#managed to get Luke to give up the blanket twice since it was given

[tennessoui]

I seriously loved the one-shot! Especially because I woke up with the notification from ao3 and it made work pass quickly today ^^

(Also it distracted me from the drunken, yelling groups of men roaming the city today 🙃)

And I am so intrigued how it continues!! What will Obi-Wan do?? Will he leave the order??? Is there any other option?

Aaannnd I’m curious as to why Anakin wore the veil in the senate…

Haha lots of questions, sorry ^^’

I hope you are well and your days are bright 💜

ahh glad you enjoyed it!!! 🥰

as for your questions, in my mind obi-wan is going to leave the order and no one is going to be particularly surprised. The Order has probably spent the last several months fielding questions from reporters about Jedi Knight Kenobi’s close relationship with Senator Skywalker, as well as making photos of rather intimate moments between them (just walking around the senate gardens but it’s heavy chemistry ok) disappear

he gets to live his best life as like nanny instructor for two babies who adore him:

Anakin doesn’t trust anyone more with his kids. He bullies obi-wan into teaching them how to use the Force and control themselves, and he also bullies Obi-Wan into teaching him the same thing

(Obi-Wan also makes a blanket for Leia. He’d thought they would just share the original blanket, but when he says this, Anakin laughs himself silly)

(Anakin also wants a blanket for himself. This takes much longer to complete.)

As for the reasons anakin wears the veil, it’s honestly completely and totally just plot reasons so the plot can happen. I guess an argument could be made for him feeling the need to keep his identity secret in case of attack, or because he likes the ceremony of it all, idk mostly just a character quirk for the sake of the paper-thin plot, like Padmé and her handmaidens when she’s queen

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

We need Reggie yelling at the boys to be better friends to Bobers PLEASe

ok so this took forever and also it's not actually Reggie yelling at Luke and Alex, it's Reggie yelling at Bobby.... but I tried like four different versions of this and I'm actually really happy with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy!

This takes place in my All Too Well Splinterverse. It's a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, but it takes place after the events of cause there we are again in the middle of the night, so be aware of spoilers/confusion if you haven't read both of those.

read on ao3 here:

--

Gathering up his courage, Reggie knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a voice calls, hoarse and stuffy, followed by a round of harsh coughs.

Reggie hesitates again, curling his hands into fists around the straps of his backpack. Maybe this was a mistake, he starts to think. Maybe he should’ve waited a little longer, waited for a better time to do this. Maybe he should’ve just left the stuff he brought in the studio and gone home without making any actual conversation…

But he made it all the way here… he can’t back down now. So he takes a deep breath, swallows back his nerves, and pushes the door open.

Bobby’s sitting up in bed, propped up against three or four pillows, a blanket over his legs and another around his shoulders. He looks tired—like, more tired than Bobby always looks, which is saying something—and his hair is all mussed up, his nose cherry red, his cheeks flushed in contrast to his waxy skin.

He’s sick, all right. Sicker than he was a week ago, the last time Reggie saw him when they were helping Luke with his discharge from the hospital. Being sick doesn’t make Bobby any less attractive, though, which Reggie should really not be thinking about right now.

“Reg!” Bobby croaks, placing the steaming mug he’s holding on the nightstand. He clears his throat and swipes a wrist under his nose, sniffling as he turns back to Reggie with a thin smile. “Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

Reggie blinks, forgetting for a second what he is doing here. But then he remembers and shakes his head a little, scrambling to get his backpack off and unzipping it. “Oh, um. Your mom let me in. I brought…” With some difficulty, he yanks out a packet of papers stuffed at the top of his pack. “...your homework!”

“Gee, thanks,” Bobby mutters sarcastically. He sniffles again and rubs his nose, nodding at the desk by the door. “You can just leave them there, thanks, man.”

Reggie nods and stacks the papers on the desk, followed by the books he grabbed from Bobby’s locker after trying every possible combination until he could get it open. With his official mission complete, though, Reggie hesitates again, lingering by Bobby’s desk. He doesn’t want to leave, but… he also doesn’t quite know how to say what he actually came here to say.

“You probably shouldn’t—” Bobby starts to say, then breaks off to sneeze into his elbow, twice.

“Bless you,” Reggie says, hovering awkwardly

Bobby makes a tired, congested sound and sniffs wetly, grabbing the tissue box on the bedside table. “As I was saying, you probably shouldn’t get too close. I am… disgusting.”

Reggie doesn’t respond. Bobby blows his nose and tosses his dirty tissues into the overflowing trash can next to the bed. He slumps back into his pillows, retrieves his mug and takes a sip, and only then seems to realize Reggie’s still standing there.

“Did you need something else, bro?” he asks, peering at Reggie over the rim of his mug.

“Just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Reggie says, a little too quickly. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder again. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous right now, so awkward.

Maybe because he’s never been in Bobby’s room for this long before, or at all without the other guys, or alone with Bobby since—

Since a few minutes in the hospital, since holding his hand on the front porch, since Reggie realized he liked Bobby as more than a friend.

Not that that… matters, now.

“I’m okay,” Bobby says with a shrug before coughing into a fist. “I sound worse than I feel, honestly, I’m mostly just congested at this point. But I’m on the good drugs, so.” He chuckles a little; Reggie doesn’t join him. Bobby clears his throat again and turns serious. “No, but. Fever’s been under 101 for three days straight, so. I’m on the mend.”

“Good,” Reggie says, managing a smile. “Good, that’s really good.”

Something shifts in Bobby’s expression, something that makes dread pool in Reggie’s stomach even before the words, “How’s Luke?” are out of Bobby’s mouth.

“He’s—” Reggie starts to say and then chokes on the word good. “—getting there. Fever’s gone, but he hasn’t been back at school yet cause his ribs are still healing. And he can’t play music yet, so he’s bored out of his mind.”

Bobby nods. “Yeah, he took his guitars home, but I didn’t know if he could do much playing yet. Things at home, though, are… I mean, he’s been okay with his mom and dad?”

“So far. I think they’re just really glad he’s home.”

“Good.” Bobby smiles a little, visibly relaxing, and then turns away to cough into his elbow, rubbing at his chest like it hurts. He sips at his tea some more.

This should be Reggie’s cue to leave. He brought Bobby his homework, he asked how he was feeling, he gave him an update on his… on Luke.

There’s nothing more for Reggie to do here. And yet he can’t get himself to walk away.

The words are out of his mouth before he makes any conscious choice to say them. “Bobby, are you and Luke, like… dating now?”

Bobby chokes on his tea. “Uh—I—wh-what makes you ask that?”

“Well, you said he kissed you. And you guys seemed pretty cozy at the hospital, so… I just wondered…”

Something closes off in Bobby’s expression, like a curtain being drawn behind his eyes. It makes Reggie’s heart sink, reminds him that oh,  yeah, he and Bobby don’t… talk about things like this. That even though they’ve been getting along better since the whole migraine incident (not that they’d been getting along badly before then, they just hadn't really been… getting), they’re still not much more than bandmates.

“You don’t… have to tell me.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Bobby says quickly, even as his cheeks flush red. “I, uh… I guess we are? Or we’re going to be? Dating, I mean, once we’re both feeling a hundred percent.”

Reggie nods. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels… not sad, really, or even disappointed, it’s not like he’s surprised—but just… Actually, he doesn’t know what he feels.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” he manages to choke out.

Bobby’s smile cuts like a knife. “Thanks, Reg. That means a lot.”

Reggie nods and starts backing toward the door. “Cool. I mean—yeah. Yeah, no—no problem, man.”

He fumbles for the doorknob, but Bobby’s voice stops him. “I gotta thank you, Reg.”

“For what?”

“For all your help last week.” Bobby shifts his weight on the bed and clears his throat, his hands wrapped securely around his mug like he needs it to steady him. “With Luke, and… and taking care of me at the hospital. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Reggie blushes and starts to stammer out a reply, but Bobby cuts him off again. “And I need to apologize for snapping at you.”

Reggie blinks. “What? When did you—?”

“The other night, at the hospital. You asked if my head hurt and I…”

Right. Reggie remembers now. He’d seen Bobby rubbing his forehead and thought the stress of the night had given him a migraine (turns out, he was just catching Luke’s cold). So, he’d tried to take Bobby’s hand, ready to use the pressure point trick that had worked so well on him last time, but Bobby had flinched away, eyes wide and angry, and said, I’m fine!

That had been right after Bobby told Reggie that he and Luke had kissed. So Reggie had been feeling a lot of feelings at the time. He must’ve blocked the rest of it out.

“I just don’t like to make a big deal about them,” Bobby continues. “The migraines, I mean. And Alex doesn’t even know about them, and there was already so much going on with Luke… but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Why not?”

Bobby blinks. “Why… should I not have taken it out on you?’

Reggie shakes his head. “Why doesn’t Alex know about your migraines?”

“Because I didn’t tell him?”

“But why not?” Something sharp in Reggie’s chest tells him he shouldn’t push, but he can’t help it. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? If I didn’t find you that one time, you were just gonna play a whole rehearsal in pain and then go hide in your room to suffer alone, without telling any of your bandmates something was wrong? We would’ve helped you, Bobby. At the very least, we could’ve rescheduled our band practice.”

Bobby’s expression is hard to read—not quite angry, but definitely not happy with Reggie’s little speech either. He says, his voice low and small and just creeping toward cold, “I told Luke.”

Right. Because Bobby was Luke’s friend first. Because Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend now. Because Bobby is Luke’s.

But for the first time in weeks, that thought doesn’t make Reggie sad. Instead, it makes him furious. So even though he wants to support his friends, and even though Bobby’s sick, and even though Reggie makes a point to never shout at the people he loves, all the anger and hurt and jealousy inside him just burst out.

“What did we do to you, man? Me and Alex, did we—did we say something wrong? Why do you act like we’re not really your friends, like you can’t trust us? Even when Luke was really sick, you couldn’t call us for help until he was burning up from the inside out. And I don’t get it! Do you just like Luke more than us? Did he do something we didn’t to prove he could be trusted? Are you just really fucking stubborn? Why won’t you let me help you? I just wanna help you, Bobby!”

He loses steam and fumbles over his thoughts, the emotions that had been so prominent a second ago draining out of him until he almost can’t remember what they felt like anymore. Bobby’s staring at him, his face flushed and not from fever, his gaze laser-hot, his white-knuckled hands wrapped so tightly around his mug of tea that Reggie worries it’ll shatter.

“I don’t need your help, Reg,” he says tersely.

Reggie feels an agonizing pang in his chest, like his heart has cracked into a million pieces. He takes a deep breath and lets the shrapnel puncture him.

“Okay, Bobby,” he says flatly, and scoops his backpack up off the floor. “If you don’t want my help, then I’ll just stop offering.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Bobby’s reply. He just turns away, swiping at tears he didn’t realize he’d shed, and walks out the door.

--

Taglist (ask to be added or removed):

@whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

[vagrantblvrd]

morw modern au would be amaze

Friend, friend, you are reading my mind??? (Modern AU idea.)

So, like.

Luke with his bike and being a little (lot) of an idiot, right?

And it rains a fair amount where he lives now, and sometimes doesn’t take that into account, such as the many, many times he’s had to drive home from the youth center he runs with his family friend Obi-Wan.

In the rain, did Din mention the whole rain thing? Because there was rain. So much.

Luke is just, “I’m fine, it was just a drizzle,” and other variations even though Din happened to look outside at some point and the rain was going sideways, but sure.

Just a drizzle.

He may or may not be exaggerating on that one, Luke can’t prove it with the way Din plonks a towel on his head and gets the worst of the water off him, grumbling about Luke being an idiot while his hands are so, so gentle.

(Also, he maybe drops a kiss on the top of Luke’s towel-covered head as Luke laughs at him for being a fussy mother hen - Din can’t help it, okay, his friends/family have given him so much reason for it, and now there’s Luke and it’s like they were preparing him for this human disaster he loves so much it hurts, and some days even that wasn’t enough. Because Luke.)

Anyway.

Luke does that a lot, and most of the time the worst of it’s being cold and miserable and sharing that with Din in the way he sneaks his hands under Din’s shirt and presses the ice blocks they’ve turned into against his ribs with a 0:D “I missed you,” like he’s not an evil bastard in disguise. One day Din will have proof, will finally be vindicated.

(Din still loves him anyway.)

Every once in a while though, Luke gets sick.

He gets sick and makes for a terrible patient, you know?

Like, oh, sure. That time he had an accident on his bike and Din had to go to the hospital to find out Luke had a concussion, road rash, and busted wrist, and Luke was a perfect angel to the hospital staff.

But when he got home was all...Luke.

Headstrong and stubborn and pushing himself too hard like he had something to prove, and Din gets it, though, you know? Never fun to be out of sorts, in pain and vulnerable against your will, and just. He gets it.

He just wishes Luke would be as kind to himself as he is everyone else in the world, that he wouldn’t find him hurting and about to collapse somewhere because he thinks limits are things to be broken, pushed past on willpower alone.

Anyway, Luke gets sick and Din’s like, a little I told you, and you look terrible, and oh, Luke, because his idiot is sick and miserable and has this saddest look on his face at the way his body has betrayed him most cruelly.

(Because, okay. Luke’s the kind of idiot who will dismiss a sore throat or slight fever or cough for forever if you let him, won’t say a damn thing, admit to being sick unless he’s forced to and it’s an ongoing battle with him that Din, okay. He just wants a word to whoever made Luke like that, made him think had to do things like that, neglect his own well-being. Just  word. Maybe two.)

Din sends Luke to take a hot shower after making sure he takes some medicine, and he and Grogu go in the kitchen to make soup for Luke.

Luke pads into the kitchen just in time to hear “Grogu, no!” A sigh, and, “Well, spicy food is supposed to help. Thanks kid.”

Another pause, Din eyeing the significantly emptier pepper shaker in Grogu’s hands “If it doesn’t kill you, that is.”

Forewarned, Luke goes over to ruffle Grogu’s hair, sneaks his way into a loose hug from Din as he wraps an arm around his waist as they stare down at the soup in question. More pepper than soup, really, by now, but still.

“You guys made me soup?”

And Luke, okay.

Loves his family, even the parts that hurt, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s done this for him, looked after him like this.

It’s soup, he shouldn’t be getting all emotional about it, but. It’s soup.

Soup that Din and Grogu made for him because he’s the kind of idiot who rides his bike in the rain and gets sick from it. And sure, Din gave him grief for it, the way he does with all the other dumb stuff Luke does, but he took the time to make him soup. Him and Grogu, and it’s just.

It’s nice.

(Din hopes one day he’ll stop getting that look on his face when Din and Grogu do something like that, because it kind of breaks his heart when it happens.)

Anyway.

Grogu’s in charge of getting Luke settled on the couch in the living room, arranging pillows and blankets and the whatnot accordingly for maximum comforts. Din is the soup man following along with trays and bowls and tiny crackers shaped like goldfish and the like.

Also, something in reserve for Grogu in case the soup proves too spicy for him, but his gremlin kid is like, more pepper pls, while Luke and Din look on in horror/amazement because what even is this weird little kid of theirs?

Grogu picks a movie and they eat as it plays on the screen, and by the time it’s over Luke is just about done for the day.

Managed to eat most of his soup even though he slipped Grogu his crackers - don’t think Din didn’t see that, Skywalker - and leaning against Din, sleepy, tired, sick.

Din clears the dishes away and he and Luke put Grogu to bed. Pit stop in the bathroom to brush teeth and make Luke take more cold medicine before it’s off to bed.

Luke without his usual grace because tired and sick and aching, just sort of stumbles into bed, and Din huffs, tries not to smile at the pitiful look Luke gives him because Din is a mean man, the worst, to laugh at him in these trying times of his awful, awful cold.

He snuggles up to Din and is out in minutes, snoring like someone twice his size even though he swears he doesn’t, Din, why would you say such terrible things?

Din texts Obi-Wan to tell him Luke’s sick, won’t be going in to work the next day and smiles when he gets back i’m glad to see he finally admitted it, and look after him please, like Din needs to be told, but he appreciates it anyway, because Luke’s people love him so much it hurts the way Din does.

He watches Luke sleep, snoring like whoah and probably drooling a little, and is like, my idiot, all soft and terribly fond and yes.

BUT ALSO.

Din gets sick, because of course he does, and is entertained as hell as Grogu orders Luke about in the making of soup and doling out of goldfish shaped crackers and so on, tiny little general leading his troop.

Luke giving Din helpless smiles over Grogu’s head, and just, all the shenanigans and comfort seeking cuddles and other such soft things.

[dotshiiki]

Fic post--Quest

This fic has been kicking around in my WIP folder for nearly a year. I thought it was about time I finish it off, especially since it's Annabeth's birthday today! Happy birthday to my favourite demigod!

Summary: Annabeth Chase has wanted to lead a quest ever since she was a little kid. This is the story of her seven-year wait ... and what she's learned about quests. 

 When she is seven and the newest camper at Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth watches Flavian Barkwith return successfully from a quest to slay a giant sea serpent and retrieve his father's silver swan. The campers raise him on their shoulders to carry him to the amphitheatre, where they all burn the golden shroud that was made for him. 

 Flavian is tall and athletic, with dark, wavy hair and a tanned, handsome face, and he looks every inch a hero. It is the first time Annabeth realises that a fight can be won, that one can stand triumphant over the forces of darkness. 

 It doesn't have to be like Thalia. 

 A quest seems to be this magical incubator for heroes. And she can't wait for her chance to lead one herself. 

 +++ 

 When she is eight and a year more knowledgeable about the history and traditions of Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth can spout details about decades of quests from memory. She has made it her business to find out everything she can about questing—pestering Chiron about the heroes he's trained since the beginning of time, begging older campers for stories of their adventures, scouring books in spite of her struggles with reading. 

 She could tell you how Perseus slaughtered the gorgon Medusa, or how Atalanta speared the Calydonian boar (she loves that heroism doesn't discriminate: girls are every bit as capable as boys). She knows that Flavian Barkwith hypnotised his sea serpent by lulling it to sleep with a magical lyre and setting it on fire (because slicing the head off a hydra only makes two grow back). She has catalogued years of quests—the triumphs and the failures—and could tell you the pitfalls that lead to disaster. 

 (She could also tell you about the architecture on Medusa's native Cisthene, or the design of temples on Atalanta's hometown Argos, and the details of various other amazing creations around the world, but that's just a bonus. You never know when it might come in handy.) 

 Christy Askoll calls her a little nuisance when she offers up everything she's learned about taming a Hippogriff, but the daughter of Hephaestus has to eat her words when it is Annabeth's advice and not her own forged weapons that prevent her from being sliced and diced by the beast. 

 Annabeth knows then that the key to leading a successful quest is being prepared: a fitting task for a daughter of Athena. 

 +++ 

 When she is nine and asks if she can lead a quest, the other campers laugh at Annabeth. She is tiny at that age, still the smallest among them, and no one takes her seriously when she insists that she could handle it. 

 She shuts everyone up when she beats Brogan Whitlock in a duel, using her speed and agility to get around him and bring her trusty bronze dagger to his throat. Everyone is too stunned to clap, except for Luke, who whistles and shouts, 'Awesome, Annabeth!' 

 His praise drowns out the glare Brogan sends her, and she couldn't care less that she's made an enemy of the son of Ares. 

 But Brogan has the last laugh when he gets the quest that year. Annabeth grits her teeth and vows that next time, next year, it will be her turn. 

 +++ 

 When she is ten and begs for her chance to join a quest, Annabeth is let down by her best friend in the world. Luke's father sets him the task of retrieving a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides—a challenge equal to the great Heracles himself—and as per tradition, he chooses two companions. 

 It should be her. Luke knows how much she wants this and he's seen how well she can fight. But he picks Tyler Grayson and Abby Markoff, and Annabeth feels deeply, bitterly betrayed. 

 She storms up to the Great House, determined to get her own quest from the Oracle, but instead, all she receives is a dusted-off prophecy from the 1940s, and Chiron's pronouncement that she won't have a quest until some undetermined time in the future. 

 When Luke returns alone a month later, scarred and bitter with failure and the loss of his companions, Annabeth is devastated for him, but she also can't help the burning conviction that if she'd been the one to go with him, things could have been different. 

 +++ 

 When she is eleven, nobody gets a quest at all. 

 'Given the events of recent years,' Chiron announces, and although he doesn't look at anyone in particular, Annabeth notices how every camper's eyes dart towards Luke and then scurry away, 'I have convinced the gods that it would be prudent to hold off on the issuing of any quests for the time being.' 

 A wave of murmurs ripple across the tables, ranging from relief (mostly Aphrodite and Demeter) to outrage—Ares is loudest, although Annabeth feels like she could out-yell any of them if she were to focus on the injustic of it all—no quests, no chance to prove herself … what is Chiron thinking? Instead, she looks over at the Hermes table, where Luke sits very quietly, the only one not muttering about Chiron's edict. His friends are all carefully avoiding looking at him. 

 Luke's face may as well be carved from the same stone as their dining tables. Annabeth can't read the expression in his eyes. The deep scar the dragon left on his face last year turns him into someone different, a defeated warrior, cold and distant. She can't tell what he thinks of Chiron's announcement. 

 He doesn't meet her eyes. 

 That summer seems to stretch out impossibly slowly, too long and languid without a quest to spice up the routine of their daily activities. Even capture the flag starts to feel a little stale. Chiron—perhaps in an effort to inject some festivity into the summer session—invites his relatives to visit, a move which he promptly regrets (at least Annabeth thinks he must) when they insist on throwing a prom for the campers. 

 The Aphrodite cabin goes wild. The Apollo campers spend a week mixing up antidotes to love charms and potions that the Hermes kids have been merrily sneaking into people's food (Annabeth almost considers sneaking one to Luke). Hephaestus's lot shut themselves in the forges until the madness ends. Mr D, with a long-suffering sigh, produces plenty of punch for the dance, which takes place in their usual campfire spot. 

 Annabeth sneaks away from the amphitheatre and makes her way up Half-Blood Hill, where Thalia's tree stands proudly, pine leaves rustling soothingly in the wind. Annabeth places her hand on the bark and gazes out into the distance. Somewhere, under the same constellations, a kid marked by a prophecy is waiting, like her, to fulfil its charge. Chiron may have put a moratorium on quests for now, but once that prophecy is set in motion, he'll have to let her go.

Soon, the leaves seem to whisper to her. It won't be long now.

+++ 

 When she is twelve and so tired of waiting, Annabeth's special half-blood finally arrives. At last, Chiron gives her permission to accompany a quest. Her heart is full to bursting as they set off. 

 But nothing goes as it should. Percy Jackson is an insufferable idiot with kelp for brains and she has to tell him everything, and he manages to tick off all the gods, so it must be his fault that their plans keep going wrong (because Annabeth is a good planner, and she's studied and prepared for this for years) and they're flying by the seat of their pants half the time, which just feels wrong. This isn't how a quest is meant to go, is it? 

 Yet somehow they escape monster after monster, and after they've saved each other's lives tens or dozens of times (Annabeth's lost count), Annabeth realises improvising isn't the worst thing after all. And the son of Poseidon is pretty good at it. 

 Percy is also funny (not that she'll admit it) and brave (challenging Ares might be a dumb-ass thing to do, but it also takes a yard of guts) and loyal (though it takes her a while to recognise his actions on the bus out of New York as such). And he doesn't look at her like she's a kid who needs to be protected, but an equal, important member of his team. 

Like someone he needs. 

 And Annabeth wants to be that someone he can depend on. 

 ('Because you're my friend, Seaweed Brain.') 

 When they finally make it through the twists and turns of a mission which wasn't as straightforward as she thought it should have been, she feels like she can no longer remember a time that they weren't friends. 

 (Was it really only a week ago?) 

 Later in the summer, she sits on a blanket under a spectacular array of fireworks and watches fondly while Percy skips stones in the surf and Grover plays So, Yesterday for them one last time before he leaves on his search for Pan. She never would have imagined questing with either of them, but now she can't picture doing it without them. 

 When she gets to lead her own quest, she knows she won't even have to think twice to pick her companions. 

 +++  

When she is thirteen and the quest she proposes to save Camp Half-Blood is given to Clarisse, Annabeth takes matters into her own hands: she and Percy run off to find Grover and the Golden Fleece themselves, and for the first time, Annabeth realises the power of deciding her own destiny. 

 When the time comes for the heroic return to camp, Annabeth doesn't even feel the slightest twinge of jealous or possessiveness when they hand the Fleece over to Clarisse to take home. She doesn't need the glory, she realises. The honour of the quest is in saving that which needs to be saved. 

 Annabeth feels proud enough just to be a saviour. 

 But then she becomes the subject of a quest herself: betrayed by her oldest friend, crushed under the weight of the sky, held captive and close to death until the heroes of the quest arrive. 

 She's never been so happy to see Percy Jackson, but she's also never been so humiliated. She is Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, not some damsel in distress in need of rescuing. 

 Except, of course, that is what she's become.

Never again, Annabeth promises herself. She won't be fooled and trapped and held hostage waiting for a white knight to come along, even if the stalwart hero in question makes her blush and her heartbeat quicken when he asks her to dance. 

 Next time, she's going to be the one doing the rescuing, thank you very much. 

+++ 

 When she is fourteen and finally handed a quest to lead, Annabeth realises that the single mission that has been her burning ambition since she was seven no longer defines her. She understands now what she didn't at seven, at ten, at twelve: that a quest isn't about glory, or pride, or even proving oneself. A true hero undertakes a quest because she has to. 

 And someone has to descend into the Labyrinth and find Daedalus (find Luke, her mind whispers), convince him not to let Kronos's army have Ariadne's thread (convince Luke to come back). 

 But every twist in the maze seems to bring a new horror. The Labyrinth is alive and it whispers to all of them, tearing apart the group she carefully chose to accompany her. 

 They lose Grover and Tyson to the seductive promise of Pan. And then she loses Percy to a volcanic eruption in the heart of the Labyrinth. 

 The pain of losing Percy is almost enough to make Annabeth switch sides herself as she stumbles, choking on her own tears, back into camp. Because how could the gods—the same ones whom they are running quests for; their parents—let something like that happen? 

 Is this how Luke felt when he returned, sans companions and sans victory?

She is just coming to terms with her failure and her loss when Percy gate-crashes his own funeral and resuscitates both her heart and her quest. 

 And the rest of her quest prophecy unfolds after all, but Annabeth is never quite sure if she succeeded or failed ultimately. She finds Daedalus, but is too late to persuade him to hold back Ariadne's thread; yet she convinces him to return to fight for Camp Half-Blood. The lines of the prophecy play out—none of them quite as expected, but heartbreakingly accurate all the same. 

 They found the Lost One, but lost him just as quickly. Minos played his hand, but young Nico di Angelo was the one to lay claim to the ghostly power of the Underworld. She didn't die, but an ancient genius gave his life to save the camp. 

 Percy didn't die, but Luke (oh, Luke) is worse than dead. 

 And she can't shake the feeling that it's all her fault. 

 Her quest, her choice, her responsibility. 

 (Choose, whispers Janus in her ear.) 

 At the end of her quest, Annabeth still doesn't know if she has it in her to make the wisest choice. 

 (Especially not when a single choice shall end his days.) 

 +++ 

 Annabeth Chase spent half her life wishing for a quest before she got one. If she could go back and speak to her younger self, this is what she would tell her: 

 You never really 'get' a quest—the quest finds you. 

Always, always have a plan—but always, always be prepared for that plan to go wrong, too. 

 The most important thing about questing is who you take with you. Choose carefully, because you're gonna need to depend on them to save your ass at some point. 

 And to be honest, you don't really need a quest. Because what is life but a big quest where any clues you might have about what's coming are as murky and unpredictable as the Oracle's prophecies? 

 And like any good quester knows, you need three things to successfully navigate a quest: a prophecy, a plan, and a damn good team. 

 Maybe the first and the second don't always work out so well, but the last—well, if you get that one right … 

 If Annabeth Chase could tell her seven-year-old self one thing about quests, it would be that the person you take with you could very well be the one you keep beside you for life.