 ml) olive oil

Sugar-Free Pizza sauce

1 cup pepperoni

1 cup skim-milk mozzarella & and desired veggies

INSTRUCTIONS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (176 C).

In a small bowl, combine yeast and ¾ cup (180 ml) warm water about 110 degrees F (43 C). Too hot and it will kill the yeast! Let set for 5 minutes to activate. Sprinkle in 1 Tbsp (12 g) of the sugar a few minutes in.

In a separate bowl, combine gluten free flour blend, salt, baking powder and remaining 2 Tbsp (25 g) sugar. Whisk until well combined.

Make a well in the dry mixture and add the yeast mixture. Add the olive oil and additional ½ cup (120 ml) warm water before stirring. Then stir it all together until well combined, using a wooden spoon.

Lightly coat a baking sheet or pizza stone with nonstick spray and plop your dough down. Using your hands and a little brown rice flour if it gets too sticky, work from the middle and push to spread/flatten the

dough out to the edge. You want it to be pretty thin, less than ¼ inch.

Put the pizza in the oven to pre‑bake for roughly 25‑30 minutes, or until it begins to look dry. Cracks may appear, but that's normal and totally OK.

Remove from oven and spread generously with your favorite pizza sauce, cheese and desired toppings. We went with Daiya to keep ours dairy‑free. Pop back in oven for another 20‑25 minutes, or until the crust edge looks golden brown and the toppings are warm and bubbly.

Cut immediately and serve. Reheats well the next day in the oven or microwave.

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healthy recipes to lose weight

13. Coconut Lime Chicken

This coconut lime chicken is for everyone out there who gets unbelievably bored eating plain old chicken day in and day out but can’t be bothered with making anything too fancy for dinner.

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts, about 1 ½ pounds

¼ teaspoon sea salt

¼ teaspoon black pepper

1 tablespoon coconut oil

½ cup red onion

1 whole red chili, chopped optional

1 cup organic chicken stock

2 tablespoons lime juice, about 1 large lime

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

½ teaspoon red chili flakes

½ cup full fat coconut milk from a can or coconut cream

pinch turmeric powder (optional for color)

1 tablespoon arrow root starch for paleo/whole 30 or corn starch mixed into 1 tablespoons water optional

INSTRUCTIONS

Place the chicken breasts between two pieces of plastic cling wrap and pound them down to make them even in thickness. 

This will help the chicken cook evenly and make for more tender chicken. 

Sprinkle each side of the chicken with salt and pepper. 

Melt the coconut oil in a large skillet over a medium high heat on the stove.

Add the chicken breasts and cook each side for 5-7 minutes or until browned on each side. 

Remove the chicken and set aside on a plate. 

The chicken doesn't need to be fully cooked yet because you'll be returning it to the heat shortly. 

Wipe down the pan with a paper towel to remove black/brown bits. Add a little more oil along with the chopped onion to the same skillet and sauté for a few minutes to soften.

Add the chili pepper if you're using it. 

Sauté another couple of minutes. 

Add the chicken stock, lime juice, cilantro and chili flakes.

Bring the mixture to a boil and then reduce down to a simmer. 

Add the coconut milk (and the turmeric if using) and bring to simmer again for another 5 minutes. 

Add the starch and water at this time if you're using it. 

You may need to raise the heat slightly higher to bring this to a boil to activate the starch. 

Once the sauce thickens reduce it back down to a simmer. 

Add the chicken back to the skillet, cover and let cook for another 5-10 minutes or until the chicken is cooked all the way through. 

Serve with rice or cauliflower rice with the sauce spooned over the top. Add an extra sprinkling of cilantro & chilies and enjoy!

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healthy recipes to lose weight

14. Chicken Nuggets

healthy recipes to lose weight

INGREDIENTS

2 lbs. boneless, skinless chicken breasts

½ Cup Dill Pickle Juice

2 eggs, Beaten

1 can Full-Fat Coconut Milk

½ C. Arrowroot Powder

2 Tbsp Paprika

2 tsp garlic powder

¼ tsp cayenne pepper

Salt and pepper to taste - I like to use sea salt

½ Cup coconut oil for frying

INSTRUCTIONS

First, prepare the chicken by dicing into 1-2-inch cubes.

Add diced chicken and pickle juice to a mixing bowl and cover.

Refrigerate for at least 6 hours and up to 24 hours.

After chicken has marinated in pickle juice, drain pickle juice from bowl and add coconut milk and beaten eggs to the chicken.

Toss the chicken in the mixture and let sit for at least 5 minutes.

Mix the dry ingredients- arrowroot powder, salt & pepper, garlic powder, cayenne, and paprika in a shallow pan.

Add batches of chicken to the dry ingredients. 

Make sure to cover each piece of chicken completely with dry ingredients.

Shake off excess powder and place on lined baking sheet.

Heat a cast iron skillet with the coconut oil on mediumhigh heat.

Once the oil is hot, add one batch of chicken at a time.

Do not crowd the chicken- this will take 3 or 4 batchesand make sure to turn each piece individually once the

crust has browned, about 3 or 4 minutes per side.

Drain cooked chicken on a drying rack over a baking sheet.

Keep cooked chicken warm in the oven at 170 degrees.

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healthy recipes to lose weight