#if i absolutely had to choose though i’d probably go with the day court

[joanofexys]

The Start of Forever

reposting an old jerejean piece i wrote literally three years ago largely so i can look back and laugh after reading the sunshine court

“You should come home with me,” Jeremy says it so casually one Thursday night that Jean barely even thinks about the words.

“We are home.” He mutters, focused on mincing garlic for a recipe that Renee sent him.

Jeremy sighs but Jean doesn’t even have to look up to know he was still smiling. He also knew the second he looked up he’d be smiling too. “You’re not wrong but I mean my family home. We have a long weekend and I’m going to go visit them. I’d love it if you came with me.”

There’s the usual enthusiasm in Jeremy’s voice but quieter, mixed with some hesitant hope. Jean could say no and Jeremy would drop it instantly, no questions asked. He spends a few minutes mulling it over, focusing his attention on what he’s cooking.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Jeremy take a seat at the counter. His boyfriend rests his chin in his palm. Jean returns the soft smile Jeremy gives him.

“How many days?”

“Three nights, four days. We’d leave Monday morning or afternoon.” Jeremy replies, adding on a moment later, “and we can always leave earlier if you choose to come. All you’d have to do is say the word.”

Jean hums, considering. “It’s not a no.”

They talk about anything and everything while Jean finishes cooking and Jeremy jumps in to help. They speak mostly in French and Jean occasionally pokes fun at Jeremy’s “horrible” accent. It had admittedly improved but Jean wouldn’t let it go and teased Jeremy at least once every time they held a conversation in French.

He doesn’t bring up Jeremy’s offer until after they finish eating and start washing the dishes. His body is pressed up against Jeremy’s, making things a tad bit inconvenient for them both but the contact is nice.

“Your family will be there, no?”

“My moms, Liv, and Jenna will be for sure.” Jeremy tells him, “Mel wants to visit if she can and she’ll bring Oliver and Bella with her even if Kamryn can’t come with. Rylie will probably stay for a few hours on Saturday too.”

“Meeting your family is a pretty big step.”

“Which is one of the reasons I completely understand if you want to say no. I know they’d all love to meet you but if you’re not ready for that it’s completely okay.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Jean admits quietly, staring at the plate he’s rinsing instead of looking at Jeremy. “We can leave early if I ask?”

He hears the fork Jeremy was drying click against the counter and feels his boyfriend reach up and squeeze his arm. It’s an awkward motion with the way they’re pressed together and Jeremy trying not to move away.

“Of course, we’ll be gone before you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

Jean blinks at him, looking extremely confused. “Say what?”

“You’re joking right?” When Jean shakes his head very slowly Jeremy sighs though his lips are quirking up and it’s enough to soothe any worries Jean might have about Jeremy actually being upset.

“We’re watching Mary Poppins tonight. And we’re gonna listen to supercalifragilisticexpialidocious until you can sing the entire thing.”

“I don’t sing.”

“Then I’ll sing the entire thing and you can just tell me when you have the lyrics memorized.”

Jean clears his throat, raising his eyebrows. “I think we should be making plans and packing to visit your family. Not singing children’s songs.”

“We can do both.”

“Sounds torturous.”

---

Jean absolutely despises the way he has to resist humming supercalifragilisticexpialidocious during the drive. But for the first half-hour, the car is too silent and the stupid song has been stuck in his head since yesterday night. True to his word Jeremy had turned on Mary Poppins and then proceeded to ramble about how much his niece and nephew, Oliver and Bella, loved the movie. He didn’t stop talking, whether it was in French or English until the damn song came on and proceeded to scream-sing the words.

He lasts until 10:45 am before he turns on the radio, cranking it up until a random pop song Jean doesn’t know the name of was near deafening. Jeremy shoots him an odd look but doesn’t ask any questions as Jean tips his head back against the headrest. Three songs later he’s fast asleep and it’s only after two more songs play that Jeremy dares to turn down the volume. Lest the change somehow manage to wake Jean.

He dozes for the next hour and a half, occasionally waking up only to shift in his seat, yawn, and promptly fall back asleep. His third time waking up he stretches his hand out onto the console and Jeremy subconsciously takes one hand off the steering wheel to intertwine their fingers.

The final time he wakes up it’s near 1:00 and it’s Jeremy’s voice coaxing him into consciousness. He’s talking about the most random things but pauses when notices Jean peeling his eyes open to glare at him. Jean’s met with the most blinding and brilliant smile and his expression softens, giving Jeremy an attempt at a tired smile.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes, I figured you’d appreciate being woken up before we get there. But I didn’t know if touching you would be okay.”

Jean yawns, scrunching up his neck and shoulders. He mutters something in French that Jeremy doesn’t catch. Turning in his seat to face Jeremy, which isn’t very comfortable with the seatbelt, he leans his head against the headrest again but keeps his eyes open and watches Jeremy drive. It takes him until they pull into the driveway to finally feel awake and he immediately grabs onto Jeremy’s hand, not even remembering letting go the first time.

“You still okay with this?” Jeremy asks when he turns into the cul de sac.

Jean nods, focused on fiddling with Jeremy’s fingers. “Yes.”

There are two girls rushing outside the moment Jeremy pulls into the driveway. One of them, the one who looks youngest who Jean assumes is Liv, wrenches open the driver’s door for Jeremy and climbs into the car to hug him. One of Jeremy’s moms, Isabelle, comes around to the passenger side to open the door for Jean. She has a kind smile and face that shows years of bright smiles and laughter. On the surface, she and Jeremy looked nothing alike but if you looked a little deeper the happiness she radiated was the same as Jeremy, something akin to warm sunlight. Jean had to resist scowling at himself, it was Jeremy who had made him sappy like this. The second he stepped out of the car he offered her a hand which she enthusiastically shook.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jean tells her, unsure of whether to address her by her first name or Mrs. Knox or even ma’am.

“And it’s wonderful to meet you, Jean. We’ve been waiting for this since Jeremy called us just gushing about how amazing you are.”

“Ma!” Jeremy exclaims, a red flush crawling up his ears and neck. Jean can’t help the amused smile that forces itself onto his lips and Jeremy rolls his eyes when he sees it. “Oh, that’s just the ego boost you need. It’s true though, you’re amazing and I could talk about it for hours.”

Now it was Jean’s turn to blush, pursing his lips and looking at the cement. Isabelle lets go of his hand but not before squeezing it between her own in a comforting gesture.

“He very nearly did by the way.” Stephanie Knox, Jeremy’s other mom, drawls. “This boy would not have shut up about you if he didn’t have early morning practices to worry about. It was the only reason he stopped and went to bed.”

“Mom, do we have to start with this immediately? We just got here.”

She pins Jeremy with a look that Jean can only describe as a mom look, despite having no clue what that would actually be. “Alright, alright. I’ll give it a rest until your sisters get here, I’m sure they’ve got plenty of stories they’d love to tell your honey.” Then she turns to the “honey” in question who is probably the most terrified he has ever been in his life and is praying to god it doesn’t show on his face.

“It’s lovely to have you here, Jean. We were thrilled when Jeremy called and said you’d decided to join us this weekend.”

“I’m happy to be here, Jeremy’s told me a lot about you all.”

“And Jeremy’s told us a lot about you.” Jenna, who was 14 if Jean was remembering right, shimmies her shoulders and waggles her eyebrows. Her grin widens when Jeremy pinches her shoulder and hisses at her to shut up.

“A lot a lot a lot a lot a lot,” Liv emphasizes, nodding furiously with wide eyes.

Jean shoots Jeremy a panicked look as subtly as he can, having no idea how to respond to all this. It seems he wasn’t subtle because both Isabelle and Stephanie seem to pick up on it.

“Alright let’s head inside. Jeremy, you can help Liv and me in the kitchen.” Stephanie says, already ushering her two youngest kids to the door.

Jeremy trails behind slowly, waiting for Jean to join him. Isabelle is a few steps behind them and shuts the door with a quiet click.

“You two can grab your stuff in a little bit, for now, you can just relax and visit. Unless you’d prefer to unpack now.”

“It can wait-” Jeremy’s sentence is interrupted by Stephanie’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“Damn right it can wait, get your tush in here and get started on seasoning this chicken.”

“You don’t mind chicken tacos for dinner right?” Isabelle asks. “We thought about trying out something French but Jeremy said not to bother.”

Jean nods, letting out a small nervous chuckle. “Yeah, that’s fine by me. I’m not picky.”

“Liar!” Jeremy calls out from the kitchen. “You are one of the pickiest eaters I have ever met, you won’t even touch half of the stuff Laila makes.”

“I promise I am not that bad,” Jean tells Isabelle, eyes wide. “Laila is a horrible cook, I didn’t know we were supposed to keep that a secret until it was too late.”

Isabelle gives him a toothy grin as Jeremy’s laughter rings out and she reaches out to squeeze Jean’s arm. “I’ll show you around the house and then you can help me pick out some board games.”

Jean almost bangs his head against the nearest wall when he nods again. This was by far the most awkward experience of his life and it was with Jeremy’s family for fucks sake. Though he could always reassure himself with the fact that he never properly learned how to socialize with people, especially those who are virtually strangers. He’ll treat this as a learning experience and hopefully interact normally with Jeremy’s family.

Besides, how difficult could dinner and some board games be? If it doesn’t go well they can always leave.

---

Dinner is one of the most awkward experiences of Jean’s life. It starts when Rylie flings the front door open and Jean absolutely will not admit to how much it startled. Mel arrives about fifteen minutes later with the twins at her heels giggling like maniacs. When Bella ends up latching onto Jean’s leg he throws Jeremy a panicked look and only gets his asshole of a boyfriend laughing in return.

Mel’s wife Kamryn is unable to make it but Mel makes up for the lack of her presence by showing Jean a bajillion photos. Rylie groans at that and sits on Jean’s other side on the couch, pulling out her phone to show Jean some photos of the animals from the shelter she works at.

When Jeremy trails into the main room, an insane amount of food balanced precariously in his hands, he shoos both of his sisters away after placing the food on the coffee table. Though he wants to Jean doesn’t question the fact that they seem to eating dinner in the main room and not the dining room.

Rylie settles down on the floor, pulling Liv into her lap even as her younger sister squeals and squirms before settling down so she can steal food from Rylie’s plate. Jenna tries to sneak off to her room before Stephanie calls her back and she plops into an armchair with a small huff. Mel dishes up food for her twins first before telling them to be careful about spilling anything and then starts on two more plates. Jean doesn’t pay her too much attention, not when Jeremy is laying back on the couch and pulling Jean into him. A position Jean still can’t believe Jeremy actually enjoys, he still worries that he’s crushing Jeremy despite all reassurance Jeremy has given him.

He blinks, bemused when Mel holds out the plates in their direction. Jerking her head in a signal for them to grab the plates. Jean does so, muttering a thanks, and silently wishes he could fly into the sun.

Gradually he begins to relax, Jeremy’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and across his chest something grounding to focus on. He stays on the outskirts of the conversation despite Jeremy, Isabelle, and Stephanie’s best attempts. It’s only when Rylie exclaims something in French, catching Jean’s attention, that he really starts to include himself. He starts by conversing with just Rylie, fully in French, and soon enough Jenna and Liv are asking for him to teach them French and it escalates from there until Jean is smiling and laughing and he feels more comfortable than he expected. Still awkward but he feels okay in his ability to carry a conversation with them all.

“You’ve never played Clue?” Mel exclaims as if he’s personally offended her.

“No…” Jean raises his brows, confused.

“Alright everyone clear off the table, we’re playing Clue right now. Jeremy I can’t believe you’ve let this happen.”

“Shut the hell up, Mel.” Jeremy mumbles, face pressed against Jean’s hair. “He’s doing his best.”

Jean pinches him in the side, thinking about Jeremy chastising him about Mary fucking Poppins last night.

That night Jean discovers he really is quite horrible at Clue. It doesn’t work the same way as observing people and things in real life. No one knows what’s going on. It’s basically pure luck. Jeremy looks far too happy about his contempt for the game.

“Finally something you’re bad at,” Jeremy sighs in French. Rylie laughs into her hand and Jean glares.

Needless to say Jean loses every time. Mel wins every time, which makes sense with how much she clearly loves the game. And Jean discovers he doesn’t quite hate being around Jeremy’s family, he’d almost say he loves it actually.

---

Jean is sprawled out on his back on the bed, watching Jeremy unpack the rest of his stuff (cons to not being a light traveler. Jean’s grateful he has never and will never pack as much as his boyfriend) when Jeremy asks the question.

“So do you like them?” Jeremy sounds nervous, pursing his lips together.

Jean doesn’t like his worried expression and gives Jeremy one of his rare smiles in hopes of washing that nervousness away. “They’re amazing.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, idiot.” Jean pauses when Jeremy sinks onto the mattress next to him and he takes a moment to wrap his arm around Jeremy and pull him closer. “They’re all very nice and I liked spending time with them. I liked seeing this part of your life and they obviously mean a lot to you.”

Jeremy tucks himself closer to Jean, tossing a leg across his torso. “They mean the world to me. Just like you do.”

Jean hums, pursing his lips to hide his smile. A moment later he gives into it, allowing a silly grin to curve his lip before pressing a kiss to Jeremy’s forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Awwwwww.”

Their heads snap up, spotting Liv, Jenna, Rylie, and Mel huddled in the doorway. All four of them are smiling but they all flush as they realize they were caught.

“Now you’ve done it, Jen,” Rylie mutters, smacking Jenna on the shoulder.

“We were just going to ask if you guys wanted some hot chocolate and to watch a movie with us,” Mel explains.

“Uh-uh,” Jeremy says, grinning. “Sure you were.” He sits up to grab a pillow and chucks it at his sisters. “You definitely weren’t spying. Out, out, out.”

The four stumble down the hall, laughing loudly, and Jean’s gaze flicks between Jeremy and the door.

“Shut the door-” Jeremy pauses mid shout. “And they’re gone.”

“Mom,” Jean hears Liv yell from somewhere else in the house, “Jeremy says he’s in love!”

Jean decides that he really likes the Knox family. And he really loves Jeremy.

[velidewrites]

Another ask the blogger (not thirst I promise) if you could live anywhere in prythian, where would it be and what would it look like?

After much consideration I’ve decided I can’t choose just one so please enjoy this Pros and Cons List of Prythian’s Seven Courts.

The Spring Court. I’m sure the gardens are nice but the idea of having bugs all over the place makes it a huge pass. Comes with a hot but unstable High Lord. Not a problem if, like me, you have an “I can fix him” mentality and a very flexible moral compass.

The Night Court. Overhyped but gorgeous nonetheless. Comes with the risk of seeing your government fucking in the sky while you’re out grocery shopping. Is it raining or is my High Lord just really horny?

The Winter Court. It pains me to say this as a December baby but I’d have enough of the cold after a month if not less. I could see myself visiting once a year solely for the unmatched Winter Solstice parties and their very sexy High Lady. I could treat her so right.

The Dawn Court. Amazing, sensational, never-been-done-before. Features beautiful views and, if I remember correctly, winged men without severe anger issues. Whilst I would actively hate the fact that everyone there is prettier than me, the chill and unbothered vibes still make it a great place to live.

The Summer Court. Not a huge fan of sand but their High Lord makes it 100% worth it. Rumour has it he can turn into a dolphin and, like I said before, my morals are hanging by a thread these days. 10/10 would give it a try.

The Day Court. Absolutely ZERO cons. Pretty sun and libraries with literally any book you want. You could lock me up there and I’d still never try to leave. Comes with the world’s hottest DILF. What’s not to like?

The Autumn Court. Once again, a questionable moral compass may come in handy but the men have long, red hair which makes it all okay. Bonus points for close ties to the Day Court which gave us the perfect fire to glow dick ratio. I’d move in tomorrow.

Anonymously (or not) ask me any question you’d like to know about me

[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. 

[searenbound]

As early said, here’s three sets of head canons from the old blog for my babies that I so lovingly edited together for you all to enjoy

Warnings: swearing, sexual activity, omegaverse

Pairings: Shouto Todoroki x reader, Izuku Midoriya x reader, Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Todoroki

- Let’s be honest here poor baby wouldn’t be allowed to behave like an Omega at home

- Endeavor would probably see it as shameful for his ‘perfect creation’ to be an Omega rather than an Alpha

- He would absolutely attempt to gain his Alpha’s attention as soon as realized he liked her

- Both as an act of defiance and genuine interest

- He wouldn’t really know how to get her to court him at first

- Just kinda leaves his stuff where she’ll find them in hopes that she’ll get the hint and scent the item(s) for him

- “Oh hey! Todoroki-kun! You left your sweater behind when we were studying, sorry about the smell I kinda got my scent on it by accident” “That’s alright, I like your scent” “I, ahem… I could um s-scent more things for you if you want?”

- When it comes to nesting, he’s kinda lost

- He wasn’t allowed to make nests at home so even though the instinct and desire to build them is there he has no clue how to act on it

- When he starts feeling more comfortable in their relationship, he’d ask her for help

- He knows Alphas don’t nest like Omegas, but he figures that if he’s going to ask someone it should be the other person who’ll spend time in it

- Her advice is to find a place that makes him feel safe and secure and just let his instincts do the rest

- And that’s how she ended up with her Omega’s nest inside of her closet

- “(Yn)? Have you seen- why are you in the closet?” “My Omega demanded I take a nap with him and I’m in capable of telling him no” “But, why yo-?” “His nest is in here” “Wh-” “I’d like to repeat, I am incapable of telling Shouto no”

-Despite her obvious claim over her Omega, there’s still gonna be other’s who disrespect their relationship, which brings us to jealousy and of course it goes both ways

- He thinks it’s really cute when she gets jealous

- She doesn’t usually get possessive just agitated that someone would even think they had a shot at him

- When she does get possessive though, oh boy

- There’s a part of him that gets really excited

- She’s shorter than he is so she’ll tug on him until his face is buried in her neck and start scenting him

- Normally he isn’t into PDA but something about his Alpha making sure everyone around had no doubts about who’s Omega he is just so hot to him

- “He’s mine and I have no problem kicking in your teeth if that’s what gets it into your thick skull"

- When an Omega starts trying to flirt with her, he doesn’t usually care

- She’s really good at shutting them down quickly so he just lets her handle it

- On the off chance that the other Omega is still being pushy is when he gets mad

- He’ll stand behind her and stare them down until they get the hint and leave

- If that doesn’t work, he’ll get aggressively affectionate and demand to go back to his nest and be scented

- He doesn’t feel like getting into a physical fight, so his goal is to make them as uncomfortable as possible

- If it still doesn’t work well rip to the poor fool who that it was a good idea to still try to take his Alpha away after he literally begged to be scented

- “Alpha let’s go, if we stay any longer, I might hurt someone”

Midoriya

- One of the most sought-after Omega in Yuuei

- It’s rare for an Omega to get into the hero course and even rare for them to actually become a hero

- But there’s Baby boy doing his damnedest to become a great hero and that’s interesting to most Alphas

- He didn’t need to pursue an Alpha they just flocked to him much to his frustration

- Started being interested in his Alpha because she didn’t make such a big deal of him being an Omega

- “Why are you guys so weird about him? Yeah, he’s an Omega and that’s cool and all, but he came here for the same reason the rest of us did and shouldn’t be treated like some trophy to be won” “But you’re trying to court him to” “That’s because he’s already mine, fuck off”

- He didn’t realize she was trying to court him

- He just kind assumed she was just being nice to him

- He’s not going to complain

- Is just kinda like ‘I guess I have an Alpha now, that’s cool!’

- He’s constantly asking her to scent stuff for him

- His nest has so many scented items that it barely even smells like him and he loves it

- Has been caught rolling around in it because he missed her, and this was easier then seeking her out to ask to be scented

- “What are you doing Omega?” “O-oh, I uh I missed you and my nest smells like you so…” “Izuku Baby, I’m going to need you to stop being so cute, it makes me really want to give you some pups and we’re still too young for that” “H-huh?!”

-Jealousy isn’t the hugest problem, but it definitely happens more often than either cares for

-Like I said earlier he’s a really sought-after Omega, so he has someone trying to take him away from her every other day

- Nothing less than bonding him proper will get them to completely stop

- It’s annoying for both of them

- Like he’s practically smothered in her scent, but he’ll still has to tell others to back off because she’s his Alpha

- When she gets fed up with his so-called suitors, she’ll get really possessive

- She’ll wrap her arms around his waist from behind and bite down on his scent gland

- Not hard enough to bond him but enough to make a very clear point

- "He already told you to stop, you should listen to him because I’ve got no problem with showing you he’s mine”

- When he gets jealous it’s really cute

- It doesn’t happen often since he has that reputation of being a prized Omega

- Most don’t bother with trying to tempt his Alpha but when they do, he gets huffy

- She’d never stray from him but since she thinks it’s cute when he pouts, she won’t stop the other Omega right away

- She won’t flirt back of course, she’s just ignoring them really but that never seems to be enough of a hint

- He’ll literally just drag her off without a word until they get to his nest

- “You’re so mean, you should have told them to stop (Yn)!”

Bakugou

- She didn’t court him he courted her

- As soon as he noticed her that was it

- That was his Alpha and any other Omega who was interested could fuck right off

- Was genuinely worried that he might be too aggressive of an Omega for her

- Tried to tone it down and act more like a traditional Omega in hopes that she’d pay more attention to him

- Turns out she was into the whole feisty ‘Fuck you, you’re my Alpha now’ attitude he had

- “Why are you being so weird? You’re acting like-” “Like an Omega shou-” “Not my Omega! Mine’s a little shit who keeps stealing all my good hoodies because he thinks I don’t notice and that’s exactly the way I want him! How I want you!” “I- wait what do you mean I’m a little shit?!” “That’swhat you choose to focus on?!”

- Ok he’s obviously not your average Omega but he has the strongest nesting urges out of these three

- Tries to claim he doesn’t nest though

- That clearly carefully constructed pile of soft things tucked away in the corner of his room is just a pile of shit he hasn’t put away

- So, what if he likes to put things, he’s gotten from her in that pile?

- It’s also a coincidence that it just happens to be big enough for both of them to comfortably lay in it together

- He just happens to like cuddling her in it, but doesn’t make it a nest, damnit!

- “You know it natural for you to make a nest, right? You don’t have to be so embarrassed by it” “Fuck off, it’s not a nest” “Katsu, we’re literally laying in it right now, do you really expect me to believe that this is just a random pile of stuff?” “It’s not a nest! One more word and I’ll kick you out of it!” “If it’s not a nest and just a pile then how are you gonna kick me out?” “I swear to- oh fuck off!”

-Jealousy is very surprisingly not a problem here at all and it amazes everyone around them

- She never gets jealous over him

- She doesn’t have to because he handles it himself when others try anything

- He gets genuinely offended by other Alphas trying to court him

- They tend to be interested in trying to ‘tame’ him and he ain’t putting up with that

- Not when his Alpha already treats him so well and loves him the way he is

- when he gets tiered of a particularly stubborn Alpha, he’ll stomp over to her and cling to her side

- “You fucking see this?! This is my Alpha! I don’t fucking need your shitty ass when I already have the best damn Alpha, shithead!”

- She also handles it herself when Omegas come onto her

- He would get jealous if it wasn’t for how she handles it

- She gets mad and disgusted that they even attempted to approach her

- Tells them off right away

- He thinks it’s really hot that she gets so defensive on his behalf and so mean about it too

- One of the only times he’ll call her Alpha in public

- It’s also something that makes him really consider giving her a few pups like right that moment

- “You, annoying little bitch! You have some nerve thinking you could take my Omega’s place! Look at him, why would you think I would want you over him?”

-Ok, so I didn’t really know how to include the head canons about their heats in a cohesive way so I decided to stick them right at the end because I want them with the other head canons

Todoroki

- Baby boy is a bit clingy even when he’s not in heat so once he is?

- Oh boy

- He’s so needy and it’s really cute ok?

- He pretty much needs to be in constant physical contact or he starts to panic a little

- He hates that he clings to her like that because he thinks it’s embarrassing

- He really can’t help it though

- He’s been on strong suppressants pretty much since he first presented

- As a result the heats he did experience were intense and lonely until he was with her

- She’s the first and only Alpha he’s ever trusted enough to be around him and take care of him during his heat and he can’t stand the idea of her not being right there within his reach

- He eventually decides to stop taking suppressants

- He trusts her to take care of him and wants to experience everything he can with her and this was no exception in his eyes

Midoriya

- She might as well permanently move into his nest because she’s not leaving it anytime soon

- He has stupidly high stamina and an even higher sex drive

- Baby has always had heats intense enough to throw any interested Alpha into a rut when they get a whiff of him

- So she’s understandably possessive and protective during the days leading up to and during his heat

- He loves it

- Loves that she’s protective and won’t let anyone to get close to him

- It makes him feel spoiled and like she puts him on a pedestal

- Though it is little troublesome when she starts picking fights because some Alphas can’t respect that they’re mates

- He gets it, but he’d rather have her fucking him instead of having to stop her from fucking others up

Bakugou

- The neediest fucking brat oh my God

- Will drag her off to his nest and then act like he isn’t in the middle of his heat and doesn’t need to be fucked

- Will try to deny that he’s in heat and gets huffy when she presses the matter

- Really, he just wants her to be more assertive

- Just really wants his Alpha to put some effort into trying to take care of him

- It makes him feel desirable and like he has her wrapped around his fingers

- We all know it’s the other way around but just let him have this, it means a lot to him

- Once he gives into his heat, he’s so whiny

- Begs for her to lavish him in attention

- Doesn’t matter what type of attention she gives him as long as she’s catering to his every whim and desire

- He’s so loud to, no one has any doubt about what they’re doing

[rhysismydaddy]

Pre-mating bond reveal Feysand Smut request! Featuring feyre in some lingerie and a whipped Rhys ps. I love your fics

On the long, never-ending list of things I need to be doing right now, this is definitely at the bottom.

I need to find out what Azriel learned from his spies in the human realm, make sure Amren and Cassian haven’t gone to wreck the Summer Court, and pay my taxes.

Watching Feyre shop for lingerie is below the fucking taxes. It’s below everything.

And yet here I am, staring with too much interest as she runs her finger along lacy unmentionable after lacy unmentionable.

I’m mesmerized, desperate to know which one she’ll choose to buy. The simple knowledge that she has it will torture me, but I don’t even care. I have to know.

Five minutes go by, then ten.

I follow her like the whipped little bitch I am as she circles the store once more, making sure my face doesn’t betray my interest in the teal little thing in the corner.

“You know what, I don’t think I’ll get anything,” she announces suddenly, turning to me to analyze me with those beautiful, too-observant blue eyes of hers.

“Alright.”

“I mean, do men--sorry, males--even care about this kind of thing? Or do they just prefer their women to be naked?” She peers up at me, lips curved into an innocent smile. “Which do you prefer?”

“Last I checked, I don’t have any women.”

She shrugs like that’s irrelevant. “You’re buying it. You should have an opinion.”

Before I can even start to respond, she’s closing in on me, putting a hand against my chest and leaning in co-conspiratorially. “Hypothetically, if you were to come home to find me draped across your bed, what would you prefer I be wearing?”

She grabs something off one of the racks, and the feel of lace on my arm makes blood shoot straight to my crotch. “Something like this? Or nothing at all?”

My jaw aches from being clenched so hard, and there’s absolutely no way I can respond, so I just shrug.

Feyre smiles knowingly and flits across the store, snatching up the piece I’d been subtly--at least I thought--eyeing the entire time.

She drops it on the counter and gestures over her shoulder to me. “I’ll take this. He’s paying.”

I roll my eyes but nod when the clerk looks at me, and she makes a valiant attempt at hiding a smile. Once the damned thing is wrapped up, Feyre slips the bag on her arm and gives me a bright smile.

“I’m going home.”

My chest clenches at that word, just like it always does, but I ignore it. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got what I wanted from you,” she teases, shaking the bag in my face. “But who knows? Maybe in... two or three hours when you come home, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Fucking hell, she’s going to kill me.

But the question is... is she just teasing me, or is she serious?

~

Exactly two and a half hours later, I find out.

She was fucking serious.

She’s...

Ah, fuck.

Fuck.

I’m frozen in the door, staring at her, and I can’t think about anything besides how right this feels.

Coming home to find her in my bed, wearing some wonderfully indecent negligible, looking at me with so much blatant lust it almost chokes me.

It’s so fucking right.

But it’s also wrong, because she doesn’t even know why it’s right.

Because I still, still, haven’t told her that she’s mated to me.

Because I’m stupid.

Stupid or not, I realize I’ve been standing here like some mute idiot for a little too long. “Hello, Feyre darling.”

She smiles at me, a warm smile that makes my chest ache, and I grip the doorframe to keep myself from striding to her and tasting it.

If she knew, she wouldn’t smile like that. She’d probably scream at me and rage and curse the gods for giving her someone like me.

And I don’t want to tell her, because I’m selfish and love the look on her face. Right now... right now she’s looking at me like I’m everything.

With a dramatic flourish that makes my lips twitch, she throws the cover off of herself, allowing me an unobstructed view of the overpriced contraption I bought earlier tonight.

It’d stood out to me because of the color. The bright turquoise is almost the exact shade of her eyes, and it’s beautiful against the pale backdrop of her skin.

The color, however, is not what my mind is focused on.

It’s focused on the way the lace frames the smooth swell of her hips, the way its not exactly solid enough to hide the rosy color of her nipples, the way the thin, feeble straps are slipping off her shoulders.

No longer able to stop myself, I stroll over and brace my hands against the edge of the bed.

I take another long look, starting at her pretty red toenails and ending at the challenging look in her eyes.

“Hi, Rhysand.” She says my name slowly, like a woman who knows she has a man in the palm of her hand. “So? Do you like it? Or would you prefer me in nothing at all?”

“You’ll have to give me a comparison,” I respond, forcing my eyes away from the swell of her breasts for a moment. “But maybe later. Right now, I’m interested in this little get up. It did cost me quite a bit of money, you know.”

Reaching out, I grab her ankles and slide them around until her body’s facing me.

“I’m afraid I can’t see all of it, though.”

She understands and smoothly turn over, putting the rest of the little set on wide display.

And by the rest of it, I mean the tiny slip of blue lace resting above the curve of her backside.

She’s temptation incarnate, a woman designed by the gods to drive me happily to insanity.

“Hm,” I murmur nonchalantly, running my finger along the material softly but not touching the skin I’m suddenly desperate to bite.

She shivers, and the fact that I’m affecting her but barely even touching her does little harm for my ego.

Reminding myself yet again that I should walk out of this room and lock the door behind me, I put a hard boundary in place.

I can’t fuck her.

Not yet. Not while she doesn’t know who I really am to her.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t satisfy the insane curiosity that’s been demanding for weeks I find out how she tastes.

“Turn over again.” She complies, and I lean to press a kiss to the top of her ankle. “Now spread those pretty legs for me, Feyre darling.”

Slowly, her feet slide apart on the sheet, and I trace the movement to look at the apex of her thighs. My hands glide up her skin, and she sighs, the sound so goddamn pretty I have to take a deep breath to calm myself.

I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and her hand shoots out to grab my hair and force my eyes back to hers. “I want-”

I know what she’s going to say, so I cut her off. “And while I’d love to give you anything and everything you want, we don’t have time.”

“We have all night.”

“Mm, true.” Another kiss, but this time I dart my tongue out to taste her skin. Holy fuck, she’s perfect. “But when I fuck you, Feyre, I’ll need longer than one night. I’ll need days, maybe even weeks. I’ll need you to be so strung out on me you can’t breathe, so desperate you beg. And we’ll definitely need to be out of the city, because I plan on making you scream my name loud enough to wake the dead.”

It isn’t the whole truth, but not one word was a lie.

It seems to do the trick because Feyre settles back, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Proceed, then.”

She’s trying to play it like she’s so unaffected, despite the fact I can smell her arousal and see the way she’s clenching the bedsheet.

I slid to my knees, bowing before my mate, and pull her ankles until her legs rest over my shoulders. I realize my wings are out, yet another testament to how different this is, how unhinged I’m becoming.

For a moment, I just familiarize myself with the feel of her skin, so unbelievably soft and warm against my palms. She lets me touch her, leaning up on her elbows to watch.

Making eye contact with her, I lean down and press my nose to the apex of her thighs. And inhale.

Even though it’s been teasing me for the past five minutes, the full scent of her hits me like a punch to the gut, and a low, satisfied sound escapes my throat.

She blushes, color blooming high on her cheeks, and I smile up at her.

Mumbling something I’m too distracted to hear, she falls back on the bed and puts a hand over her face. 

Is she... praying?

Gods, I’m going to enjoy this. I’m going to drive her crazy, make her feel as undone as I do.

As soon as I can figure out how to get this fucking contraption off her.

Lace and little straps are everywhere, and I mess with it for a minute before giving up and just ripping the bottom half off.

“Rhysand,” she scolds, like I wasn’t the one to buy the damn thing.

I’d reply, say something witty, but now she’s bare before me, and the sight of her thighs spread for me, the obvious sign of her arousal... it undoes me.

My mouth is on her before I can think about it, tongue tasting her and immediately dipping inside for more because holy hell.

She tastes better than anything I’ve ever had. Better than cool water on the hottest day, fresh sweets, ripe fruit, whatever.

A low groan meets my ears, igniting a fire in my blood, but I keep my pace slow, not wanting this to ever end.

Her hips start shifting, desperate for more friction, but I hold them still and keep her exactly where I want her. I run my tongue around her clit, then suck on it gently, and her thighs tighten around my head.

“Rhys.”

The name I’ve heard for five hundred years has never sounded better, and as soon as we’re done here, I’m making it a law that no one but her can say it. 

I kiss her slowly, keep going until she’s panting and cursing and saying my name over and over and over.

She comes on my tongue, attempting to strangle me with her lovely thighs, but I don’t stop. I honestly don’t think I can.

I taste her until I’m drunk on it, breathe her in until she’s all I can smell, fill my hands with her soft skin.

I can tell she’s getting close again, so right as release hits her, I slip two fingers inside her and shift my mouth to her inner thigh, sucking on the skin until it’s sure to leave a mark.

I’m trying not to be too possessive, but the thought of her walking around with a little reminder of whose mouth was on her drives me a little crazy. I push my fingers into her again, kissing the other thigh.

Gods, the feel of her around me... her smell surrounding me... it’s almost too much.

She seems to agree.

“Rhys,” she pants, half sobbing. She’s limp on the bed, legs trembling as I kiss them. “It’s too much. You’re too much. I can’t-”

Dropping a kiss to her hip bone, I crawl up her body, bracing myself on my free hand.

The other keeps moving as I lean down to brush my lips across her ear. “You can, and you will. I’ve wanted you for weeks, Feyre darling, and I’m not about to stop at two measly little orgasms.”

I push my fingers into her a little harder for emphasis, and she arches up into me, pressing her breasts against my chest. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

“I would never let anything happen to you,” I tell her, meaning the words. Hell, I’d mean them even if she wasn’t my mate.

Her head falls back as she gives in to the pleasure we both know she wants, and I drop a kiss the arch of her neck as a reward.

She hums, a happy little mmm sound that makes me grin.

Her hips lift and circle as she rides my hand, and as she breathes my name again in that husky little tone, I can’t hold out anymore.

I kiss her, exactly how I’ve wanted to since the moment I first saw her.

Her head tilts, lips opening for me, and it sends a bolt of pure fucking joy through me at how natural it is.

An entirely different emotion shoots through my veins as she sucks on my tongue. I know she can taste herself, and the thought makes my cock throb. I’m lying further down then she is, so I press my hips into the mattress to relieve some tension.

Not that it helps when I know exactly how she feels around my fingers and how much better she’d feel around a different part of me.

I nip her lip for being so annoyingly perfect, and she wraps her arms around my neck, using her hands in my hair to pull me closer.

She’s kissing me back, kissing me as if she can’t get enough, and it’s like a fever broke out and consumed us, driving us to a frenzy.

I realize I’ve horribly ignored her breasts and shift to tug the lacy blue bralette down far enough to free them. The tips go rigid under my stare, and for a moment all I can do is try to remember how to breathe.

Then I capture one in my mouth, circling the tip with my tongue in time with the movements of my hand.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she murmurs, the words an incentive as I switch to her other breast.

I’m all over her, pressing kisses to her chest and neck and mouth like I can’t get enough.

Because I can’t. No amount of this will ever be enough.

Eventually, her grip on my hair starts to tighten, and I press my lips to her ears to whisper, “Come for me, Feyre darling.”

Probably for the first and only time, she does what I tell her. As soon as her mouth opens to release a sound that’ll probably make me come in my pants, I capture her lips with mine.

I keep going until every last little helpless whimper stops, then pull my fingers out and lift up slightly to look at her.

Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, kissed lips. Beautiful.

For a second, we just lay there and stare at each other, and I swear to gods, the words are right on the tip of my tongue. You’re my mate, Feyre.

Fuck, I want to tell her.

If only for the two percent probability that she doesn’t try to kill me or become disappointed by the news. The thought of that two percent, of what it’d feel like to be loved by her--not just desired--is almost enough to risk it.

But in the end, I’m a coward, drawing away from her and pulling the sheet over her. “Sleep,” I say softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. 

She reaches for me. “Rhysand, I can-”

“It’s okay, gorgeous. This was about you.” She blinks up at me, blue eyes so godsdamn bright. I brush a finger over her cheek and say honestly, “I wanted this to be about you.”

“Okay,” she whispers back, obviously exhausted enough to not argue, turning on her side and getting comfortable in my bed. I know her smell will be all over my sheets tomorrow, one more temptation I’ll have to deal with. “But next time, it’s about you.”

I get to my feet before I can commence next time. The thought of her hands on me... I could sit still and let that woman touch me all day, and I wouldn’t get bored.

I walk to the door, and stop in the frame to look at her again. She’s already asleep, dark blonde hair bright against the black of the sheets.

Gods, I can’t live without her.

Over five hundred years on this earth, and I’m completely wrapped around the finger of a woman who doesn’t even realize it.

I know I’m not worthy of her, but I also know that if by some miracle she doesn’t run in the other direction when I tell her about the mating bond, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be.

__________________________________________________________

ask and you shall (eventually) receive. sorry this took forever, but thanks for the request!

[wolf-and-bard]

Proper Procedures for Wooing Witches

for @littoraly-art because you are amazing and I already said this, but I hope you have an awesome birthday <3

Pairing: Yennefer/Jaskier

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: T, some explicit language

„My darling Yennefer,“ Jaskier calls out as he swoops into his Oxenfurt apartment with a flat carton wedged under his arm. It already nicked the lavender mesh overlay of his newest doublet, but for once, he absolutely cannot be bothered by that. It’s too nice of a day. “Hello?” He kicks off his shoes.

High noon’s just gone by and Jaskier doesn’t expect Yen to be up yet – which means she will hex his ass if he wakes her. His giddiness outweighs his fears though, heart warming, as he takes in the cluttered entryway. Several pairs of shoes are strewn about, his and hers mixing on the ground. Yen’s all look like they could double as a lethal weapon and are some variation of black and white (though one pair is tinged brown from blood that crusts the bottom, he doesn’t want to know). It’s awfully domestic, a product of the temporary living situation they are in.

When Yen requested to use his rooms for a week or so, she explicitly asked for Jaskier not to be there, but, well, he is weak, he wants her, he couldn’t have stayed away if he tried. Yen’s been snippy from the moment he welcomed her with open arms and the prospect of sharing a bedroom, snippy to the point of grumpiness. That’s fair, Jaskier supposes. It’s also fair that she slips out at the most random times of day, coming back only when Jaskier’s gone to the academy for lectures or the pub for drinks with his colleagues. All fair and good. He catches her about once a day which is more than he can say for most of the year. Fair, yes. Nice, even though Yen is rarely, if at all, impressed with his affection for her. A bard can dream.

“Yenny,” he shouts again and whistles to himself as he slides through to the main room. To his surprise, she lounges at his dinner table by the window, one hand curled around a steaming mug, the other holding up one of his most beloved poetry collections (not only because he wrote several of the entries). Her hair falls in rich raven curls that cover her chest, barely concealed by the sheer black dressing gown she wears. It’s the only thing she wears, Jaskier notices, gulping heavily. Yen doesn’t look up from her reading, her lips are pursed and her tone clipped as she replies.

“For every time you call me that, bard, your balls will grow the tiniest fraction until, one day, they will explode, never to grow back.”

Jaskier considers it. Directs his attention downward. They do feel a bit strange, don’t they? But that’s only because he’s thinking about them. Right.

“I shall not be fooled,” Jaskier says, grinning. “But if you so insist, ‘beloved’ will do just as well. I brought you a gift.” Brushing past his dusty bookshelves and cluttered desk, he struts towards the table and drops the carton on it. It lands with a thud and swirls up more dust – how is it this dusty already, Jaskier could swear he cleaned the place, like, last month?

Yen licks her finger to turn the page which makes Jaskier laugh out loud. He rounds the table to glance over her shoulder, but immediately has to retch. There, catching Yen’s precise attention, is Valdo’s vomit-inducing sonnet about his first time taking a tumble with what Jaskier assumes was a professional. It has to be, no self-respecting person would bed the man free of his coin. Jaskier makes a mental note to spread another rumour about Valdo and various sexual diseases, then plucks the book from her hands and lets it drop to the table. She sighs softly under her breath and allows him to put a hand on her shoulder. Is that… does she lean into him? The tiniest bit? Oh, dear.

“That better not be a dress,” Yen says, reaching out. Her fingertips trace the edge of the carton as if she’s in deep debate on whether to pop it open. This is a game they’ve been playing excessively, him bringing her gifts, her making a show of whether to accept them or not. On the few occasions that Yen invites him for a drink or gives the acoustic properties of his lute a small magical boost, Jaskier fails to reciprocate her cool attitude. He’s too in love to feign indifference and it’s not like she would believe him either.

“If we’re using dress in terms of the precise cut it implies then no, no dress,” he replies, thumb rubbing her skin through the slippery material of the gown mostly to work through the tightness in his throat. It hurts sometimes because this farce makes him think she doesn’t want him. Hell, most things Yen does are aimed at making him think she doesn’t want him. But then there are fractions of admittance like this, like when her gravity shifts towards him or he finds her in his rooms, barely dressed, that make him think there might be more there. Jaskier simply has to practice patience.

“Julian, do I seem like a woman easily impressed with shallow gifts of clothes? In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a very particular style.”

“Oh, I noticed. Trust me, Yenny, you are very much one of a kind,” he replies, mesmerized by her fingers dancing on the cardboard. She loses no time in jabbing back.

“And yet you revert to common courting techniques? That’s pathetic and you know it.”

“Bold of you to assume I am courting you.”

“Bold of you to claim you are not. If I remember correctly, the last time Geralt was with us you got drunk off your ass and asked him for his permission to woo me. Which was sweet but not at all his place to allow. Then you continued to exert yourself into my life on every possible occasion with flowers and picnics and awful love songs. How else am I going to interpret all this?” Yen asks, craning her neck to look up at him from under dark lashes. Gods, she is gorgeous.

“Touché. But do not think I would waste the efforts of my best tailor on just anyone. This is advanced courting, dear.”

“I fail to see its distinguishing qualities.”

“The difference is that these clothes are hardly a gift and more a means to an end.” Jaskier winks which has her eyes narrow, fall back to the carton.

“You want to take me somewhere” Yen asks and, of course, she untangles his intentions immediately.

“Not just somewhere. My cousin’s forwarded me an invitation to a ball put on by some countryside nobleman or other. His work keeps him in Kerack so I’m to go in his stead. That is to say, I’d hoped you would go dancing with me.”

Yen looks up once more and Jaskier starts a little. He will never get used to the vibrance of her violet eyes, how they see through him. Once, she said it took no effort at all to pick at his thoughts, that she always feels as though he’s screaming them right at her. So, he does.

Please, he thinks, mouth twitching into a soft smile. Please, just this once. It would mean the world to me.

Yen huffs a small laugh and shakes her head, then draws the box towards her. Inside, she finds a slim-cut blouse made from the finest black cotton in the city, complete with white lace trim down the front and flaring out at the cuffs and collar. With it, Jaskier had the tailor make a white corset belt and a pair of deep black pants that have applications of the same lace. It would look precarious, almost edgy, on anyone else, but on Yen… the thought alone makes Jaskier’s chest tighten with adoration.

“Jules, this is beautiful,” Yen murmurs as her fingers trace the line of the seams on the blouse. Jaskier puts his other hand to her shoulder and holds on for dear life as his ear twitches. Was that? Did she just? Oh, how he itches to make a quip about the nickname. Because it’s funny, yes, but it also gives him palpitations. He feels like a lovesick puppy trying to befriend a wild cat. Which also means that any violation of trust can ruin what they have. It’s just so fucking precious, this whole affair, and if he were on the outside of it, he would squeal in delight and write a whole novel about it. He still might.

“I’m glad you like it. And it will look absolutely stunning on you. You will look stunning in it. Ah, not implying that you don’t usually look stunning. What I am saying is, the other attendees will be stunned.”

“You’re ridiculous… and stupid too. Are you certain you want to take me to the ball? I’m not exactly popular with the local nobility.”

“Quite the tragedy,” Jaskier says and because he feels daring, he bends down and kisses the top of her head. Then, he saunters over to the stove, pours himself a mug of tea and takes the seat next to her. “And yes, I am certain. In fact, there is nothing I’d love more. Let the people talk.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Yen says on another sigh. “Not about what they say or think or do.”

“Which is part of what makes you so damn sexy.”

Yen rolls her eyes and folds the clothes back into the carton.

“These are lovely, but I will not wear them to the dance,” Yen says. Which means she will go with him at least. It’s not enough, Jaskier is dying to see her wear what he picked out, dying to show the world that such a brilliant woman would choose to spend the evening with him. Most of all, he wants to make her happy. “Trust me on this. You have a reputation to worry about and bringing me along already risks that. Bringing me along in that can and will mess with your career.”

“Trust me, when I say that it won’t matter. I’m already famous and folk love to gossip about famous people. Probably more than they love my songs. I could imagine worse truths to be spread about me. Besides, didn’t you just say you don’t care what people think about you? Why then would you worry about what people think about me?”

"Well I never," she says, but her lips soften into a smile and her hand rises to fiddle with her pendant. Jaskier gently pries it off and brings her knuckles to his lips.

"I don't care either," he whispers. "I just want to go dancing with you."

"I'll portal to my rooms in Kaedwen and get one of my old dresses.” Her face is all smiles, but an edge has stolen into her voice which makes her sound forlorn, sad even, and her eyes flicker over to the folded clothes in the box. Jaskier’s throat tightens.

"Why are you so stubborn? It’s obvious you want to wear them. You don’t need to start giving a fuck now.”

"I'm trying to do something for you here, Julian. I don't usually go out of my way to attend stuck-up parties with peacocks such as yourself."

“Please,” Jaskier says. He still holds her hands in both of his and because he has no shame, and because this really does mean the world to him, he sinks off his chair and onto his knees before her legs. Yen’s eyes widen a fraction. “For me.”

-----

They dance. Oh, how they dance. Jaskier always considered himself a great dancer, he has music in his veins and has flirted and whirled his way through every ball room and banquet hall on the Continent, and it’s clear that Yen is no stranger to this art either. They are exuberant, relentless, they laugh and pirouette and demand their ground, much to the detriment of those with lesser skills. The lack of a dress doesn’t subtract from their flair, if anything, it allows for a broader range of motion

"The only way we could draw more eyes is if we'd brought Geralt along,” Yen giggles. Fuck. She’s so carefree it brings tears to Jaskier’s eyes.

"Gods no," he laughs. "He would ruin all the fun with his growling and brooding. If you're looking for more attention however..."

"Jules-"

Jaskier twirls her and, in that motion, catches her around the waist and dips her low, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips which are parted on a yelp. Before he can tug her up again, her hands come forward to cup his face and she presses into him, grins into the kiss.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she whispers.

“Admit it,” Jaskier drawls as he brings her back upright and they fall into an easy basic waltz, closer to each other than the dance strictly necessitates. “You love me.”

“That is awfully presumptuous of you.” But she laughs, and kisses his cheek, and Jaskier thinks that maybe one day, she will. “Don’t bet on it, bard.”  

[askaceattorney]

Dear Asexual-Deesasters,

Mod Edgeworth: 

If you want to know the answer to that question, go to this link.

Dear Skibot99,

Co-Mod: I’m fairly certain it was The Mod, but I don’t know for sure.  He actually had another one before it, made from an old Ace Attorney musical animation.  I haven’t been able to locate that video, unfortunately, but here’s the old banner:

Ah...  Those were good days.  Good days.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Co-Mod: It’s fine.  Besides, it won’t be too long before those letters are accepted, so maybe we’ll hold onto them until that time.

Dear skibot99 again,

Mod Edgeworth: The Lost Turnabout hands down. All logic is thrown out the window the moment Phoenix had amnesia. It’s clear the Judge knew something was wrong with Phoenix, so why didn’t he call for a recess or check on Phoenix? Not to mention Wellington was annoying. He’s probably the only character I would be hesitant to play as when answering letters, if only because he was so unbearable.

As for Turnabout Ablaze, I do agree that it is a drag to get through in the end, though the entire game of AAI was boring, aside from the game mechanics. As a case by itself, I wouldn’t put it as my least favorite, if only because I did get some funny parts out of it.  It also contributed to the overall story, whereas The Lost Turnabout could just be taken out and it wouldn’t effect the overarching plot.

Co-Mod: I’d probably have to go with Turnabout Big Top.  I honestly couldn’t figure out the part where you have to present Max’s poster without consulting a walkthrough.  Why couldn’t we just present Max himself?  Besides that, the ending was largely underwhelming -- the murder weapon was hidden under Acro’s blanket the entire time, but instead of seeing a screenshot of it there, we just have to imagine it.  Maybe it was a filler case, but that was no excuse for it to end so poorly.  Not to mention one of the witnesses was a literal puppet.

It’s hard truth, Trilo.  Live with it.

Dear skibot99 and Anonymous,

Mod Edgeworth: I… think I heard from her when the localization of DGS was announced? I know Mod Kristoph and Mod Maya introduced themselves when I came into the group. There’s a third person, but I only heard from her once. As for what’s going on with her… I don’t know.

As for the flooding the inbox, it’s fine. I won’t promise a letter or two won’t be deleted, but we may make an exception and I’d hardly consider 4-5 different letters flooding the inbox. However, I do highly suggest lowering your letter sending to no more than three a day to prevent deletion of your letters. The only time I’d say your letters are flooding the inbox is when you’re sending 10-20 of them, especially of the same letter, and we have to scroll down for a while to get to the next letter. We will only choose three out of that pile and delete the rest.

And yes, we do have a few that send us 10-20 of the same letter to multiple characters in the span of five minutes. Geez.

Co-Mod: Mod Paups has had to remain absent for personal reasons, and sadly, has recently communicated to me that she wishes to leave the blog entirely.  Thanks for all you’ve contributed to this blog, Mod Paups, and best of luck in whatever you do next!

(Referenced Letter)

Dear mungeondaster,

Mod Edgeworth: Since I answered this one, I shall answer your letter.

(^ Why do I always use this sprite? ^) Actually, the localization never specified if Manfred Von Karma was born in Germany or not. In fact, we never knew the German part until Justice For All when Franziska Von Karma was stated to have flown all the way from Germany. It never specifies any reason for this and fans were quick to jump to the conclusion that it means the Von Karma family were German, which… isn’t entirely true? Manfred Von Karma never said he lived in Germany and, for all we know, Franziska could’ve lived in Germany to study law or something.

Now, the OG does give us more specific detail on this, being why I answered this the way I did. In the OG, both Von Karma’s were born Japanese, but lived in America or at least have an estate there. It specified that they were originally born in Japan, which would be translated to LA, California in the localization. While using the OG canon isn’t normal here, I will use it, if the localization doesn’t specify things. In this case, it never specified if the Von Karma’s were born in Germany or if Manfred Von Karma lived in America. Since he had to wait out the Statue of Limitations for DL-6, we can assume he lived in LA for 15 years or more. That means he’s American.

I am still getting the hang of writing letters, but I try to stick to canon as much as possible. If you believe we’ve made an error in our letters, feel free to let us know, but also show proof, if we go against canon. We’ll be sure the letter is sent to the right mod or else fix it.

Dear  Bluedragoncody,

Mod Edgeworth: I... don’t know how to feel about that.

Also, I accidentally deleted your previous letter before this one when trying to post it on here. I’m so sorry about that. If you could remember it, would you send it again?

Co-Mod: I’ll just respond to this with an old classic:

Dear Aceattorneyismyjam,

Mod Edgeworth: I-I’m not a pro! I accidentally deleted an important mod question from bluedragoncody, because of my inexperience. Oof! Again, so sorry!

Granted, I am good with digital art and writing essays, but I’m still trying to get the hang of being a mod here. Believe me, I do get corrected on several mistakes I do here. I can’t really call myself a pro just yet. I’ve only just started becoming a mod here last month lol

Dear Dahlia,

Mod Edgeworth: I thank you for your support of this blog and my essay. Manfred Von Karma is also my favorite villain and someone I do feel is underestimated as a one dimensional villain. I think people hate him so much, because of how he ruined Miles Edgeworth’s life without looking at the bigger picture. They focus on the bad things with their black colored glasses without dissecting Manfred Von Karma’s character as a whole. 

One thing I love about this blog, even before becoming a mod, is that no one here ever portrayed Manfred Von Karma as the one dimensional villain. He can be snappy at times, but as proven in many of our previous letters, he’s also portrayed as being calm when threatened, polite at times and absolutely loves his wife and children. Yes, he’s a terrible person, but that’s what makes him so interesting. He’s a bad, evil person that does good things from time to time. It doesn’t justify any of his horrible deeds, murder included, but it does make him human.

Co-Mod: I’m...going to assume you’re a different Dahlia.  (I’m grabbing a Magatama of Parting just in case, though.  I’m sure you can understand.)

Anyway, thanks for being such a loyal follower!  This blog’s been through a lot of changes since it began, and since I joined it back in 2017, so I’m glad it’s still a good source of enjoyment for you.  I’ve seen all sorts of cringe by now, by the way (some of which I wrote myself), so don’t worry about it.

I’m also glad that the characters still sound like themselves and not like us.  The hilarious personalities and quirks given to them by Capcom’s writers, as well as the humanity in so many of them, make them easy to relate to, and thus fairly easy to mimic.  I may have said something like this before, but I see myself in a lot of them -- in Athena’s fear of inadequacy, in Apollo’s desire for justice in a world where it’s hard to find, in Sebastian’s confusion about where to go next after his world falls apart, and possibly even in the von Karmas’ desire for perfection.  I of course identify with their positive feelings as well -- Phoenix’s smugness when he gets things right, Athena’s joy after pulling off a victory in court, Adrian’s pride after her self-confidence is restored, etc. -- but there’s something about the struggles they face that make them easier to relate to, on top of being that much more awesome in the end.

Unfortunately, I can’t promise anything about this blog continuing on in perpetuity.  For one thing, I don’t plan on being around forever (I’m fairly certain the other Mods don’t, either), and for that matter, there’s also no telling how long Tumblr will be around.  All I can promise is that I’ll give my best while I’m here, and that the love from you and everyone else who shares it here is sure to be what keeps us going.  Thank you for your contribution!

Dear TurqouiseJavelin,

Mod Edgeworth: Hm... not bad ideas. Though, we mods choose our own mod names under the condition that it doesn’t match anyone else’s mod name.

Co-Mod: What Mod Edgeworth said.  Choosing the name “Mod Athena” may or may not increase your chances of being hired, though.  *wink, wink*

Dear Anonymous, 

Mod Edgeworth: Actually, Gregory was stated in the Autopsy to have died by a gunshot. However, you do bring up something interesting. If Gregory Edgeworth realized he was dead and last remembered Robert Hammond strangling him, he wouldn’t think “I died by the shot of a gun.” Since the Detectives weren’t aware that victim had died unconscious, they’d assume the victim would recall being shot and killed. This makes me wonder if Gregory Edgeworth was channeled, but never brought to court to be cross-examined.

There are still holes, but I do like your aspect on DL-6.

Co-Mod: Dang...  No matter how many times you come back to this game, there’s always something new to think about.  I honestly hadn’t considered those details about Yanni Yogi’s trial.  Your explanation makes the most sense to me, but there’s one other possibility regarding Gregory’s testimony -- he may have chosen to lie about who murdered him in order to protect his son from a murder charge.  That’s all open to interpretation, of course, so your guess is as good as ours.

It’s a good thing we’re not actual defense attorneys, huh?

-The Mods

[hanamakkiss]

One Dumb Deed Deserves Another

Iwaizumi Hajime x f!reader

Summary: Five times Iwaizumi and you meet.

Word count: 4k+

A/n: this took so long... but I quite like it! Pretty much just fluff and shenanigans. As u can tell I’m in love with him.

Your first meeting was nothing short of disastrous, Iwaizumi fondly recalls.

His peaceful morning walk through the park to campus was shattered by one very loud, very directed at him shouting.

“HEY! HEY YOU!!! THE GUY IN THE DENIM JACKET!!!! HOLD ON A SEC!” a high-pitched yet commanding voice echoes through the practically empty park, clueing him in that it was probably him you were referring to.

He pauses to look skyward, making a silent prayer for the strength to make it through the day, before turning around. He’s met with a red-faced young woman who was currently struggling to catch up to him.

You stopped a few feet in front of him, hands on your knees, panting, and he waits for you to catch your breath.

“Hi,” you look up, unabashedly grinning, and he finds you have a surprisingly sweet voice when not shouting. He quirks a brow, inquiring.

“Yea so, uh, I'm a photographer," you hold up the camera around your neck, "student, actually, and uh, I just took a photo of you? I mean, I did, cause your back looked really nice with the surrounding trees and sky, especially when you were staring at something, a bird maybe? And with a little colour editing the image would really pop, so the photo turned out really nice," you smiled shyly, looking at the photo in question (presumably).

“O...kay?” he’s not sure how to respond.

“Do you want to see it?” your smile is infectious.

His lips quirk up as he steps closer to you, peering over your arm (it really was a cool photo), “But you’re telling me all this why...?”

“Oh! Right. So, uh, I wanted to know if you would be okay with me using your photo in an assignment? I understand if you want to say no, but that would be such a pity, cause you look so cool here, and if no one else got to see it it would be a tragedy. But it’s up to you really! I could just keep it in my files maybe? If you would allow me!” your face has steadily gotten redder with every word that tumbled out of your mouth, and at the end of your spiel you were looking absolutely mortified, using your camera to hide your face.

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine, you can use it,” he latches on to your shoulders hoping to keep you grounded as you looked on the verge of hyperventilating, “Are you alright?”

“Yea! Yea, I’m fine, I just didn’t expect you to be so,” he tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing, “hot,” you squeaked out.

At your response Iwaizumi's face burns up. He knew people generally found him attractive, but to have it so bluntly said to his face, was not exactly something he was used to. Especially when said with such sincerity.

His hands immediately retract.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess? Uh, I’ll be seeing you then, good luck with your assignment.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes!” you gave him a low bow, nearly slamming into his chest in the process. Standing back up equally as suddenly, you rushed to introduce yourself, face still the shade of ruby.

He can’t help but chuckle, “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he offers.

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off by an alarm that blares from your bag. As you scramble to shut it off, your eyes bulge. “Shit! I’m gonna be late! Sorry! I need to go now!” You shoot him an apologetic smile before sprinting.

“Thank you again! I’ll treat you someday!” he sees you wave from afar.

Iwaizumi is just left in your dust, amused and wondering how would you, considering he never even gave you his number.

Your second meeting was pure coincidence.

He was in line at the campus cafe, when the short person in front sneezed so hard they fell backwards into him.

Oof. His hands reached out instinctively to catch them.

“Hey, you alright?” he peers down into their face-

“I’m so sorry!” they tilt up-

and the two heads collide.

He grunts, rubbing his chin where it hurt. The hood falls off their head.

“It’s you.” he could almost laugh at the comedic timing, of course it’s you.

You look up, hands still covering your forehead, and exclaim excitedly, “Iwaizumi! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, ruffling your (already mussed up) hair, “I’m good, how did your assignment go?”

“It went great! My tutor only had constructive criticism for it. Speaking about that, let me buy you a drink,” you attempt to tame the mess he created, “as thanks,” you grin.

Any refusal on his part was washed away by your insistence, leaving the two of you on the side waiting for your morning brews.

“By the way, is it okay if I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“Ever since that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, shyly, (he tenses, vaguely aware of where this might go) “and I was wondering if you would maybe, you know, if you’re free, would you be willing to” you took a deep breath, “be my model?” your eyes were practically sparkling.

Iwaizumi feels light-headed. It's amazing how every other sentence from you gives me whiplash, he thinks, it must be a skill. He mentally heaves a relieved sigh, happy that he didn’t need to reject another date offer.

His silence causes you to fidget, looking away, “Uh, it’s really okay if you don’t want to, I just thought you would be a good fit for my next project, and you seemed like a nice guy, so I thought it would be worth a shot, and I could always-”

"No, no, I’d be glad to help you out," he finds he prefers you when your eyes have a shine to them, and it’s not like he had too much on his plate at the moment.

The smile you show him is infectious, and he really can’t stop his features from mirroring your own.

You actually remember to exchange numbers this time, promising to text him about the specifics of the photoshoot soon before (once again) rushing off for class.

As he’s walking, iced coffee in hand, he mulls over the fact that he’s entirely comfortable around you, despite barely even knowing you.

Your third meeting was certainly a colourful experience.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

On the mentioned day, Iwaizumi finds himself sighing when Hanamaki ushers a mousy looking you into the gymnasium.

“Found this one outside muttering “Iwaizumi” in a panic,” he gives a good natured laugh, “figured she could use some help.”

“Thank you so much! There’s way too many people here, I thought this was just a practice match…” you trailed off.

Iwaizumi’s nostrils flare, “It is, and it’s all because of a specific bastard,” he jabs a finger in the direction of Oikawa, who was currently surrounded by girls.

You take a quick photo, “And who is he? Seems popular,” you inspect the photo.

“Oh? You’ve never heard of Oikawa Tooru? College superstar?” Hanamaki leans in towards you, smirk in place.

Seeing you shrink back, Iwaizumi instinctively moves closer. Makkis eyebrows lift.

“Oh! I’ve heard that name before! My friends talk about him sometimes! This is my first time seeing him though,” you happily snap another shot, “they’ll like these.”

He watches you review the photos when Matsukawa appears next to Makki, “Who’s this?”

“Oh right, let me introduce you guys,” and he calls over the rest of the team for a round of introductions, ending with Oikawa, who waves at you from across the court before calling everyone to start warm-up.

Throughout the game you stay near the sideline, careful to keep away from the ball’s trajectory (you can’t afford another camera), snapping as many impactful shots as you could. You managed to get a few good shots of everyone, and some satisfactory shots of Iwaizumi.

It comes to a close with him scoring the winning spike and you rush to get every possible second of it. As you watch the team celebrate the point through the lens he suddenly looks straight at you, and flashes you the biggest grin you’ve ever seen him sport.

And it’s like the world goes silent and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The only saving grace you have is your fingers instinctively pressing the trigger, cementing this moment in time.

You’re shocked out of your reverie by the shutter clicking and you hurriedly smile and flash him a thumbs up, hoping the warmth of your cheeks was unnoticeable from the distance.

As soon as he’s done with the after match meeting he rushes over to you, followed by a couple of teammates who were interested in the photos.

“You alright?”

“More than alright! This was my first time watching volleyball and so close to boot! You were amazing! Spectacular! Especially that last point! I got some good shots of it! Wanna see?”

In your excited rambling you failed to notice the faint pinkness of his face, thrusting your camera towards him.

Soon a little group had gathered around you, jostling to get a better view of the shots you took. Scrolling through one by one each shot was met by rambunctious comments as they marvel at how they match looked through a camera. Nearing the end of your roll, Matsukawa makes a comment.

“Why are so many of these photos of Iwaizumi though?” his eyes hold a teasing glint that looks out of place with his mouth still in a fine line. (You choose to ignore the concealed assumption for the sake of your heart.)

Your mouth forms an O, looking straight at the person in question, “Did you not tell them?”

He avoids your gaze, “I didn’t, only said that you were our photographer for this match,” he scratches his neck.

You let out a mirthful laugh at his embarrassment, eyes twinkling, “To answer, the only reason I’m being your photographer is cause Iwaizumi agreed to be my model for school, and I’m doing it as thanks,”

"If you need a model, wouldn't someone like me be better?" Oikawa flashes you a cheeky smile.

You cock your head, appraising Oikawa. He preens under your stare.

"It wouldn't work for this project,” shaking your head slightly, “you know your own attractiveness, and have made it a part of your identity. On the other hand, Iwaizumi has confidence that solely stems from other aspects of his life, this causes him to radiate a kind of rugged charm that just pulls people to him. Like some kind of reliable pillar, it makes you want to depend on him. That kind of energy was exactly what I was looking for!" you beam.

The boys blink, clearly surprised at your answer. Oikawa is the first to break the silence, laughing.

"Wow, Iwa! I didn't know you had such amazing energy! Wonder if you would share any of that with me someday!" he pats him on the back harder than necessary. Iwaizumis’ face burns as he glares at his best friend, daring him to say another word.

At Iwaizumi's less than stellar response, you start to worry you’ve said something wrong, "Oh, uh, I didn't mean to imply you weren't attractive! In fact I think you're probably one of the most attractive people I know, uh and I didn't mean to call you a pillar! It's just a phrase!" you slap a hand across your mouth, eyes going wide. A pillar? Seriously? God, could this get any worse?

“Let me walk you out,” Iwaizumi grits out as his friends laugh.

Newsflash, it can.

You withdrew into yourself, resigned to just let him push you out. The walk to the gym entrance is silent.

Just as you were about to split, he speaks.

“Sorry...about them,”

You look back, surprised. “Uh…?”

Eloquence.

He gives you an embarrassed smile, “They can be a bit much, but they mean no harm.”

Oh. It still takes you a second to realise that his earlier irritation was not directed at you, and you mentally sigh in relief. “It’s cool, they were nice,” you smile.

“You looked really uncomfortable in there,”

“Ah,” you rub your neck. “I’m just... not the best around big groups,”

“Ah.”

The two of you shift awkwardly.

“I’ll be going now,” you make to leave, “Thanks again,”

“No problem.” He laughs, ”Think you gave me too much praise back there,”

“Nah, just cause you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there,”

The huge smile that accompanied your words causes his heart to skip a beat.

“See you around,” you give a little wave.

“Uh-yea, see ya.”

He watches you walk away, heart threatening to jump right out his chest. Before he can even begin to contemplate what just happened, an all too annoying voice interrupts him.

“You’re into her.”

“Am not.” He huffs toward the brunet.

Oikawa just laughs, “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s into you too.”

“Keep talking and I’ll kick your ass.”

The taller boy skirts away, giggling. He doesn’t miss the way Iwaizumi’s cheeks pink.

Your fourth meeting was Iwaizumi’s’ prayers answered.

After the match, the two of you don’t cross paths much, opting instead for online communication.

Due to both of you being terrible texters, the text conversation never goes too in-depth. Mostly keeping to studies, interests and random topics. It’s only when one of you calls the other, that the conversation intensifies, lasting several hours.

After one such call, Oikawa groans from the doorway. Iwaizumi instantly springs up from his bed.

“Why don’t the two of you get together already,” he drags out the last word.

“Why are you in my room.”

“It’s 1am, you’re messing up my beauty sleep.”

“You were eavesdropping,” he squints, tone accusing.

“The walls are thin! It’s hard not to,” Oikawa defends himself, “besides, you laugh like a goddamn horse.”

At Iwaizumi’s glare, he backtracks, hands raised defensively, “I’m kidding! Kidding! Goodnight Iwa,”

“Close the damn door!”

He sighs, finally alone and wonders how is he going to ask you out for a meal. (Just to hang out, definitely not a date)

When you text him again.

Damn, this is as close as he’ll come to believing in higher power.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

The next week, he rushes down to the gallery after his evening class. He makes it with half an hour to spare.

Looking around, he quickly spots some familiar portraits and makes his way over. He sees you engaged in conversation, and he likes to think that the way your face lit up upon eye contact has something to do with him.

You cut the conversation and step towards him.

“You made it!”

He lets out a chuckle, “Course I would, sorry I’m late, class got dragged,”

“No, no, glad you’re even here,” you wave your hand flippantly, drawing his eyes to the rest of your body, where you had worn a simple cocktail dress that fit you well.

He takes in a sharp breath, “You look great,” slips out.

“Oh, um, thank you, you don’t look too shabby yourself,” your smile takes on a bashful shade and he looks around at the other patrons, grimacing.

“Bullshit, I didn’t know it was such a formal event, otherwise I would have dressed better,”

Your eyes quickly scanned his outfit, dark wash jeans paired with a white tee and bomber jacket, “You look fine,” leaning in, you stage-whisper, “If you ask me, you look a lot more put together than most of the people I’ve seen today.”

“Earlier on someone even came in piss-drunk,” you laugh.

“No way, midday?”

“Yes! Security had to escort them out, total mess. It was entertaining though,” you gently guide him towards your portion of the exhibition.

5 portraits titled Magnetism hung neatly on a wall. Two of them of him, he notes.

“It’s just a student exhibition, so it’s not much,” you explain, chuckling.

He frowns, “Don’t downplay your skills, you worked hard and got selected right? That counts for something,”

Your face goes slack for a moment before morphing into a soft smile, “Thank you, I do have a bad habit of that.”

He feels a warmth creep up his neck, shitshitshit, that’s not good for my heart, quick-

“So what’s the inspiration behind your portraits?” He shifts his attention towards the exhibition (ie. away from your warm eyes)

This easily distracts you and you go into an excited monologue about your motivations and what you were trying to convey through the atmosphere, lighting and editing. He only manages to keep up with half of it (it has nothing to do with how cute you looked animatedly waving your hands around).

You move on to explain each photo and how they embodied a different aspect of Magnetism that you wanted to convey to the viewer, ending with the photo you took of him the day you met.

“Fun fact: this is my second favourite photo of you,” you grin cheekily.

He plays along, “Why so?”

“Caaaaause it led to us meeting!” Your playful demeanour shoots an arrow straight to his heart.

Now grinning, he continues the banter, “And is the other photo your favourite?”

“Nope! That’s the third, because it shows everyone’s trust in you,”

He’s a little intrigued now, “Then which is the first?”

“Thaaaat’s a secret!” You wink, cheeks flushed.

Andddddd there goes his heart.

He’s forced to come to terms with the fact that his infatuation with you has turned into a full blown, rock to the face, crush. And all in the span of a second.

He flushes, “Well, maybe another day then,” and turns back to the photos.

“None of these people are facing the camera. Why is that,”

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all day!” And you go into another spiel. He realises just how much he enjoys listening to you speak about your passions.

Soon the curator announces the closing of the gallery and the two of you make your way out. You make an offhand remark about still needing to cook. He immediately suggests grabbing a bite together and you are just as quick to agree.

After enjoying a wonderful dinner at a local restaurant, you stop him just as he tries to get away with paying the bill.

“Hey! I’ll pay half, let me see the receipt,” you reach for the check, only to have it pulled out of your grasp.

“Nah, my treat,” he continues to wave the check out of your reach. This goes on for a little while before you cry out in annoyance.

“Oh come on, you don’t have to, this isn’t a date or anything,” and he freezes at your words.

He’s caught off guard by how much he wishes it was, if only the little words would dislodge themselves from his throat and let him ask you out.

With him distracted you lunge for the check and succeed, happily scanning through and making calculations. Once done you hand it back to him and promptly transfer the money.

You leave the restaurant in high spirits while Iwaizumi feels kind of feels defeated. He still offers to walk you back to your dorm, which you agree to after minimal convincing.

The walk back is filled with conversation that flows naturally between the two of you, making up for your horrendous texting game. It’s something he finds he doesn’t mind, as long as he knows you actually like talking to him, he’s fine with waiting hours for a reply.

“So, this is me,” you come to a stop in front of an old building. It’s not far from his apartment, he makes a mental note.

“This is you,” he cringes inwardly.

Thankfully, you just laugh, “Thanks for coming to the exhibition and spending time with me, I really enjoyed that…uh...”

His lips turn up, teasing, “Not-date?”

You flush, “Yea, that not-date,”

Both of you stand in comfortable silence, unwilling to part. He knows how stupid this is, two idiots just skirting around a relationship, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Sometimes he wishes he was a teensy bit more like Oikawa, but the thought is vanquished before it could even begin to take root.

“So,” you break the silence, “see you around?”

He lets out a breath and nods, “Yea, definitely,” and you wave.

He waits until you’re safely in the building before making his way back, sighing way too much for someone in college.

He spends the walk thinking about how much he enjoyed that “not-date”, and hopes soon he could enjoy an actual date with you.

Your fifth meeting was the end of Iwaizumi’s patience.

It’s been weeks since he’d realised his feelings for you. And he knows you feel the same way towards him too. You’re not subtle.

You are, however, extremely oblivious and respectful. Ever since he had mentioned early on in the friendship that he wasn’t looking for anything relationship-wise, you had dutifully dodged every single one of his advances. At this rate, your non-existent relationship was on the road to nowhere.

He’s sick of it, and at his wits end.

He finds Makki and Mattsun lounging in the living room.

“Hey, uh,” both heads turn his way. “I need some advice.”

“Well, my friend,” Makki moves, patting the newly vacated seat next to him, “you’ve come to the right place,”

As the couch dips under him, he takes a moment to register that Yes, he is really doing this, before he launches into detail about his feelings, frustration with the state of things and asks for help.

"Simply put,” Makki interjects, “you want to do the do, want to pound that duck, want to woohoo her-"

"What the fuck is a woohoo," Iwaizumi cuts him off sharply.

Mattsun's jaw drops. Makki gasps in delight, clapping his hands together, "A woohoo is when two sims who love each other very much-"

"Oh my god," he sinks his head into his hands, "you're referencing the sims, to talk about sex."

Oikawa sticks his head through the door, "Who's trying to woohoo who?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." Iwaizumi screams.

Oikawa dramatically places a hand on his heart and almost looks hurt before realisation dawns. “This is about little miss photographer, isn’t it?” He smirks when Mattsun wiggles his brows suggestively as a response.

Iwaizumi lets out a heavy sigh, resigned, "Yes, it's about her. Also, no," he looks to the strawberry blond, "I don't just want to have sex with her."

"So you do want to bang her," he could feel the smugness emanating from all three of them. The vein on his forehead threatens to pop. He passes a hand over his face, wondering if an aspirin could save him now.

"Just... just help me think of a way to ask her out,"

"Why don't you just ask her straight out? Always works," Oikawa supplied.

Iwa groans, “If I ask her out normally she’ll think its just as friends,”

A pause.

"Also I want it to be special, like a cute story for the future, you know?" he admits. Makki coos.

Silence falls as they brainstorm.

After some time Matsukawa pipes up, "I... might have an idea,"

All heads swivel towards him.

"She's a photographer, right?"

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

"Iwaizumi! Over here!" you excitedly wave him over.

"Thanks for willingly being my model again," you grinned, "somehow that physique of yours seems to get me better critiques. ...Wait a minute, does my tutor have a crush on you?" he sighed when you seriously pondered that thought for a moment.

You give him a brief rundown of your assignment and what you needed him to do. It was rather simple this time as the focus was more on lighting, you just needed him to walk casually and look at the camera every once in a while.

After the first couple of shots you see him reach into his pocket and pull out some sort of... banner? Your brows furrow as you continue snapping shots. Only when he fully unfurls it do you cease movement, letting your camera slip out of your hands entirely.

Thankfully, your camera strap works perfectly and the weight of it dropping against your neck brings you back to life, snapping your mouth shut.

Iwaizumi Hajime stands five feet away from you, holding up a small banner that reads “Please go on an actual date with me.”

“I- You- what….?” Is the best you come up with.

He grins, “It reads, I really like you, please go out with me,”

“You like…?” Seems like you’re full on malfunctioning now, and about to overheat too.

“I like you, have been liking you for a while now,” he rubs his neck nervously, “so, what’s your answer?”

You nod frantically, no longer trusting your mouth. His grin stretches impossibly wide.

You’ve always known you were a bumbling idiot and a mess. But now looking at his laughing face backlit by the setting sun, you can’t help thinking that maybe being an idiot wasn’t all that bad.

The shutter clicks.

This might just be your favourite photo yet.

(Matsukawa is later asked how he knew you would like such a gesture. “Judging from the way you spoke of her, I figured she was into sappy shit, and that you probably was into it too.” He gets headlocked for a full five minutes.)

[juliandev0rak]

what a night, what a crowd!

The night of the masquerade has arrived, and in the midst of its dazzling finery feelings come to light.

characters: Amaryllis Leroux (of @nvvermore), Beatrice Viano / Beamie

words: ~2100

Beatrice doesn’t care much for balls. 

She doesn’t like crowds, she doesn’t like dancing, and she most certainly does not like being looked at. But she does like Amaryllis, so she’ll deal with the discomfort. There’s another L word that might be better suited for her feelings at this point, but she’ll stick with ‘like’ for now, thank you very much.

If the fact that a certain red haired court musician will be performing is an incentive to her ball attendance, nobody else needs to know.

And besides, this is no ordinary ball- it’s the masquerade, and it wasn’t as if she could refuse an invitation from the Countess herself. At least Beatrice can hide behind the relative anonymity of her rabbit masquerade mask and the fact that nearly every guest in attendance is already some degree of distracted or inebriated.

As she makes her way through the crush of people she finds herself looking for someone in particular, someone who she’s quite certain will be dressed in red. The golden dress Beatrice wears is a gift from Nadia, It’s something she might not have picked herself, but she has to admit it suits her. As she’d swished around in the full skirt in front of her mirror she’d admired the way the embroidered leaves on the dress seem to move as if by magic. 

Beatrice weaves her way through the busy palace halls, her head whipping around whenever she sees a flash of red. The palace is completely decked out in lights and banners and all manner of decoration, she can scarcely take it all in as she wanders from room to room. There are so many things to explore, so many wonderful foods to try and forms of entertainment to watch, but all Beatrice wants is to see Amaryllis.

It’s been a few days since she last saw Amaryllis and she misses them, more than she probably should. At this point she won’t deny the depth of her feelings for them, and the hope she has that they might feel the same. It’s exhilarating to think that Amaryllis might be interested in her, but it’s equally terrifying. She doesn’t think she could take it if they turned her down, but she has to do something. She has to know, and curiosity has always driven Beatrice to boldness.

Distracted by her thoughts and the dazzling display of masquerade extravagance, Beatrice almost runs right into someone.

“Oh, my apologies!” Beatrice’s gaze flicks up to meet familiar amethyst eyes. “Asra! I’m sorry I didn’t see you.” “Hello to you too!” Asra smiles. He holds a very full glass of champagne and she’s glad she didn't knock it out of his hands. “You look a little distracted. Are you looking for someone?”

“Oh, nobody in particular.” She waves her hand in the air flippantly, her tone of voice gone just the slightest bit squeaky as it does when she’s being untruthful. 

He raises an eyebrow in question, “Beatrice, you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Alright fine, I’m looking for Amaryllis. Have you seen them anywhere?” Beatrice sighs and smooths down the skirt of her dress.

“They’re about to perform actually, in the ballroom.” Asra gives her another smirk and if she wasn't in such a hurry to find Amaryllis she might be annoyed.

“I’m glad I ran into you then! I’d better go, I’d hate to miss anything.” 

“I’ll come with you, I want to see what they’ve got planned.” Asra weaves through the crowds with ease and Beatrice trails behind, glad she’d worn her own comfortable shoes for all of this walking rather than the tall death traps Nadia had sent for her. 

They make their way into the ballroom where most of the guests seem to be congregating. The dance floor is packed full and countless more converse on the sides of the room. There’s a raised stage in the corner but there are far too many people for them to be able to make it through to stand any closer. Beatrice and Asra settle in an alcove on the side of the ballroom, a bubble of space away from the crowds that Beatrice is very grateful for.

“Here, you look like you could use this.” Asra hands her the glass of champagne he’d been holding, and she thanks him and takes a large sip. 

Beatrice worries briefly that her lipstick will be smeared and before she can help it her mind wanders to the other ways her lipstick could be messed up this evening if she has her way. She snaps out of her fantasy as the band that had been playing abruptly stops and the ballroom is left with only the chatter of guests. The anticipation bubbles in her like the glass of champagne she’s holding. 

Amaryllis is announced and then they’re on stage and Beatrice can’t look away.

She’s seen them perform many times but now that she’s been close to them, heard how sweet their voice sounds when it's next to her ear, felt their hands on her, it’s a different experience. Though the music is simply accompaniment for the dancing to most of the guests, Beatrice is a captive audience of one. The building could be on fire around her and she probably wouldn’t notice. All she can see and hear is Amaryllis, and though they’re across the room all she can smell is roses. 

Beatrice hardly knows what they’re singing, and she takes a drink of cold champagne to clear her mind a little. When she tunes back in to her surroundings she realizes that Amaryllis is singing a love song, the one she’d heard them composing all those weeks ago when she’d been eavesdropping. Their eyes seem to search the crowd a bit more than usual, and she hopes they’re looking for her. Beatrice isn't in her usual cloak and she’s wearing a mask, so there's no way Amaryllis will see her, but the thought that they could be searching for her is nice.

She wonders briefly if she should wave to get their attention, but she would feel silly if they didn’t notice her. And besides, she shouldn't distract them while they're performing. Focus is very important, as she’d learned from Amaryllis’ lessons and the distinct lack of focus she has when they’re around. 

She doesn’t know what she’d do if Amaryllis met her eyes looking like that. Their dress is red and gold and altogether perfect for them. Their mask only half covers their face and Beatrice sees a flash of their red lips pulled up into a smirk as they walk across the stage. Amaryllis commands attention, and Beatrice is happy to give it to them. 

When the performance ends Asra turns to face Beatrice but she doesn’t notice, too busy tracking Amaryllis through the crowd. They disappear into the mass of people and she frowns, wondering if she’d be foolish to chase after them through the crowd of thousands. When Asra speaks she nearly jumps, she’d half forgotten he was there. 

“You really like them, don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes,” Beatrice sighs, “I do.” 

Asra smiles as he watches her reach for the clasp of her cloak, only to realize she’s not wearing it. Her hands move to fiddle with the ties on her mask instead. “Amaryllis likes you too, you know.” 

Beatrice does know, or at least she thinks she does. There’s no other way to interpret their lingering glances, their appearance at the school, their eagerness to see her. But still, Beatrice worries. “I think they do, but how can you be sure?” 

“Amaryllis doesn’t teach just anyone Beatrice, and they showed up to your school which is honestly a big favor considering how kids can act,” Asra laughs. “Hey! My students are very well behaved,”  Beatrice huffs, frowning at him.

Asra puts a hand up in defense, smile still in place. He’d come to visit her once on a lunch break and had seen first hand how rowdy kids on a playground can be, but he chooses not to antagonize her further. “It’s still a pretty big favor to ask, considering how busy Amaryllis is, and they did it for you.” 

He’s right of course. Beatrice thinks back to the lesson, the last time she’d seen Amaryllis. They’d worn a green dress, but the addition of a new color in their wardrobe wasn’t the most uncharacteristic thing about that day. Amaryllis had opened up to her, just a little, and the knowledge that they trust her enough to do so makes her feel warm inside. It makes her feel brave enough to talk to them honestly, like they’d done with her. 

Beatrice’s hands move from her mask to her skirt, fingers picking at one of the applique leaves. “I just don’t know what to do Asra. We haven’t talked about how we feel, they haven’t expressed any interest.” 

“Beatrice, they absolutely have. We’ve all noticed how Amaryllis acts around you, they’re always looking for you specifically, even in a crowd. And were you even listening to their performance just now? All of the songs were love songs and I’d be willing to bet Amaryllis was thinking of you when they wrote them.” 

Beatrice stares down at her shoes, trying to hide the blush that just peaks out from beneath her mask. If other people have noticed their interest as well, she must not be imagining things. Her reticence to act is not because she doubts that Amaryllis could want her, it’s more that she's afraid to assume that they want her. If Amaryllis asked, she’d be theirs in a heartbeat, probably less than a heartbeat. 

“What should I do then? I can’t just walk up to Amie and kiss them.” Beatrice’s blush returns as she imagines doing just that. She’s spent so long wanting to kiss them that she’s pretty sure the shock of actually doing so would short circuit her brain.

Asra snorts and Beatrice looks up to see his amused expression. “Well you could, but considering this is you we’re talking about, I think you should just talk to them.”

“I know I should, but what do I even say? What if they don’t actually like me and this is all some big misunderstanding?” Her tone must betray her worry and Asra reaches out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Beatrice, Amaryllis likes you.” 

“Really?” Her lips pull into the hint of a smile, her brow unfurrowing. 

“Yes really! Now stop arguing with me about it and go find them!” Asra gestures to the ballroom with a flourish and Beatrice laughs.

“Thank you, Asra.” Beatrice smiles at her friend and drains the last of her champagne.

“Good luck Beatrice, and don’t come back until you’ve kissed them!” 

Beatrice rolls her eyes at Asra, “With all of the jokes you’re making you’d think you were the court fool.” 

“I’m being serious, go kiss Amaryllis,” Asra laughs, giving her a gentle shove out of the corner they’re standing in.

“Perhaps I will!” Her tone is defiant and though she’s mostly joking, she wonders again what would happen if she did. Would their lipstick stain her lips red? She’d like to find out. 

“Good!” Asra says.

“Fine!”  Beatrice stifles a nervous laugh and turns to face the crowd.

She walks the perimeter of the room, eyes once again looking for any flash of red or any familiar face to point her in the right direction. It feels a bit like when she goes to the library searching for one particular book but with no idea how to find it. The library really needs a more organized system, she thinks, perhaps she should ask Nadia about it? It isn’t like she has enough free time to do the task herself, but would anyone else be able to organize it in a way that makes practical sense? 

A flash of red in the corner of her eye brings her attention back to the task at hand- Amaryllis. Right, she’s looking for Amaryllis. 

She turns back towards the dance floor and suddenly Amaryllis is right there, only a few feet away with their ruby eyes stuck on hers. Beneath their mask Beatrice watches their lips, the ones she’s been thinking so much about this evening, pull into a smile. She can’t help but beam at them in return. Amaryllis says something to the man they’d been dancing with and then they’re on the way to her, the crowd seeming to part around them. 

All she can see is Amaryllis, red and gold and beautiful.

“I’ve been looking for you all night.”

[bethsakura]

currently untitled | prologue | atsumu x reader

A/N: Hiya, there! Beth here! I wanted to add a quick disclaimer because I’m absolutely terrible at starting stories =v= I tend to get a bit ahead of myself, so my apologies if the beginning of this feels awkward. That’s probably because I’m awkward and I’m really good at portraying that through my work :D 

Anyhow, I really hope you all like this prologue! It’s basically just a bunch of set up for the initial story, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible >:3 If you want to follow along with the story through music, I have a playlist over on spotify! Each song roughly inspires the chapters, and it’s kind of how I figured out what I was going to write about. There isn’t a song for this first part, but i figured I’d go ahead and link it anyways ;P

Now, enough of my babbling. I really hope you enjoy the story!

Much love! - Beth

Prologue - A Strange Meeting

Miya Atsumu - the worst first impression you ever had of someone was attached to that name. When you first met him, you definitely thought he was one of the most annoying people on the face of the earth. Not that your opinion of him had changed much over time, but you had gotten to know him a bit better. Regardless, that initial meeting with the fiery boy was a memory you were sure could never leave you. 

“Y/n, you need to choose a club,” stated your father one night at dinner. Your heart sank and your face turned red. A slight burning sensation began to build in your chest. Not one of passion, no; more so one filled with anxiety. It had been two weeks since the start of school and most of the clubs were established. To find one that was accepting new members would prove difficult. 

You mentally screamed at yourself for taking your sweet time about this decision. On the first day of school, you were already busy with other commitments: going home and spending your precious time alone. Your goal in high school was to avoid friendships and focus on your studies. You had been burnt one too many times by those awful people in middle school, and there was no way you were going to let that happen again. People had tried talking to you, but you typically politely dismissed them. 

“Y/n?” Your dad pulled you back from your racing thoughts. You shifted your weight in your seat a bit. Who on earth would be accepting new members at this time? 

“I can try to find one. I, uh, might have waited until past the acceptance date, though…” you start, and your father scowls at you upon hearing this information. Your mother looks sympathetic towards you but disappointed, nonetheless. Something in your mind switches and you sit up straight in your seat. You cannot let them worry about this, you decide. You wouldn’t want them getting too involved in your school life. So, you dig some confidence from deep within you and declare, “I will find a club to join! Don’t worry about me, I’m sure someone is accepting new members!”

There was actually zero confidence in those words, but you couldn’t let them see that.

The next day you began asking around your class to see if anyone knew of clubs with open positions; and, just as you suspected, there were little to none. 

As you sat at your desk you heaved a sigh and lay your head atop your books. You hit it a little harder than intended, but maybe someone would notice and offer some advice. You weren’t one to bring attention to yourself, but right now you desperately needed it. 

And, of course, you were successful. 

Someone made their way up to you and tapped you lightly on the shoulder. You craned your neck to the side, not lifting your head. A silver and black-haired boy with beautiful brown eyes stood before you, his face straight and posture being practically perfect. You were a tad intimidated by him, so you lifted your head and straightened up. “Hi,” you spoke softly.

“Hello. My name is Shinsuke Kita, a second-year here. You must be L/n F/n, yes?” he spoke concisely with a tone of authority. You had no clue who he was, but suddenly you wanted to impress him. You started to stare, lost in thought when you noticed his eyebrows furrow slightly. 

“Oh, uh, yes. That’s me!” You said, nervously. You almost tripped over your words but caught yourself before it could happen. Good lord, what powers does this guy have?! You thought to yourself. 

“I am part of the volleyball club and I was told to inform you we have a manager position open. Our team captain has said you are welcome to jo-”

“WHERE DO I SIGN UP?!” you blurted out as you stood up from your desk. Kita did not waver, standing perfectly still and holding eye contact with you the entire time. This guy must not be phased by anything, you thought to yourself. Kita then extended his arm out, handing you a paper. It read, ‘Inarizaki High School Volleyball Club Member Application.’ You bowed sweetly, taking the paper from him. 

“Thank you very much! I’ll be sure to bring it to you by the end of the day!” you exclaimed, then sitting down you grabbed a pen and began to fill out the form. 

“Feel free to stop by this evening. Practice begins about forty-five minutes after school. I’ll be in class 2-7 if you need anything,” said Kita. He gave a small wave and then walked out of the classroom calmly. That guy is terrifying, you thought to yourself. You then turned back to your paper and began scribbling as quickly as possible.

≻ ───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Before you knew it, the end of school hit. You gathered your belongings in a rush and then ran out of the classroom, making your way towards the gym. The wind flew through your hair, rustling it everywhere. You thought maybe it looked like you were in some shoujo manga, but in reality, it made you look like you hadn’t brushed your hair in five days. 

Once you got to the gym you began to slow to a walk. It was only 3:20, and practice wouldn’t begin for another 40 minutes or so. I got so excited that I arrived way too early. Great job, Y/n. Now you look desperate, you thought to yourself. You prayed the gym was open so that you could at least sit in there for a little while and study or something. Your hand reached for the door handle and pulled ever so slightly. The door slid to your right and you heaved a sigh of relief. However, to your embarrassment, someone was already in the gym.

A tall boy, maybe around six feet or so, with an athletic stature, golden hair, and hazel eyes turned to meet your gaze. He was absolutely stunning. You thought maybe you had seen him before, but… well, he looked different than how you remembered him. His hair color seemed to be different in your memory, as well as the way he stood and-

“Take a picture if you must, but don’t stand there just starin’, miss,” said the boy with a bite in his words. Your eyes widened at his rude remark, and your stare only deepened. You didn’t move, held your breath, and just stood motionless in the doorway.

“Hello? Earth to miss girl?” He waved his hand. You didn’t budge. “Good lord, come in or stay outside, doesn’t matter to me either way. Just close the door,” he said, rolling his eyes. This got your attention. You stepped inside and made your way into the room, leaving the door wide open. I’ll jab at him just a little because that was completely uncalled for, you thought. He watched you walk down the court, making your way to a bench and sitting down, matter of factly. His expression was completely and totally disgusted.

“Oi, didn’t I say to close the door?” he huffed, making his way over to you. He stood before you, a hand on his hip and an annoyed look plastered across your face. You looked up at him, then stood up boldly. You then turned around and stood on the bench you were previously sitting on. You turned back to face him, both hands on your hips, leaning down to meet his gaze. 

“You didn’t ask politely,” you said, a harsh tone in your words. He looked extremely flabbergasted, annoyed, and offended. You smirked, stood up straight, and crossed your arms. He then smirked in return. This slightly confused you, but you didn’t let him catch on to this. 

“I like you,” he said, pointing up to you. You smiled brightly, still keeping the high ground over him. “Atsumu Miya, pleased to meetcha’. And you are?” He extended his hand out to help you down. You accepted the offer, hopping down from the bench. Not breaking the gaze.

“L/n, F/n. You can call me L/n. I don’t trust you yet with my first name,” you said, intending to jab at him a little. Of course, he retorted back with, “And you can call me Miya. Don’t trust ya yet with my first name.”

Laughter filled the nearly empty gym, and the two of you walked to the door together. “So, what class are ya in?” he asked.

“1-3. Yourself?” you said, a competitive tone in your voice. His face dropped slightly. He muttered under his breath, but you didn’t quite hear him. “Care to speak up, Miya?”

“...1-2,” he said in an embarrassed voice. You burst into laughter, being a bit dramatic with your reaction. 

“Looks like I beat ya!” you exclaimed, throwing up a peace sign and smiling brightly. He rolled his eyes, scoffing at your happy go lucky attitude.

Wait a minute, what’s up with me? You thought to yourself. You let him go on to the door to close it, and you made your way back to the bench. I’m not a particularly competitive person. I’m not near this outgoing on a usual basis, either. Do these volleyball boys have some special powers or..? 

“Oi, why are you here, anyway?” There he was again with that biting tone. You rolled your eyes and met his gaze once again. He seemed to be genuinely curious based on his expression. He didn’t seem to be angry or annoyed… What was with this guy?

“I’m going to be your new manager,” you said confidently. You didn’t know if the confidence was false or not, but you wanted to figure that out. 

“Oh..?” Atsumu said curiously. 

“Yes. I have my application in my bag, and today is my first day,” you replied.

“Well,” said the boy, smiling at you sweetly, “welcome to Inarizaki’s volleyball club. Try to keep up,” he said, winking. 

A chill ran down your spine and a fire ignited in your chest. This time, it wasn’t one filled with anxiety. No, this one was most definitely one filled with passion. 

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 41 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Hi everyone! Okay so, in this chapter, they begin working on a new musical, and I URGE you to check it out if you haven’t: The Scarlet Pimpernel. Also! I made a playlist with every song we’ve used as chapter titles, including the upcoming ones pretty much through the end of the story. Click here for previous chapters or here if you’d rather read on AO3. And thank you SO MUCH to wonderful betas: @saiphl, @sillylittlecandycane!!! XOXOXO

Chapter Summary: New semester, new school musical: and Courtney’s star is finally on the rise.

Chapter 41: You Are My Home

It was weird having Roy back home for the holidays, Adore thought, watching him tell a story to Bob, Jamin, and Thorgy, commanding all the attention as usual, sipping from a solo cup and gesturing wildly. It was even weirder to see him getting sloppy-drunk as the night wore on--Adore supposed that college was a bigger challenge than he’d planned for, and maybe he needed to blow off some steam. Still, seeing him grope Courtney as he bent her over Thorgy’s pool table was certainly...something different.

It was over a month since the night of her break-up with Tati, that near miss where she’d come so scarily close to a confession. Once in a while, late at night, she’d have a brief twinge of regret for not being honest. Most of the time though, she felt like she’d absolutely made the right call--their friendship was stronger than it had ever been. So Roy’s dumbass horndog behavior tonight was actually making her laugh.

Maybe it was Courtney’s eye rolls as he rubbed against her, but Adore didn’t find Roy nearly as annoying as she used to. He was no longer a looming, oppressive reminder of her hopeless crush. He was just a guy who came back from college to awkwardly hang out with his high school friends over winter break. A guy who was currently grinding pathetically against his girlfriend, trying (and failing) to get some affection.

“I thought you were gonna teach me Vanessa’s tricks,” Courtney said, pushing him away gently as she lined up her cue.

“I’m trying, but I need to get close,” Roy said, pulling her ass back against him. He leaned forward and murmured something into her hair, something which made her burst out laughing.

“Ummm...no offense, babe, but I don’t really feel like you’d be on your A game tonight,” Courtney said, still giggling.

“Rude,” he pouted.

Courtney looked up, catching Adore’s eye and sending her another exaggerated eye roll. Adore smiled back at her, shaking her head.

“Do you want to sleep over tonight?” Courtney asked.

“Yes,” Roy said, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck.

“Not you!” Courtney said, swatting him on the shoulder before giving Adore an exasperated look. “I meant Dory.”

Adore knew that it was petty, but she couldn’t help the slight thrill that Courtney was choosing her over Roy. It didn’t mean anything--they’d gotten back into their old habit of Adore staying with her every time Bonnie worked a night shift, and she knew that’s all it was. And anyway, it probably wasn’t going to happen, given the way Roy was now pouting and whining.

“Why her? She gets to see you all the time!” Roy argued, indignant. When Courtney didn’t immediately cave, he tried a softer tactic. “Please, baby, I miss you so much…”

“Fine. You can have the floor,” Courtney said, taking Adore by such surprise that she didn’t have time to cover her mouth before a loud cackle of laughter escaped.

“You are the meanest girlfriend in the entire world,” Roy said.

“I know.” Courtney leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

-

PEARL: How was your sleepover?

ADORE: So weird

PEARL: Did all three of you pile into Courtney’s bed?

ADORE: Ew, not that weird. No, Roy slept on the floor in a sleeping bag and Courtney and I slept in her bed. So like...just awkward as fuck.

PEARL: What’s wrong, you don’t like spooning her while her boyfriend is 2 feet away?

ADORE: Ugh

PEARL: Wanna come over today? Trin’s gonna be here in like an hour

ADORE: I can’t. I told Court I’d go ice skating with her and Roy.

PEARL: Well well well, how cosy

ADORE: Shut up

PEARL: The three musketeers

ADORE: SHUT UP

Adore sighed. She supposed it was probably strange that she’d been spending her whole break hanging out with Courtney and Roy, but it wasn’t her fault. Courtney invited her everywhere and Roy was just...always there. Besides, when it really came down to it, she liked Roy. And she liked how happy Courtney was when all three of them were together. And to her relief, they’d chilled out a lot on the PDA, now more like an old married couple who teased each other constantly and bickered playfully, using Adore to settle every disagreement.

So, if they had to be the Three Musketeers for another week, Adore was actually fine with that.

-

The musical for their senior year was The Scarlet Pimpernel, and Courtney was absolutely beside herself with glee when she landed the lead. All weekend, she listened to the soundtrack on repeat, falling in love with the music and story and her character, a French actress named Marguerite who was embroiled in a complicated love triangle with her British aristocrat husband and her French revolutionary ex-lover. She sang the songs over and over until she knew them by heart, and drove everyone in the household bonkers with her attempt at a French accent.

They had their first cast reading on a Monday evening in mid-January, and as usual, Mrs. Maguire had them sing through their songs as best they could. Courtney was especially excited when it came time to sing her duet with Adore, who was cast as her brother. It was a gorgeous, sappy ballad and one of her favorites in the show, always making her tear up.

Adore began a bit tentatively, since she hadn’t spent nearly as much time listening to the soundtrack as Courtney, but after a few bars, she got into it too, the drama of clinging to her “sister” as they waited in jail, facing the guillotine together.

“You are my home You make me strong And in this world of strangers, I belong to someone You are all I have You’re all I have; I need you so…”

Courtney, of course, had already memorized every word, and she sang directly into Adore’s eyes, arms wrapped around her neck.

Later, in her office, Mrs. Maguire was sitting pensively, brow furrowed in concern when Thorgy came in to let her know that the crew was finished cleaning up.

“Thor...let me ask you a question. I need a...second opinion.”

“Sure.”

“Do you think it was a mistake casting Courtney and Adore as siblings?”

“How so?” he asked carefully.

She cleared her throat. “Well...do you think they have too much of a...how should I put this...romantic vibe?”

Thorgy burst out laughing.

“Mrs. Maguire...girl…you don’t know the half of it.”

“So, I didn’t imagine that?”

“No. They’ve always been like that,” he told her.

“I mean, I knew they were close friends, but...isn’t Courtney still dating Roy?”

“Yeah...yeah. But…well, you saw it.” Thorgy chuckled again.

“Oy.” Mrs. Maguire picked up a cast list. “I may need to change some things around.”

The next day, a solution fell into her lap when Willam came to see her during the fourth period, looking more distraught than she’d ever seen him. Apparently, he was committed to the show choir for the Spring, and there were a bunch of scheduling conflicts with rehearsals, making it damn near impossible for him to play the title role he’d gotten. It was unsettling to see a kid who was normally as cool as a cucumber so upset.

“I don’t want to quit, I love doing the plays so much,” he said tearfully, and she jumped up to give him a hug.

“Of course you don’t want to quit. Listen, honey, it’s your senior year. We can definitely figure out a way for you to do both, okay? I might have to shuffle some casting, but it’ll all work out. I promise.” She hugged him again, patting him on the back.

“If you tell anyone I cried, I’ll key your car,” came his muffled voice, and she laughed, promising to keep his shameful secret.

Once he left, she sat back down, a relieved sigh leaving her. This could work out perfectly.

She spoke to all the kids individually about their new casting. Bob was over the moon when he found out he’d be taking over Willam’s title role: the wealthy aristocratic Percy, Courtney’s new husband, who uses his foppish clothing obsession as a cover in order to go into France and rescue his friends from the guillotine. And Willam was thrilled that not only did he still have a part, but a good one--taking over Adore’s role as Courtney’s brother, Armand. Adore was also delighted--she now had Bob’s role, a radical and sexy French revolutionary and compelling villain. After reading the script closely a few times, she asked Mrs. Maguire if it was necessary to play her new character, Chauvelin, as a man.

“Can’t I be a radical leftist woman instead?” she asked, during that first week of rehearsals.

“I don’t see why not,” Mrs. Maguire answered, tossing out a casual, “Courtney, Chauvelin is now your ex-girlfriend, not your ex-boyfriend.”

Courtney looked up with wide eyes before smiling and nodding, giving Adore a sassy wink. This show was certainly going to be interesting.

-

As a gentle knock sounded, Courtney rolled over slightly, whimpering. She was achy and feverish and felt absolutely awful. And to make matters worse, she’d missed two whole days of rehearsal with no telling when she’d feel better. At this rate, Mrs. Maguire would probably be giving her part away to her understudy, a freshman who’d never even been in a play before.

“Come in,” she said weakly, tears collecting in her eyes as she thought about how unfair it all was. She’d worked so hard, taken ensemble roles and been an understudy herself and helped with ticket sales and sold ads for every program and never complained, and now she was probably going to lose her one chance to be the lead in a musical.

Adore pushed the door open, offering a sympathetic, “Hey, babe, how ya doin’?”

Courtney tried to lift her head, even that small movement making her wince in pain, hot tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Don’t get up!” Adore rushed to her side, placing a few books on her nightstand. “I just came by to bring your homework.”

“Thanks,” Courtney said, sniffling.

“What’s the matter?” Adore pressed a cool hand to her cheek, lips turned down in a frown as a tear slipped down Courtney’s face.

“I’m just worried that Mrs. Maguire’s gonna give my part away,” Courtney admitted.

“Don’t worry about that. It took all of today’s rehearsal to get through half of ‘The Creation of Man.’ We have plenty of shit to work on without you. Besides, no one but you could do that part justice, anyway.”

Courtney blinked back her tears, gazing up at Adore with a grateful expression.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I promise!” Adore laughed, climbing into her bed to sit beside her. “Stop worrying, okay?”

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get sick too?” Courtney said, pulling her blankets tighter around her shoulders.

“Nahh. You know Bonnie makes me do that dumb FluMist vaccine every year. I’m invincible.”

“I don’t think that’s actually true,” Courtney said, covering her mouth with her elbow to cough.

“Well, whatever. It’s worth it to hang out with my best friend.” Adore smiled down at her, and Courtney felt like she might cry all over again.

“Thanks, baby,” she murmured softly.

“Omigod, also...the craziest shit happened today at lunch, I have to tell you about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay so first of all...did you know that Violet applied to Columbia early-decision and got in?”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right!” Adore exclaimed. “I mean, I know she’s smart, but she doesn’t give a shit about school. But apparently she got like, practically a perfect score on her SATs. And then everyone else started talking about what school they want to go to and they have all these plans and backup plans and I just...I had no idea our friends were like...so school motivated. It’s fucking weird.”

It surprised Courtney too...maybe not as much as Adore, because she’d figured that Trinity would have ambitious school plans, and Fame as well. And Pearl, well Pearl wasn’t very scholarly, but she assumed that she’d want to go to an art school or something.

“And I guess you’re probably planning to go to UCLA and move in with Roy or something,” Adore mumbled.

Courtney let out a rueful laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t have the grades for that.”

“What?” Adore looked confused. “Your grades are fine.”

“They’re okay. I could probably get into a Cal State. But Ms. Patterson told me in the fall that any UC is a pipe dream. So I’m probably gonna just do two years at a community college and then transfer.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Courtney said, a deep sigh leaving her. “It’s for the best. We’ll save a bunch of money. My dad said he’d pay for my room and board, so I can still move out, thank god.”

“Move out where? Are you staying in the area?”

“No...but I dunno exactly. People say that Santa Barbara City College is good. Or Santa Monica college. It would be so great to be by the beach.”

“Ugh, I’d love to live near the beach. What I really want is to just move to LA, get some shitty retail job or whatever, and work on my music. I’m like, so close to convincing Bonnie what a good idea it is.”

“Adore! Omigod!” Suddenly, the aching in Courtney’s exhausted body didn’t matter, as she hoisted herself into a seated position to look directly into Adore’s hazel eyes. “We should be roommates!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! It would be perfect! Don’t you think?!” A smile lit up Courtney’s eyes, so big she thought it might split her face in two.

“Well...yeah, maybe...that could be cool.”

“I know, right?! Omigod, we’d have so much fun, and we could totally save money!” Courtney exclaimed, reaching forward to pull Adore in for a hug, her ecstatic joy pushing aside any thoughts of giving the flu to her friend.

Adore hugged her back, a light giggle slipping from her lips as she said, “I guess now we have a plan, too.”

-

Courtney was bone-tired. By the time she got over the flu, she’d missed a full week. Between catching up on her classes, the extra rehearsals, and struggling to memorize her lines, not to mention playing referee to Karen and Muriel’s latest argument over whether it was appropriate for Karen to have overnight guests, she felt like she could sleep for a week.

But she’d already agreed to this Saturday rehearsal, and she knew she needed it anyway, so she dragged herself out of bed and showed up at the theatre with an extra-large frappuccino that didn’t seem to help her exhaustion, but did make her jittery and off-balance.

That’s probably why she missed her cue, while working on her scene with Adore. At least, that’s what she would claim if anyone asked.

It was the scene in Act One where Adore’s character, Chauvelin, was trying to convince her to leave England and come back with her to Paris. She’d been zoning out a bit while Mrs. Maguire talked to Adore about the scene, explaining that her character needed to be angrier. Courtney really wasn’t paying attention like she should, but it was something about how Adore was supposed to be extra angry because not only did Marguerite abandon the French Revolution to marry a British aristocrat, but she’d also abandoned her.

Anyway, she wasn’t prepared when they started up the scene again, for the intensity with which Adore spoke her next line: “You do not belong in this cold land, with no one to understand you...to touch you.”

Adore let her fingers graze Courtney’s cheek before grabbing her waist and pulling her in roughly. A small gasp left Courtney’s lips, staring into Adore’s burning hazel eyes.

“The girl I knew could not bear this another moment,” Adore said, in a hoarse stage whisper.

As Adore inched closer, mouth softly parted, Courtney’s heart raced, fingers digging into Adore’s shoulders, eyes wide...

“Uh, Courtney?”

Courtney’s head snapped up, towards Mrs. Maguire’s voice. “Yes?”

“You’re supposed to push her away.”

“I know,” Courtney said, cheeks burning. “I was just trying to, um...act conflicted about it.”

“Wow, good work. We really believed you,” Mrs. Maguire said, and Courtney shoved Adore backwards, making her stumble slightly, nearly tripping over her feet.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Courtney reached for her hand to steady her.

“Yeah, sorry, I, uh…”

“Why don’t we take this section again, from Marguerite’s line ‘What do you know of it?’” Mrs. Maguire said, disguising her amused chuckle as a cough.

“Yeah, sure, okay.” Courtney brushed off her hands, hoping that the burning in her cheeks wasn’t obvious to everyone watching.

-

“So, Karen’s into Palm Reading now, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Courtney laughed. They were sitting around the tree in their usual lunch spot, Courtney sharing her mother’s latest passion by attempting to read Adore’s palm.

“So is that shitty broken one my lifeline?”

“No, this one is your lifeline…” Courtney said, finger trailing across Adore’s palm, making her giggle.

“And? What do you think?”

“You’re gonna live a long time.” Courtney grinned at her, eyes shining.

“Fuck,” Adore pouted. “You sure? Can I change that?”

Willam let out a braying laugh.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, lesbian. Personally I want to die young and beautiful.”

“One out of two isn’t bad,” Violet shrugged, earning a punch on the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Good one,” Trinity giggled.

“Watch it, cuz. I could punch you, too,” warned Willam.

“You just fucking try it. I dare you.”

“Guys, please calm down,” Fame interjected. As always, the voice of reason.

Still holding Adore’s hand, Courtney touched her palm again, shivers traveling up her arm.

“Stop it,” Adore said, biting her lip, but making no move to pull her hand away.

“A long, long life…” Courtney continued, flashing her winning smile.

Adore smiled back, but then off Violet’s intentionally loud scoff, she cleared her throat and finally snatched her hand back, just as Bob approached the group.

“Hey, uh...I need to speak to my wife,” Bob said, and Courtney laughed, getting up and following him a little ways away from the group.

“Is everything okay? Do you need-”

“What’s going on with you and Adore?” he asked quickly, head tilted down at her, brow slightly furrowed.

“What do you mean?” Courtney’s thoughts started racing, her heart beating quickly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I’ve known you since we were 4.”

“I’m not playing!” Courtney said. “Maybe I’m just dumb?”

Bob put his hands on his hips, glaring at her. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes and said, “He really loves you--”

Courtney sighed. “I know, Bob. Okay? You don’t think I know that? And I love him-”

“--More than you deserve.”

Courtney looked at him for a long moment, a sarcastic comeback on the tip of her tongue, which she swallowed down, defeated, shifting her gaze to the ground.

“I know.” Her voice broke on the last word, a lump rising in her throat.

Bob’s voice seemed to soften a little, saying, “Look...I’m just trying to-”

“I know, you’re looking out for your friend,” Courtney said tiredly, still avoiding his knowing brown eyes. Tears stung in her own eyes. “I get it.”

“No. I’m looking out for my friends.”

At that, Courtney looked up at him, surprised.

“You’re my friend too,” he continued. “And Adore’s my friend. And I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Courtney bit her lip, nodding. “Me neither,” she managed to whisper, before a single tear began to burn its way down her cheek. Bob pulled her in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” Courtney sniffled against his shoulder. “You’re a good husband.”

“Oh yeah? Then why aren’t you in the kitchen making me some pie?”

Courtney laughed, parting from him with a good-natured shove.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “I really do love him, you know.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He smiled ruefully. “Things can’t ever be easy, huh?”

“No, I guess not.”

He pressed one last fatherly kiss to her forehead before leaving to join his own lunch group. Courtney took a moment more to collect herself, then walked back to the tree.

“What was that all about?” Pearl asked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some stuff about the play.”

“I’m so excited to see this play, it’s all you guys talk about,” Tati said.

“Yeah, better live up to the hype,” Trinity warned.

“Oh, it will,” Adore promised her with a charming grin. “We’re fucking amazing.”

“Damn right it will. Although, let’s be honest, I would have been a much better Percy than Bob,” said Willam.

“Ehhh…” Courtney grimaced.

“Fuck you, cheerleader!” Willam exclaimed, chucking an orange slice at her face.

“No I mean, you’d have been great in the campy parts, but the sincere romantic stuff? Not so much.”

“Yeah, remember last year? You two were the least believable teen romance ever,” Adore laughed, and Courtney joined in, nodding.

“Exactly.”

“Are you saying I can’t play it straight?” Willam looked deeply offended.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what we’re saying,” Adore told him.

“Oh yeah? Well, watch this…Come here, Virginia.” He grabbed Tati, who immediately squirmed away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, pushing him onto the grass.

“Sorry.”

“See? A straight guy wouldn’t have listened,” Violet commented drily, making all of them crack up.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER I

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: mild swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.6k+

AN: Say hello to Yeonjun! :)

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for three years and four months and nineteen days, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Beomgyu laughed loudly and boisterously, spilling some of the silver wine over his royal blue suit. The two courtiers looked proud of themselves at having made the King laugh so much. Taehyun refrained from rolling his eyes, choosing to not tell them that Beomgyu had been giving over-the-top reactions for everyone who had come up to him.

“You’re absolutely hilarious!” Beomgyu laughed, throwing both of his legs over the throne’s armrest. “Begone, before you kill me with my own laughter!”

The courtiers stepped down from the King’s Corner, looking rather smug. As soon as they were out of sight, the exaggerated grin dropped from Beomgyu’s face and he tilted back his head with a groan.

“Aren’t you trying to play this part a little too vigorously? I mean, it’s been more than two months and yet you still hold these parties. Our palace can’t run like this forever, you know.”

Beomgyu dropped his head further on the armrest so that he was looking at Taehyun upside down. He narrowed his eyes at his vizier, who was standing ramrod straight next to the throne. “You know,” he said, “I like you better when there are other people around. You’re far too annoying when you talk.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t like you at all. You’re annoying whatever you do.”

Beomgyu sat up properly, pouting and looking at Taehyun with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that, do you?” he asked, pout turned up to the max.

Taehyun scoffed. “Don’t do that, you look stupid.” Beomgyu glared at him.

Footsteps approached the King's Corner, and Taehyun stood up straight again, face morphing into a stoic expression. A footsman let out a polite cough, standing just in front of the thin curtain. “There is someone else here to see you, King Beomgyu.”

The lace veil which separated the King’s Corner from the rest of the courtroom twitched, and a foreign lord peered inside. Pushing his half-empty goblet of wine towards Taehyun, Beomgyu beckoned them in. Taehyun could do nothing but frown ever so slightly, before tossing the goblet off the balcony onto the ballroom below. He heard a few shocked shrieks and the sound of shattering crystal, and smirked slightly.

“What matter have you brought to me?” Beomgyu asked the lord. “State your name, and the Kingdom you come from.”

The man bowed. “My name is Lord Choi Yeonjun, Your Greatness. I come from the Aruyeo Kingdom.”

Beomgyu raised his eyebrow. “Aruyeo Kingdom? I assume you and the rest of your court were here for the Coronation revels?”

Choi Yeonjun bowed again. “Yes, sir.”

“Then, state your business with the King.” Beomgyu waved a hand in a careless way, though he was studying the elder male’s face closely.

Yeonju bowed yet again. Honestly, this man seemed to do a lot of bowing. “For many years, our Kingdom has been Gojongja’s most loyal supporter. Not once, in over five hundred years, has Aruyeo made any attempt to go against Gojongja. We have remained firm by your Kingdom’s side, never rebelling, never fighting, staying almost as if we had an alliance with you. The previous King refused this, but, with a new clan on the throne, I have come to ask you.”

“Then by all means, ask away.”

Yeonjun glanced at Taehyun. “I see you have made the former King’s son your vizier.”

“Yes, indeed I have.”

“Is it necessary for him to listen to a conversation he has most likely heard already?”

“Whatever you say to the King will be fit to tell his advisor, regardless of my clan and how many times I may have heard your offer,” Taehyun said smoothly. “You will say it infront of us both, or neither of us at all.”

Yeonjun straightened, adjusting his belt. It was then that Taehyun caught sight of the leather whip curled at his side.

“Very well. As I have stated, my Kingdom has been a fervent ally of yours for generations. Therefore, I hoped to finally have our two kingdoms unite fully, so that we can become true allies. Share war tactics, resources, even people.”

Taehyun frowned. Now he knew why Yeonjun did not want him there. He remembered other Aruyeonan ambassadors had come and claimed similar things. King Seohu had always turned them away, however, claiming that Gojongja was stronger by itself than with an ally. Yeonjun was worried that Taehyun would influence Beomgyu's decision, thereby denying Aruyeo an alliance for yet another year.

“Why has your monarch not come to discuss this herself?” Taehyun asked, hand unconsciously coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Why send a representative?”

Yeonjun turned to Taehyun fully, and Taehyun realised why this man sent a chill down his spine. His eyes were amber-brown, and distinctively fox-like. He radiated a suspicious aura, and was someone Taehyun immediately distrusted. Taehyun was sure he hadn’t ever met Choi Yeonjun before (he would have remembered such fox-like eyes), and distrusted him immediately.

Yeonjun let out a slight chuckle, turning to Beomgyu. “Will you always permit your vizier to speak for you?” he asked.

Beomgyu eyed Taehyun distastefully, but calmly answered the Aruyeonan. “It gives him pleasure to believe he has control over me. But, he is correct. Why has Queen Erajin not come to me herself? It would have been best to talk it out, monarch to monarch.”

“Her Royal Supremeness has always preferred to act through ambassadors,” Yeonjun replied. “Her ways are mysterious, and it is not our job to question them, but to follow them without complaint.”

Beomgyu frowned thoughtfully at that. Taehyun desperately wished that he could somehow pull Beomgyu aside and command him to not accept the offer, but he couldn’t do so without it seeming suspicious. Taehyun wasn’t sure why he wanted Beomgyu to reject an alliance with the Aruyeo, but after seeing King Seohu turn them away many times, he was sure that it would be a bad thing to do.

Beomgyu tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I see no harm in an alliance with the Aruyeo,” he said. “But there is no use discussing such politics when I am drunk. Perhaps my vizier could schedule a meeting, and we can discuss formally then?”

Taehyun gritted his teeth. This was Beomgyu forcing him to make the decisions. He knew full well that the King would coincidentally forget about the meeting, meaning Taehyun would have to make the decisions by himself. However, perhaps this time it would be useful, since Taehyun would be able to reject the alliance…

“-and I assure you our discussion will be about all the things Aruyeo will have to offer in our alliance.”

… or not.

Yeonjun bowed, and straightened again. Though his face showed no emotion, Taehyun could sense the triumph radiating from him. “Thank you, Your Greatness.”

Once he had left, Taehyun turned to Beomgyu. “Why did you accept?” he hissed. Beomgyu looked confused, and a little hurt.

“Hey, why are you mad at me? I thought you’d be glad that I’d managed to make an important move by myself.”

“Why would I be glad?” Taehyun scoffed. “You’re drunk, and you’re going around agreeing to alliances you don’t even know the consequences of!”

“Why are you so worked up about it, hm?” Beomgyu said, growing annoyed. “Listen, an alliance with the Aruyeo Kingdom would come in handy. Have you seen the size of their military? Combined with ours, we easily overpower the other two kingdoms 50 men to one.”

“How do you know that-”

“And their resources? Aruyeo is famous for its blacksmiths. They create epic weapons out of metals that other Kingdoms don’t even have. Everyone wants to trade with the merchants of Aruyeo because of their exotic goods and the sheer wealth that they bring.”

Taehyun scowled. “Yes, but-”

“Also, their history of war-winning? It’s better to have them by our side than oppose us. As the prince, you studied past wars, didn't you? That Lord was right. Aruyeo hasn’t fought us for over half a millennium. And you can see, also, if you dig into Aruyeo’s battles, that they have barely ever lost a war. And the impact they had on the defeated is incredible. They know so many war tactics, Taehyun. War tactics, medicinal knowledge, philosophy, the sciences… they know so much.” Beomgyu counted on his fingers. “Their Royal war forces, their economy, their intelligence… Aruyeo, out of any of the other Kingdoms, is probably the best Kingdom to form an alliance with. Why are you so against it?”

Taehyun opened his mouth, and then closed it again. All the points Beomgyu had made were scarily good. He didn’t even know why he opposed the alliance so fiercely. Taehyun sighed. “King Seohu would always have me with him whenever he had meetings with foreign officials. Every couple of years or so, an Aruyeonan ambassador would come to him, stating something along the lines of what that Yeonjun guy just said. And every time, he’d turn them down. Said an alliance would only make us weak.”

Beomgyu frowned, then his face cleared. “The Jinju Kang clan were fiercely independent. They valued individual power and glory. They hated alliances, or friends, or having to rely on others. That’s why.” Beomgyu kicked his legs back onto the armrest, draping himself carelessly on the silver frame. “My clan are known for their loyalty and need for allies. They work better as team leaders, instead of just solitary wolves. For me, for my kingdom, this is what I’m going to do.”

“I’m the one supposed to be running this kingdom, aren’t I?” Taehyun reminded him. Beomgyu rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. But there has to be some sort of Gyeongju Choi element to this rule, otherwise people will doubt I’m truly King.”

Taehyun had to grudgingly admit that Beomgyu made some good points. They stayed there in silence for a few moments, Beomgyu trailing his fingers along the intricate gold designs on the floor. Taehyun stared straight ahead at the lace curtain. His mind was plagued by the same thoughts they’d always had been for the past three weeks, ever since Beomgyu became King. He needed to keep Beomgyu on the throne for as long as possible. But not for too long, otherwise the Jinju Kang clan could never come back to the throne. It would be difficult for Taehyun to negotiate with Beomgyu to convince him to extend their contract, but even more difficult if Beomgyu acquired a taste for ruling and refused to give up the throne. It was all one huge dilemma which Taehyun wasn’t sure he knew how to get out of.

“How did you know so much?” Taehyun suddenly asked. "About Aruyeo, I mean."

Beomgyu didn’t look at Taehyun, but stopped tracing the carpet.

“When you pushed me away… I went to stay in Aruyeo.”

“You what?”

“Yeah. Aruyeo have always been welcoming of Gojongja nobles. It wasn’t that hard to get in. So I stayed there, for a year or so. Learned about Aruyeonan history. They’re an epic Kingdom, by the way.”

Taehyun made a noise to confirm he’d been listening. “Also, why did you suddenly become so smart?”

Beomgyu glared, offended. “Contrary to what you believe, I actually did pay attention in my lessons. Heck, I could write down everything written in ‘the Magical Everchanging Book of Clans and their Population’, with all clans that ever existed, in alphabetical order, with citations as to how many people were in the clans when I was just seventeen.”

“Has it been that long since you opened the book?”

“No, it’s been that long since my tutors decided I had no need to open the book since I’d memorised every word, including the numbers of people which changed every single day,” Beomgyu replied curtly.

Taehyun didn’t say anything, just stared down at the patterned floor.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“What clan are you actually from then?”

“Hm?” Taehyun turned to Beomgyu, who was looking at him through dark, slitted eyes. “Oh… I come from the Jeo clan.”

“The what?” Beomgyu sat up, and laughed. “What, do you not have any surname branches?”

Taehyun glared at Beomgyu. “I don’t know, okay? When King Seohu told me three years ago, he never said anything about surname branches. He just told me I was adopted and what my ability was," Taehyun spat.

"What's your ability?"

"Why do you want to know?" Taehyun snapped back. Beomgyu glared.

"You're my subject. I have the right to know what your ability is. God, why are you so defensive over it?" Beomgyu fiddled with a button on his suit, thinking. "Is it something to do with your crazy ability to make magical contracts? Or was that just enchanted parchment?"

"That was just enchanted parchment," Taehyun said. "Apparently, their ability is foreign exchange, whatever that could mean. I haven’t figured out how to tap into this ability yet.” Taehyun leaned against one of the pillars. “Also, I for some reason possess the Jinju Kang clan’s ability of nature manipulation, though I’m not related to their line." He frowned. "Why am I telling you this?"

"I don't know," Beomgyu shrugged. " Did you seriously not know you were illegitimate for years?"

"My whole life. I just assumed I was a Kang."

"Jeo Taehyun…" Beomgyu mused. "Eh. Kang Taehyun sounds better."

Taehyun rolled his eyes. "That's because that's what you're used to." He walked away from beside the throne to look down the balcony at the ballroom floor. "Also, I think we should stop the coronation revels. This is stupid. You're just wasting money and food and our suites by attending to these dumb courtiers who only really care about how close they can get to the throne."

Beomgyu hummed. He'd taken off the silver circlet and was twirling it carelessly around his fingers.

"You shouldn't do that you know," Taehyun berated. "This crown is a precious part of Gojongja history and we don't want you breaking it by playing with it."

Beomgyu grumbled, placing the circlet sulkily back onto his head. "It's enchanted. I'm pretty sure it won't break that easily."

"Well you still shouldn't do it," Taehyun said. "It's disrespectful."

Beomgyu sighed insolently, staring up at the ceiling.

"Also, are you ever going to attend the board meetings? You haven't turned up to a single one since you became King. Do you know how awkward it is to have to explain to the rest of the generals that the King couldn't be bothered to come?"

"Oh, you bore me," Beomgyu said in annoyance. He suddenly stood up, navy velvet cloak swinging behind him. "I'm going to bed." With an air of insolence, Beomgyu swept out through the veil, before abruptly turning around. “If the revels annoy you that much, call them off yourself. And no, I don’t think I’ll be attending any of those board meetings any time soon. They bore me almost as much as you do.” He winked. “See you around, my dear vizier.” Blowing Taehyun a mocking kiss, he disappeared through the veil, mischievous laughter echoing in his wake.

Taehyun blinked, and then growled. He shook his head, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Choi fucking Beomgyu."

Beomgyu's head appeared through the lace suddenly, smirking at Taehyun. "It's 'His Royal Greatness Choi fucking Beomgyu' to you. Oh, and make sure that you air out the Discussion and Tactics Room, will you? When you talk to that Choi Yeonjun, we don't want it looking shabby, do we?"

Taehyun threw a handkerchief at Beomgyu's annoying face. The King only laughed and ducked away, leaving the cloth to flutter to the ground. Taehyun sighed and walked over to pick up the handkerchief. God, Beomgyu was so infuriating…

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Surprise

Peasley frowned a little as he examined the pile of immaculately wrapped gifts for the umpteenth time since the airship had disembarked from the Beanbean Kingdom. They were almost at the Mushroom Kingdom now and he still wasn’t sure if it was enough or too much or even if any of the gift items themselves were any good.

“Do they even celebrate Xmas in the Mushroom Kingdom?” he asked as he turned to look at his butler standing a few steps back and at the entrance to the cargo hold. His name was Cogsworth and he was a dour old bean who liked to suck the fun out of everything, Mother had insisted Peasley bring him though. “This’ll probably be quite awkward if they don’t.”

“Based off everything I know sir, they do. However, I still think you should call ahead to let them know you’re coming.”

Peasley had to hold back a groan because this was far from the first time it had been brought up. “That would ruin the surprise though and I simply can’t have that.” Also what would he even say? ‘I’m showing up at your house with a load of expensive gifts in hopes of convincing you to go out on a date with me?’ Luigi would say ‘no’ for sure if Peasley randomly called him up with that.

“I know but showing up at someone’s house unannounced and uninvited on a major holiday is rude, even if you are intending to court him. And another thing about that young sir, by doing this and showering him with a bunch of gifts, you’re putting a ton of pressure on him to say ‘yes’ to your courtship offer. I don’t think that’s right.”

Good old fun sucking Cogsworth. But also, he was right, wasn’t he? A large shower of gifts might make Luigi feel pressured to say ‘yes’ to Peasley asking him out on a date when maybe he otherwise wouldn’t. Which on one hand wasn’t so bad but on the other he wanted Luigi to want to go out with him. What should he do to fix that problem though? …

A bell rang way up on the uppermost deck, barely audible from down here, announcing that the airship would begin its descent to land soon. Which meant that they’d arrived and it was far too late to turn back now. Not that that would’ve been an option anyway, he could never show how unsure or nervous he was to his people.

“Gather up the gifts, make sure to be careful with them, some of them are fragile, I’ll meet you up top before we disembark,” he instructed Cogsworth before turning to leave.

 -

By the time he was finally ringing the bell to Luigi’s house, he was so nervous, holding still and not showing it took about all of his self-control. Cogsworth stood behind him, carrying the gifts piled atop a palette so high it didn’t look as if he could see past it.

A dog started barking on the other side of the door. That was likely Polterpup. Luigi had told Peasley about him in their private messaging conversations. It was absolutely adorable how someone so afraid of ghosts could overcome that for the sake of loving a dog.

Confirming that it was indeed Polterpup, the dog literally jumped through the door to bark at Peasley directly. It was a friendly bark though so, a big fan of dogs himself, Peasley reached out to pet him. It stilled his barking and earned a wag from his ghostly tail.

“Good boy. Now go tell your master to answer the door.” He pointed at the door.

Polterpup barked once more before jumping back inside. A few seconds later the door opened. It was Luigi’s brother who’d answered it though: Mario – Peasley only remembered his name because Luigi liked to talk about him a lot.

“Hello and Merry Xmas,” Peasley said with his best smile. With how much Luigi looked up to Mario, Peasley wanted to make a good impression on him too.

The look of surprise on Mario’s face morphed into a smile. “Merry Xmas! You’re here to see my bro, right? Come right on in.” He stepped back gesturing them in with his arm.

Peasley plucked the sole red wrapped present off the gift pile to hand to Mario as he accepted his invitation to step inside. “I got you a gift too since I knew you were likely to be here.” He hadn’t put as much thought into it as he had Luigi’s numerous gifts but he had gone out of his way to make sure it was good. Mario had assisted Luigi in saving the Beanbean Kingdom after all.

“Oh! Thank you,” Mario said as he closed the front door with his foot.

“Who’s at the… oh!” Luigi was poking his head into the entrance hallway. He looked quite surprised, a cute look on his face and exactly what Peasley had wanted to see. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Good, I wanted it to be a surprise,” Peasley said as he sauntered down the hall and into the living room.

Smaller than expected but there was still plenty of space for all of them to stand. Beautifully lit and decorated, the Xmas was centered by the window. Next to it stood what could only be Gooigi; Luigi’s goo clone. They weren’t as good looking as the real thing but in their own unique way they were still cute.

With a smile, Peasley turned back to smile up at Luigi. Up because without his flying cushion, he was significantly shorter than Luigi. Ugh, if he were taller maybe this would be easier. “I wasn’t sure what to get you for Xmas so I decided to just get you everything I could think of that you might like.” He timed his words and gesture perfectly as Cogsworth waddled in after Mario to put the palette piled high with gifts on the coffee table. Polterpup followed to sniff at the gifts but thankfully seemed to find them uninteresting as he quickly abandoned them to find other things to sniff, namely Cogsworth’s coat tails.

“I got Mario a gift too of course,” Peasley continued, pretending to ignore the shocked look on Luigi’s face at the pile of gifts. “And Gooigi too.” He plucked the light blue wrapped present off the top to hand to Gooigi as they approached upon their name being said. “I sadly forgot to get Polterpup something but the rest is yours.” The rest of the gifts in the pile were wrapped in green, the closest shade to Luigi’s preferred green as could be found in wrapping paper.

“Oh, I uh… I… really appreciate it but… I didn’t get you anything. I would’ve if I’d known you were coming but… I didn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peasley said, tossing his hair in the way he knew from practicing in mirror made him look more attractive. Unless he was lying to himself and was just a short ugly bean trying to hit on someone way out of league. “I don’t expect anything in return so a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“Oh uh… thank you and… Merry Xmas.” Luigi smiled, blushing a little. He was far too precious and cute. What would kissing him be like with that mustache? And that nose; beans didn’t have proper noses, would it affect the kiss any? Would his skin feel any different from that of a bean’s, warmer or softer perhaps?

As much as Peasley desperately desired to find out, he mustn’t stare. He was the prince of the Beanbean Kingdom so he must be proper about all this. He should ask Luigi out on a date or be old school proper and ask permission to court him. But… despite how much his soul burned to do so, he couldn’t find the words. And so, he just watched, barely able to keep his nonchalant air as Luigi walked over and awkwardly picked up one the gifts.

“Uh well…” he said, turning to look back at Peasley, “since I don’t have a gift for you maybe uh… you and uh… your butler might like to stay for dinner instead? If Mario and Gooigi are all right with that anyway.”

“We would love to,” Peasley said. “If they’re all right with it?” He turned to look at where Mario had wondered over to join Gooigi.

“Of course,” Mario said. And with a nudge from him, Gooigi nodded too, holding a thumbs up. “You did fly all the way from the Beanbean Kingdom after all so feel free to stay as long as you like.”

That settled it, Peasley would be spending the rest of Xmas day and Xmas dinner here. Which was wonderful in a multitude of ways not least of all because it would give him time to figure out how to ask Luigi out on a date. If he decided to ask today at all. He didn’t have to, he could choose to just enjoy the day and let whatever may happen between them happen.

[amberjade-rhodes]

WHEN: 9 October, 2021 TYPE: Text thread NB: AJ texts Bryce to thank him for spending her birthday with her, which leads to an uncomfortable conversation about the state of their relationship. @brycecortez

AJ:

thank you for celebrating my birthday with me. having you back on campus is the best gift of all x

Bryce:

thank you for choosing me to spend your birthday with

AJ:

…..

.

…..

There’s no one else that I’d rather spend my birthday with

Bryce:

[typing]

well i’m really glad that you had a nice birthday. you seem to be happy

AJ:

happier since you’ve been back, although this level of formality is a little weird for us…

Bryce:

it’s very weird for us lol i’m not sure if i like it

AJ:

I don’t like it either but I feel like I’ve brought it on myself because of everything I had to tell you

Bryce:

thank you for being honest with me

at the end of the day, i just want you to be happy. you gotta do what’s best for you aj

AJ;

I feel like we skimmed over this because there were so many other things to discuss but I ended things as soon as I realised that you were back

before even knowing if you still loved me or wanted to be with me

it was over the second that I saw you again

Bryce:

why? he seems to be good for you

you need someone like that in your life. you deserve it, quite frankly

AJ:

he’s not you. it only worked when I had completely given up hope that I’d ever see you again

I can understand why you probably can’t believe that, though. I’m sorry for hurting you, Bryce. I’ll give you as much time and space as you need… I understand that I’m probably the last person you want to be around right now

Bryce:

you're not the last person that i want to be around right now

if anything, you were the one person i wanted at my side when shit hit the fan

AJ:

I’m terrified of the answer to this question but I feel like I /have/ to ask

… is there any hope for us?

Bryce:

i don't know...is there?

i want to leave the ball in your court since i'm the one who left and then came back

AJ:

from my end? yes. there’s no doubt in my mind that I want to be with you

I just don’t know if that’s what you want

Bryce:

of course i want to be with you

but i think we both have a lot of shit we have to work through individually

AJ:

yeah I get that

It’s not what I want to hear because it sounds a lot like we’re never going to happen but I do get it

Bryce:

it's just that

you've been through a lot, and you're currently going through a lot. i don't want to be an added problem

but i do still love you, that's never changed

AJ:

you were never a problem, Bryce. if anything, you were salvation

I understand though

I’ll be here if you ever change your mind

Bryce:

i love you, and i missed you.

AJ:

I love you and I missed you. still miss you, actually

I know you’re back but you also kind of aren’t back, at least not with me. not like it was before.

Bryce:

i’m right here, aj

AJ:

except you aren’t mine anymore

which is something that I’ll have to get used to

Bryce:

i’ve always been yours

AJ:

you… you can’t say things like that when we’re not together, it’s not fair.

I’m head over heels in love with you, Bryce

and I’m trying to be okay with the fact that we’re not together but then you say things like that and…. I’m suddenly filled with hope all over again, only for it to inevitably be crushed

Bryce:

[typing for several minutes]

you're right

i'll stop. i'm sorry

AJ:

I feel like you’re missing my point

I’m in love with you, Bryce. I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I’m never going to stop being in love with you.

I know that I’ve made mistakes. I know that I’m fucked up and flawed and not a smart choice in the relationship department. Trust me, I know that you can do way better

This is me fighting for you, Bryce. This is making it absolutely clear that I want to be with you. I don’t want to be with anyone other than you.

I just… if you don’t want me back, if you don’t want a relationship with me, I need you to tell me. every time that you tell me that you love me or that you miss me, I’m filled with hope that maybe there is a chance for us and then it’s crushed all over again when it doesn’t lead to anything

so that’s why I’m asking you to stop saying those things if there isn’t hope for us because it’s breaking my heart every single time. I… I can’t keep putting myself out there, I can’t keep being vulnerable, I can’t keep desperately hoping for something that might never come.

Bryce:

i don’t know what to say. if i tell you that i love you i’m in the wrong, but if i don’t say anything...i’m still somehow in the wrong.

i told you my feelings for you didn’t change, isn’t that enough?

AJ:

I guess I just don’t understand why we aren’t together if your feelings haven’t changed

if your feelings haven’t changed, what’s different this time around?

all I can think is that I’m officially damaged goods in your eyes, that you’ve finally realised that my negatives outweigh my positives and that you deserve better

Bryce:

you’re not damaged goods. you’ve never been damaged goods

but we’ve both been through a lot the last few months. what if it’s not the same as it was before?

AJ:

I don’t know what else to say, Bryce. you know how I feel and what I want. if you ever decide that I’m worth another shot and that this is something you want to pursue… well, you know where to find me

Bryce:

i’m sorry. i feel like i’m hurting you and that’s the last thing that i want to do. if the question is whether or not i’m still in love with you, i am. and i want to be with you, i really do.

we’re just both going through a lot right now. i don’t want to be an added stressor

AJ:

like I said, you’re not an added stressor. god, seeing you on campus again…. It’s like i could finally breathe again. That’s the opposite of a stressor

you know where I stand now so if you ever want to talk about us… you know where to find me

Bryce:

this isn’t me not wanting a relationship with you. you’re the only one i want a relationship with. i just want you to be okay

okay...i love you, never forget that

AJ:

[read]

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #411

“everybody’s got loaded stories, and i know for a fact everybody sees a bullseye on my back”

Have you ever been to jail? No. Opinion on snow? I absolutely love it! Not big on the slush it leaves behind, though. It gets ugly. What are you best at drawing? Meerkats. Are you scared of going over bridges? Nah. If you had endless energy and stamina, how would you spend your days? Plenty of exercise, lots of exploration with my camera, doing chores much more regularly... stuff like that. What mental or physical space do you go when you want to recharge or relax? I go to my room and watch YouTube. Did you have/use a comfort object as a child (do you continue to have one)? I actually don't remember. Now as an adult, if I go somewhere, my purse is actually like my comfort item in that I like to sit and sort of hug it to feel more secure. When was the last time you said something you regret? What did you say? I'm unsure. What do you tend to get carried away with? New hobbies/interests. It will be like all I care about for a long while, ha ha. Do you believe we have souls; do you believe in a life after death? Yes to both. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes, and it's the absolute worst. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? We had those Flintstones ones for a while, but for most of my childhood, we had gummy vitamins. Have you ever gone to court? Well, yes, but not for like your ordinary court hearing. While hospitalized on one occasion, a lawyer visited to speak to the patients informing us that we could argue against our discharge dates if we believed we were going to be committed for too long, which I thought I was, so I signed up to bring my case in front of a judge. So yeah, I've been to court, but not for ordinary reasons. Are you friends with your neighbors? "Friends," no. The people to our left like just moved out, and I don't even know if we've ever been outside at the same time as the family on our right. Favorite color? I like baby pink. How long has it been since you’ve seen The Lion King? I saw the CGI remake when it came out, if that counts? I don't know about the original. When did you last hold hands with someone? Sometime when I was at my sister's house, my niece grabbed my hand to drag me somewhere, ha ha. Have you ever had a crush on your sibling's friend? No. Have you ever gone to a beach? Multiple times. How good is your eyesight? It is very, VERY bad. I need new glasses severely. What’s the best wedding you’ve been to? My former dance teacher's. Have you ever had a negative encounter with the police? What happened? No. What’s your favourite thing to cook/bake? Do you eat it often? I don't do either. How do you flush the toilet in public? I generally use my elbow. I don't like standing on one leg, so I don't really use my foot like I'd prefer. Favorite horror movie? Silent Hill is dearest to me overall just because of what it is, but as a horror film, I think the original Blair Witch Project is best. Do you have your wisdom teeth? X-rays have only ever shown two are present, but I have enough space for those. What would you name your pet snake if you had one? It would depend on their appearance. The snake I have currently is named Venus because her coloration is similar to the planet. Do you like peanuts? Only when covered in chocolate. Where do you typically shop for bras and underwear? Do you tend to keep it simple, or have a variety of different items? Have you ever gotten a professional bra fitting? I don't get new undergarments (or clothes in general) frequently, but historically, my bras are bought online and underwear just from Wal-Mart. I don't really get the second question? I mean I don't have a style when it comes to those types of clothes, if that's what you mean. I've never had an actual bra-fitting, but I absolutely need to but keep putting it off. It seems like NO bra fits me properly all-around, and it's ridiculously annoying. What (if any) types of xrays/scans/other diagnostic tests have you had done? Was anything found? Idk man, a lot. I've had xrays on my wrist (found a fracture), teeth, legs... maybe more? I've also had an ultrasound on my liver for reasons I don't recall. I either had an MRI or CT scan (I can't remember which) when I got a concussion, and uhhhh... I can't think of anything else. Were you breast or bottle fed as a child? If you plan to have children, which do you think you’ll choose? Do you think one is really better than the other? I was nursed, and if I hypothetically had children, I'd definitely try to do the same. It was so incredible to me that I've never forgotten this: when I was at the hospital while my sister had her first baby, there was a chart on the wall of how many more nutrients were in breast milk versus formula milk, and the list was GARGANTUAN. Like, unbelievable. Now, do I think it's BETTER? That's a complicated question for which, in short, my answer is no. More nutritious, well, given what I just said, obviously. But breastfeeding just doesn't work for all mothers for a plethora of reasons, like the time demand, they can be self-conscious, it's painful... and all those things are okay. A mother should do what works best for her. Neither one is "wrong" or makes someone less of a mother because they feed their child less traditionally. Do you find that you have become more selective in terms of friendships as you’ve gotten older? Did the friendships you thought would last over time end up that way? Absolutely. There are just some kinds of people I absolutely do not tolerate anymore. And no, not most. We just drifted apart with time, or given most of my closest friendships are/were online, they just fell off the face of the earth. What are you doing right now? This and re-watching John Wolfe play Bloodborne. Bloodborne is such a comfort series to me... somehow, ha ha. Yet another game I've never played but desperately want to. Where are you? In my bedroom, as always. When you get yelled at, do you yell back or let it go? Depending on who it is, I might yell back, but most likely cry, ha ha. I hate being yelled at, like a lot. Is the person you last texted single? That would be my mom, so yeah. I've hoped she'd find a partner forever... She, probably more than anyone I know, deserves love from the *right* guy. I worry a lot how lonely she may become whenever I move out. Are you easily scared by horror movies? Not at all. Are you friends with any of your ex boyfriend/girlfriends? Girt and Sara, yes. Are you lonely? Be honest. Very. What has made you happy today? It's too early for this. What has made you sad today? Nothing, really. Last thing eaten? I had leftover pancakes from yesterday. Are you wearing anything that’s not yours? No. Do you like to wear makeup? I mean it makes me feel prettier, sure, but the actual time investment doesn't feel worth it for me personally. Especially when you're not even that good with applying it. Have you ever attempted to write a story or novel? Many times when I was younger. Would you rather have perfect hair or perfect skin? Perfect skin. I hate my skin, it has so many blemishes. What’s your middle name? Marie. How big is your bed? Queen. Do you drink? Only a bit for special occasions, really. I'll have a daiquiri on your average day every once and a blue moon. Would you fall apart if that last person you kissed walked out of your life? That's an understatement. Do you prefer pasta, salad, or coleslaw? Pasta. I hate coleslaw. Do you find smoking unattractive? Yes. Where’s the last place you went besides your house? The TMS office. Do you eat breakfast daily? Yes. Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? My dad. Do you like your cell phone? No, but it gets the job done. I just wish I had a phone with a good camera. Has anyone ever sang to you? Yes. So, what if you married the last person you kissed? That's the dream, but I acknowledge and accept it just might not work out like that. Do you usually answer your texts? Almost always. Have you ever changed clothes in a vehicle? Yes. Who has seen you cry the most? My mom, for sure. Have you ever just laid down outside and stared at the stars? Yeah, Jason and I did that one night on the trampoline. Have your friends ever randomly stopped by your house? In the past, yes. Think to the last person you kissed; have you ever kissed them on the ground? No. Do you have a condom in your room? No, got no use for one. Do your siblings ever pay for stuff for you? Yes. What brand is your digital camera? Canon. Do you own expensive perfume/cologne? No; I really don't get the point. When was the last time you went tanning? Ew, never. I find NO appeal in just lying in the boiling sun. Do you like the smell of fresh cut grass? No, I hate it. Do you get embarrassed easily? Like you would not fucking believe. It's one of the things I hate most about myself, because I'm embarrassed about everything I like and what makes me me. Has anyone ever thrown you a surprise party? No. Do you always wear your seatbelt? Absolutely. You couldn't pay me not to. Do you sing in the shower? No. Have you ever been called a slut/whore/something along those lines? Only playfully among friends. Have you ever stood up for someone you hardly/didn't even know? Yes. Have you ever fallen in love with a really good friend of yours? Yes. Do you own a blacklight? No. Do you like fruit better than vegetables? Definitely. Have your friends met the last person you kissed? Of my current friends, only Girt has. If you’re straight, have you ever thought about kissing the same sex? If you’re gay, have you ever thought about kissing the opposite sex? I'm bisexual, soooo. What does your laugh sound like? Do you have a loud laugh or a quiet laugh? Bro my laugh is so fucking loud and obnoxious. Is there a reality TV show you would consider taking part in? No.

[clairecrive]

“Cupid’s strike”- Tuck Hanson x reader [Requested]

This imagine was requested from a girl on Wattpad as a way to make up for that awful ending. Tuck is a baby and he deserves everything. This is my first time writing him but wouldn’t mind doing it more. 

As I’ve said on monday, I don’t have a lot of time but I’m doing my best and writing on different projects. Blurbs are still a thing if you’d like and in the mean time, I’d really like to know what you think about this.

Hope you’re all safe and doing well!

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​, @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @fandom--0verdose​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @evelynshelby​ (let me know if you wanna be added)

"Hello, boys! Whatcha doing?" Y/n makes her entrance in her fellow agents' room. However, she doesn't get a reply, the boys were too busy staring at each other with their mouths open. Was that a new game they were playing? Not really thinking about it, knowing them and their goofiness, she just steps further into the room and from her new position, she could see what was on their computer that had made them lose their ability to speak.

"Who's that?" She then asks more intrigued. On the desktop, there was a picture of a blonde woman, charming smile, kind eyes. She seems nice enough.

"Lauren Scott?" FDR says not really talking to you but more with Tuck who by the expression on his face, knew exactly who he was talking about.

"So, let me ask again: who is that?" y/n asked again, not really liking the way her question kept going over their heads.

FDR was actually the one who explains the whole thing to you. Apparently, Tuck was looking for a partner and had registered on a dating app. That was how he met Lauren. FDR on the other hand, met Lauren in a more creepy way, as it was in his style. But, on the same day that she had first met Tuck, she had agreed to go on a date with him. Y/N didn't know Lauren but by this account alone, she decides that she doesn't like her. She knew that Tuck and FDR had a very strong and tight friendship but she also knew how the love for a woman can destroy relationships. It happens all the time and seeing the way they're looking at each other, she fears this could happen with them too.

"You know what? You date her. It's okay." FDR then says to Tuck after he's finished talking with Y/N

"Really?"

"Yeah well, it wouldn't be fair to you." He says shrugging his shoulders

"What do you mean? You think she would choose you?" Tuck's ego has been bruised by his friend insinuation. Y/N knew that when it came to women and their current romantic situation, the boys couldn't be more different. While FDR had a way about him that somehow managed to make every woman want to be with him, Tuck was a sweetheart and hadn't really put himself out there since his divorce. Maybe FDR was right, he would probably charm his way into Lauren's heart or piece of underwear and Tuck would be left behind. It sucks to say, but it's probably how it would go, both Tuck and FDR knew it. Hell, even Y/N knew it but thought it to be complete bullshit. She never really understood how women keep falling for FDR when he's basically playing by the book. One look at him and you would understand that he's going to break your heart. Sure, he was handsome, Y/N could see that, but so was Tuck.

For Y/N it was really a no brainer when it came to choose between the two but apparently that was not the case for Lauren. Lost in her thoughts, she came back to hear that the boys were setting some ground rules to court Lauren?

"Wait, are you actually going through with this?" She asks hoping to get a negative answer. Was she the only one that realized the foolishness of this situation?

"Yeah, we are," FDR exclaimed angrily typing on his keyboard.

"Tuck?" Y/N then turns to her favorite, hoping that he could be more reasonable than his friend.

"Yes. Yes, we are." To her dismay, came his reply along with a serious glace while he too typed angrily. Ugh, boys.

Shaking your head you were sure to manifest your dissent about their reached agreement, walking out of their room. This was not going to be nice.

***

Y/N always like to be right about something. That was one of the reasons why she chose to be a C.I.A. agent. She knew what was best and wanted to make things right. However, in this case, she would have much preferred to be wrong.

After that day in their office, things between the two friends became tense. They had formed two teams, men that they had personally recruited to gather as much information as they could on Lauren. And of course, to sabotage the other's dates with her. While Y/N admitted that it was kinda fun to see FDR make a total fool of himself while describing a paint, she was also worried for Tuck. It seemed like he was starting to really care for this woman and she couldn't get her head around as to why. Yes, she was attractive but there were so many good looking women out there that don't date two guys at the same time. I mean, why would any of them want to be with someone that could be so double-sided?

She refused to take part in this absurdity and mostly kept to herself. Although she had a good relationship with them, she had always been closer with Tuck. She had admitted to herself a long time ago that she had a crush on him, but with his divorce first and now Lauren, she never found the courage to let him know.

"Hey Y/N." Turning around she saw Tuck walking her way. Speaking of the devil...

"Hello, Tuck." She greeted him back, without her usual chirpiness.

"What's up?" He tries to make conversation while waiting for his coffee to be ready.

"Nothing much. What about you?"

"Just managed to make FDR look like a complete baffoon, so I'd say pretty good." He says giving you that charming smile that made you smile back like an idiot.

"You're still on with that plan, eh?" She asked even though she knew he was.

"Absolutely. Wait- are you on FDR's team? Is that why you're not with me?" He asks suspiciously.

"As if," she scoffs at the insinuation," I'm on no one's team. This whole thing is stupid." Y/N finally speaks her mind to him.

"You think so?" He looks taken back and somehow that only managed to anger her more.

"Of course I do and I honestly don't know how you both don't see it. I mean, FDR is pretty slow I've always thought that, but you? You actually surprised me, Tuck."

"By the way you're saying it, it's not in a good way is it?"

"Why would you even be with someone that dates your best friend behind your back? She doesn't know that you two know each other so she's just playing it safe, leading both of you on until she makes up her mind. Sounds to me she's not worth the fuss you're both making." Speaking her mind had never felt so good, the only thing is that now she doesn't think she can stop.

"I mean, look at you, Tuck. You're a fucking catch! You're rather easy on the eye, you're smart, you're sweet, you're thoughtful. If she doesn't appreciate this enough to stick to you then it's her loss. You're certainly not losing anything by not ending up with her." Maybe by getting this off her chest, she has let on more than she wanted to, but she was happy nonetheless. Even if Tuck chose to keep pining after Lauren, ignoring what she said and what she implied, at least she had tried.

The awkward silence that fell between them wasn't expected and now y/n was feeling more nervous than ever under the scrutiny of those beautiful eyes. So, with a quick goodbye, she excused herself and walked away.

***

The next time she came across Tuck, he was whispering about something with FDR in the hall only to stop as soon as he saw her approaching. FDR turned around to see what had made him stop talking and when he saw y/n's silhouette disappearing in one of the rooms, he understood why his best friend was all about. A part of him, the selfish one, was glad that Tuck was taking a step back from this competition they had going on, the other one though, the one that cared deeply about his friend, was actually relieved to see him pining after someone that could actually return his feelings. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but he could swear that Lauren would choose him and while it was obviously what he wanted, he wouldn't have enjoyed it if it would leave his best friend heartbroken in the process. He had known y/n almost as long as he had known and while he hadn't the same tight bond he shared with the British man, he knew that she was a kind heart and could be very sweet despite her ability to knock a guy twice her size in two seconds. In a way she was the perfect fit for Tuck, he wonders how he had never thought about it before, it was so obvious.

Well, it's never too late for Cupid to strike, right?

Pairing the two together was easier than FDR first thought. Neither of them had the littlest suspicion about the other's feelings. Well, Tuck had thought about it but by the way y/n had been avoiding him since their last conversation, he had dismissed the idea without a second thought. For FDR it was so amusing to see, two of their best agent, completely clueless about the situation they had put themselves in. Smirking at the plan that was forming in his head, he started to make all the calls necessary to arrange it. This is going to be fun.

The plan was very simple actually, just try to create the occasion where both of them would have to spend time alone so they'll be forced to talk about it at one point. Or so he thought, the success of his plan was based entirely on that. Having arranged everything, he sat in the surveillance room, from where he could see everything and everyone. As planned, y/n and Tuck were both carrying out their tasks in adjacent rooms. So that when FDR would set off the alarm, they would be the nearest agents to the room where the supposed intruders are going to be. Knowing them, as soon as they'd learn their position, they'd sprung into action and volunteer to solve the problem. And that's exactly what happened, much to FDR amusement and satisfaction.

"I'm on it." Their voice came simultaneously through the microphones of the computers he was watching them on. Tuck met her outside the incriminated room and after a nod of agreement, she kicked the door open and they entered the room covering each other's back. The room was dark, there wasn't much to see, but they were on high alert expecting someone to attack them at any moment. Back to back, they were venturing far in, when the sudden sound of the door being closed and locked startled them. Looking at each other in the dark, they quietly walked towards it only to check that it was indeed locked. Figuring that it was the intruders that had trapped them inside, they went to notify their team.

"They've trapped us in here." Tuck let FDR know, none the wiser about the fact that his friend was behind this all.

"And that's how it should be." FDR finally came clean, enjoying Tuck's confused expression and y/n clearly fed up with him one.

"What are you up to?" y/n asked putting away her gun and relaxing her stance already catching on with the fact that there probably weren't any intruders.

"You both needed a little push, so here it is mate. No need to thank me." He said mainly speaking to Tuck, who immediately grasped what his friend was hinting to. Groaning a little, he swore under his breath, frustrated at his friend antics but at the same time grateful that he had given him a little nudge in the right direction. Not that he had to know that

"What's he on about?" y/n's defeated voice snapped him out of his reverie.

Come on Tuck, now's your time. You can do it, mate.

"Oh, you know FDR. He's always on to something. This time though, I might know what he's up to." Taking his time, he strolled over where he thought she should be. Not that y/n could see him, but being nice to her made this all more intimate he thought.

"Is it something that I'd want to know?" Her voice worked as an indicator of her position and so far she was pretty close to him. An arm away, he guessed.

"I think so, yeah. I'd like to know if you'd like to come to a date with us?"

"And why would I want to be the fourth wheel? " As a matter of fact, she pointed out. She thought she had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't a fan of this situation they had put themselves in. Apparently not, she thought.

"That's not what you'd be doing, darling. I was thinking more of a double date situation. If you're okay with it, that it is."

Okay, this was something she hadn't seen coming. Was he asking her out? But then what about Lauren? Wasn't he all hellbent to conquer her heart?

"I'm not sure I'd like to go on a date with FDR. He's handsome and all but not really my type." She said playing coy, wanting to lure him out and be upfront about it. She wasn't going to let it be all mysterious and vague. Game time was over.

"I'm not sure I'd like that either," Tuck admitted letting out a small chuckle playing along, "that's why you'd be going on a date with me." He finally said.

If there was even the smallest amount of light, she was sure that Tuck would be creeped out by how big she was smiling. Y/n couldn't believe her ears. She'd been waiting to hear these words for what it felt like ages. Was she really that blessed to be asked out by such a lovely, charming man, who she knows to be loyal and kind?

"Is this a situation where silence means yes or is it more like "I'm trying to find the right words to say no"?" Apparently, she had been lost in her thoughts for too long and now Tuck was questioning himself.

"This is one of those situations where you've been waiting for something to happen for so long that when it does, you can't believe it," Y/n voice finally filled the room, relieving Tuck of any doubts and making him blush a little. Thank god it was so dark in here.

"So, I'll take that as a yes." He concluded.

"Your intuition has always been your strongest asset." She joked trying to soothe the embarrassment she was feeling. What a fool she was, thank god that Tuck was such a gentleman that he didn't mention it.

What Y/N didn't know though, was that Tuck too was lost into his little world where a miniature version of himself was jumping around doing a happy dance from finally scoring a date with the girl of his dreams.