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twoidiotwriters1 · 7 days

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The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Gosh this book feels like it's going on forever I wanna move on to TOA so badly -Danny Words: 2,227 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Does It Matter?' -by Bestfriend

XLIII: Bombastic Sideye

"Are you sure you don't want me to call in a blessing?" Ara inquires while Jason secures the venti at the prow. "I could help you control them if I ask Zeus..."

"Go in," he tells her. "You fixed the ship, I can do this. If I fail, you can check out that last blessing."

"Alright," she pauses. "And uh... are you sure we'll find Leo in Malta?"

"No, but that's what I choose to believe," once seated on Festus's neck, Jason turns and gives her a warm smile.

He seems different, his soul-light is dim but constant on his body like he's just happy all the time, which is a weird thought considering their current situation.

"Fine," Ara smiles, trying to believe it too. "Good luck, Ken."

The ship stops and Festus starts the engine. On each side of the ship the oars screech and groan in protest, making her wince.

"Leo's gonna kill me," she places a hand on the hallway wall. If she could use her empath touch she would, but unfortunately, the ship doesn't have human feelings.

"Leo's probably going crazy waiting for you to show up," Nico walks past her. "Piper says it's safe for us to go upstairs."

Ara follows him to the upper level and Jason gestures at her to get closer. The boy points at a little raft, with an engine Ara recognizes as the one Leo was building in Ogygia.

"He's here," she raises her voice. "Leo's here!" Everyone lets out exclamations of relief, Jason gets lots of pats on the back and cheek kisses.

They spot Leo outside a cafe. Piper wraps her arms around the boy and fusses over him. Hazel and Frank hug him, squeezing him between them until he can't breathe. Nico pats his back and Jason cracks it with a bearhug.

Ara scans Leo's clothing and feels a wave of nostalgia. He's dressed in an army jacket, a white shirt, and the pants he was wearing when they first met. Those clothes were destroyed during their winter quest, but now they're back.

The girl clears her throat. "You went missing..." her voice dies before she can finish the joke.

"For a whole year?" He guesses and grins. "You moved on and now you're dating a buff Greek guy instead?"

"I missed you so much," Ara speaks hoarsely. To get out of Ogygia, he must've done something Ara doesn't want to think about.

Leo glows like a Christmas light, and his only thought is: Gods, I'll never thank you enough for Arae.

The boy minded his business when he landed on Calypso's island, determined to see Ara again. Calypso was kind enough to take food to him—only to complain about the noise, but still, she made sure he was okay. The look in her eyes was always so defensive, yet caring and concerned... it softened Leo's hasty decision to ignore her.

Before he knew it, he started talking to her, after all Calypso wanted to know what Ara had done to get two of the demigods that'd landed on her island so charmed, and Leo knew all about it. Calypso made him fire-proof clothes, and brought scraps and supplies for his journey.

She would only ask for stories in return. Calypso told him they made her giddy, they reminded her of times when falling in love wasn't all about pain and finality. Something clicked in Leo's head.

He thought of Narcissus and Echo, and how Ara insisted no cursed soul could help themselves unless they had outer help. Calypso was the answer.

Leo arrived on a raft, the same type of raft Percy arrived in when it was his turn. The raft only shows up when...

"Go talk to him," Piper tells her.

"What?"

"When Frank read the brochure about Calypso's home, I saw it on your face. You know where he's been."

Ara can't shrug off the heaviness in her. She stares at the lamp on Piper's nightstand and ponders. She's been hiding in her sister's room for a full hour because she's unsure of how to proceed.

"It's whatever," the girl shrugs it off and tries to change the subject. "Hazel and Nico just told us that the doors—"

Piper cuts her off. "You're feeling things you don't want to feel, I get it, but this is not the way to handle it and you know it."

Ara pushes her hair back in frustration. Once upon a time, she took pride in having the softest, most well-behaved hair ever. Those days are gone. "He's busy fixing what I broke."

"Leo's good at multitasking," her sister presses. "Come on, don't be a coward."

Piper kicks her off the bed and Ara slips pathetically to the ground, throwing her head back and whining. "Why are you so mean to me?"

The girl laughs and nudges her shoulder. "Go!"

Ara drags herself out of the girl's room, preparing herself for another conversation she has no interest in having this early in life.

Leo is repairing the oars individually from inside the hull, his army jacket tied around his waist, but his clothes aren't stained, they don't even look sweaty.

"Need help?" She asks out loud.

Leo's head whips rather quickly at the sound of her voice. "I'm impressed, doll—you did a pro job, you just need to think more like a mechanic. You still struggle with following the rules step by step, huh?"

Ara walks up to him and touches the fabric of his sleeve, examining the material. "We need to talk."

Leo looks at her intently, placing the screwdriver back in his tool belt and holding her chin so she looks at him. "You got tanned. Gee, I can't take my eyes off you for just one second before you start shifting into something else..."

Whatever happened in Ogygia changed him too. He grew an inch or two, though nowhere near enough to be as tall as her. His hands have scratches and callouses that weren't there before, and he takes his time with things now. His hyper energy isn't gone, but he's controlling it better.

"I need to know what happened on that island," she has trouble meeting his eyes. "But I... I can't bring myself to ask what I want to ask."

"Then don't ask yet," Leo looks up at her almost pleadingly. "Focus on rescuing Percy and Annabeth."

"It doesn't mean I'll forget, we'll be pushing back something inevitable," Ara frowns.

"I'm not trying to make you forget," Leo pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, he's always touching her hair when he's anxious. "Right now I'm fixing the ship—then you're killing a giant, we've got a lot going on and I think we should focus on being there for each other."

Her face sets and she nods. "I'm killing a giant. I'm bringing my brother and Annabeth back."

"Atta girl," he lightly squeezes her hip. "I couldn't live without you, doll."

Something about how he says that rubs her the wrong way, apart from it coming a bit out of nowhere, but Ara decides to move past it. "Okay."

He pecks her lips, having to stand a bit on his tiptoes to do so. "Get out, your face is distracting me."

Nico reads the list they wrote together to verify she isn't forgetting things. They're sat on the deck's floor, and the crew moves around them going from one place to another also getting ready.

"Piper, stop!" Ara catches the girl practicing with her new sword. "You'll get tired before we even reach the ruins!"

"Why aren't you bringing the cloak?" Nico asks when she zips the Octopi.

"It'd be like putting a target on my back," Ara raises a brow. "I don't want to be possessed by an Eidolon."

"Take the cloak." Nico presses.

"Why?"

"It's good luck."

Ara frowns. "Says who?"

He gets up and helps her do the same. "In the House of Hades, you'll be in my territory. You should listen to me."

Ara gives him a sideways glance before walking towards the helm. "How's it looking, Admiral?"

"Hot and steamy!" Leo winks at her. "Makes me homesick for Houston! What do you say, Hazel? All we need now are some giant mosquitoes, and it'll feel just like the Gulf Coast!"

"Thanks a lot, Leo," Hazel grumbles. "We'll probably get attacked by Ancient Greek mosquito monsters now."

"There!" Nico points forward. "Maneuver us that way. We're close to the temple. Very close."

"You got it, Ghost King!" Leo quips.

Nico glares at him. "Don't make me hate you, Valdez."

"So you love me right now?" Leo smirks.

Dark lightning snaps above their heads, making Ara's skin crawl. She flinches and touches her left shoulder, the memory of her old injury putting her on edge. She survived that thanks to Artemis's blessing, this time she might not be that lucky.

"Everyone, arm yourself," Jason orders. "Leo, get us close, but don't land—no more contact with the ground than necessary. Piper, Hazel, get the mooring ropes."

"On it!" Piper replies, moving quickly.

"Frank, get below and find Coach Hedge."

"Yep!"

Ara sighs, fixing her armor. "Gods, I hope we all survive this."

"C'mon, sunshine, where is your fake-it-till-you-make-it energy? We got this in the bag!" Leo tries to cheer her up.

"We only have estimates and guesses, and then once we get Percy and Annabeth—if we get them—there is a giant waiting to crush us with his darkness or whatever the Hades he does," Ara raises a brow.

"General, I say this with the utmost respect," Leo places a hand on her shoulder. "You either chill or zip it."

Ara makes a face but tries to comply. "...At least if I die today the curse gets canceled?"

"Pretty messed up but I'll take it!" Leo says enthusiastically. He's trying to compensate for the bad vibes looming over him. "Talking about curses—Zhang, get Hazel and come here a moment!"

"Okay, here's the plan."

Hazel frowns. "I hate your plans. Besides, Nico and Ara made one already."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Leo stretches out his palm. "I need that piece of magic firewood—Snappy!"

Frank and Hazel step back in alarm. "Leo, you can't—"

"I found a solution," he insists. "It's your call, big guy, but I can protect you."

Frank takes a moment, but he gives in. "Go ahead, Hazel."

"Why am I here?" Ara asks.

Leo hushes her. "In a moment, hun."

Hazel searches in her pocket and carefully hands Leo the piece of firewood. The boy rummages through the pockets of his tool belt and pulls out a white piece of fabric very similar to his shirt.

"Behold!"

"A handkerchief?" Frank guesses.

"A surrender flag?" Hazel suggests.

"No, unbelievers! This is a pouch woven from seriously cool fabric—a gift from a friend of mine."

Ara watches as Leo places the wood inside and closes it. She wonders if he asked Calypso to make his magical outfit look like his old clothes, as a reminder of simpler times. Ara doesn't see those times as more manageable, for her, they were lonely and confusing.

"The drawstring was my idea," Leo explains happily. "It took some work, lacing that into the fabric, but the pouch won't open unless you want it to. The fabric breathes just like regular cloth, so the firewood isn't any more sealed up than it would be in Hazel's coat pocket."

"Uh..." Hazel tilts her head. "How is that an improvement, then?"

"Hold this so I don't give you a heart attack." Leo tosses the pouch carelessly to Frank and then ignites his hand, pressing it to the sleeve of his jacket. "See? It doesn't burn!"

"Uh... you're immune to flames."

"He means the fabric," Ara points out. "I've seen him burn through pants for months..." She blushes. "I mean he needs to concentrate to not burn through the fabric. That pouch is magical like your clothes?"

"How are you so smart and hot?" Leo teases her with a crooked grin.

Hazel saves Ara from stammering out a reply. "How can you be sure?"

"Sheesh, tough audience. Guess there's only one way to persuade you." Leo reaches out so Frank hands him the pouch again.

"Uh, no, no." Frank steps back. "That's okay, Leo. Thanks, but I—I can't —"

"Man, you gotta trust me," he persists, looking sure of himself.

"Okay..." Frank takes a slow breath and hands him the pouch. "Try not to kill me."

Leo's hand gets wrapped in flames, but nothing happens to the stuff he's holding. He keeps it going for about fifteen seconds, then looks up at Frank with a sheepish smile. "Who's your best buddy?"

"Don't answer that," Hazel intervenes again. "But, Leo, that was amazing."

"It was, wasn't it?" He nods, placing his free hand on Ara's waist. "So who wants to take this newly ultra-safe piece of firewood?"

"I'll keep it," Frank says. Hazel looks hurt, but he continues. "Hazel, it's not about you. I can't explain, but I—I have a feeling I'm going to need to step up when we're in the House of Hades. I need to carry my own burden."

"I understand. I just..." she pouts. "I worry."

Leo hands him the pouch and Frank ties it on a loop of his jeans. "Thanks, Leo."

"What are genius friends for?" He smirks. "But this is partly for a selfish reason. You guys know about my curse—and Hazel offered to help Ara, so we're taking you up on that offer, Levesque."

Ara looks at him with concern. "We are?"

He shrugs casually. "I like us as Firecracker and Birdy, I don't want this lifetime to end anytime soon."

Frank pats his shoulder encouragingly. "We'll help, guys, don't worry."

"Oh, I worry alright..." Ara frowns and holds Leo's head against her chest, kissing the top of it and making him blush. "But I won't go through another cursed life either."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

#twoidiots writing #pjo fanfic #leo valdez fanfic #doo #leo valdez x oc #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians

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messy-buns-and-paint-splatters · 1 year

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Granite - Percy De Rolo

Granite - Sleep Token - Percy De Rolo

Pairing: Percy De Rolo x (Fem)Reader

Tags: ANGST

CW: None

A/N: I do not own any of the characters, images, script, or any other content associated with or a part of The Legend of Vox Machina or Critical Role. I do not own any of the rights to the song or lyrics of “Granite” by Sleep Token.

Word Count: 1785

Masterlist

Granite

She was sprinting with everything she had, but she knew there was no way she could out run the mercenaries that were on her tail. Where the HELL is Percy?! She internally screamed as she stumbled over a body and fell. She looked in horror at what must have been one of the villagers of this town before the carnage. Movement caught her eye and she quickly scrambled up, seeing multiple bows being drawn, arrows pointing at her. Suddenly a burning crate smashed down right in front of her, being thrown from somewhere. Fear shot through her as she realized she had no escape. She heard the snap of the arrows being released and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for them to pierce her skin.

But she was swept up by someone and tossed into a door that was obscured in the shadows. She opened her eyes to see that Percy had wrapped her up in his arms, his body shielding hers, and used the momentum to throw them through the door. She looked up to his eyes and her breath stalled, he had saved her. He stared back, an intense look in his green eyes that she couldn’t identify. They stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other with an intensity she had never experienced.

“We have to go, the wagon is just over here” he said, breaking whatever spell was over them. She tried to stop her racing heart as she followed him to the waiting supplies they had been after. She couldn’t tell if her heart was so erratic because of the near death experience, or if her feelings for Percy had overwhelmed her at the worst time possible. She shook her head, trying to clear it. He had already turned her down once, months ago after she confessed that she was in fact falling in love with him. Ever the gentleman, he tried to let her down softly but firmly. Saving her a moment ago was just a routine ‘saving a teammate’. Nothing more.

She climbed up into the wagon and had barely sat down when Percy snapped the reins and the horses took off. Neither said a word as they sped away from the wreckage of the village.

“The horses are tired Percy, we need to let them rest. We already know we’re not going to make the rendezvous time” She chided, feeling bad for pushing the poor animals. Percy just frowned further. He had been on edge ever since they started back with the supplies they were able to scavenge. So on edge she swore she could see the tiniest sliver of black smoke leaking out from his mouth.

Sulfur on your breath, she thought, Granite in my chest, as she focused on this heavy sinking feeling that had been present ever since she tried to shake off their early intense moment.

“Percy, I know that we weren’t as successful as we had hoped, but we got something…” She tried to reason.

“Oh yes. We took what meager supplies were left from a town that the Briarwoods ravaged for entertainment. Great Success.” He bit out, his voice hard. She pressed her lips together in a line, irritated at his attitude, but trying to be understanding for all he had been through.

“I’m sorry, I know that was probably difficult for you to see that. Once we get home You won't ever have to talk about it”

They sat in uneasy silence for a moment before he bit out, “I’ll never want to talk about it” She bit her tongue, trying really hard to clamp down on the anger rising in her.

“Your Fury is too damn late, Percy. What happened, happened. And I’m sorry it happened, but you have to move forward or else what is the point? We all care about you Percy, we don’t want to see this eat you alive. I know with anger that Reason dislocates, but Percy…” she trailed off seeing the hard look on his face, the anger bubbling just below the surface. She looked at him for a moment, really studying the anger in the creases between his eyes and the clenching of his jaw.

“Thank you…for earlier” She said in a soft voice, trying to change the subject.

“We won't ever have to talk about it” He bit back at her, while still focusing on the road and the reins in his hands. She sat back in the seat of the wagon, staring forward and sighed to herself. You'll never want to talk about it, she said to herself internally.

They continued on through the night, exhaustion getting the best of both of them, and wearing their patience thin. The only sound for a few hours had been the creaking of the wagon and the clip clop of the horses hooves. She tried a few more times to engage in some kind of conversation, being wary of his anger. He continually brushed her off with short replies or sometimes just a grunt. Her irritation kept building until she finally snapped at him.

“You can speak to me, you know. We have a long night ahead of us, I was more than just a body in your passenger seat.”

“What do you want Y/N.” He deadpanned.

“What is up with you, why are you refusing to speak with me?” She demanded, “We were successful. We got supplies for the Whitestone refugees. We got out in one piece. We did everything we could. So what is your problem?”

“You may not be concerned with your own well being, But I am” He spat back, glaring at her before realization dawned in his eyes and he snapped his head back to the road.

She sat there stunned for a moment, before a powerful emotion rose in her that she couldn’t quite put a name to.

“So you’re now concerned. Now. After…” She began but he abruptly cut her off.

“I’ve always been concerned. I just couldn’t…You pulled away, you put distance here.” Percy’s voice cracked for a moment, but he refused to look at her.

“After you told me no! I was respecting your wishes!” She all but shouted.

“You emotionally left! You were here but you weren’t Y/N. You’ve been just a shell, and constantly putting yourself in danger!” Percy’s voice was raised and he was breathing hard. Now only half paying attention to driving the horses and wagon.

“Between the second-hand smoke and the glass on the street in Whitestone, You gave me nothing whatsoever but a reason to leave” She said with an edge, incredulous that he was trying to put this on her. “You can be so selfish sometimes, Percival”. He glared at that.

“You say you want mе, but you know I'm not what you need” He said in a firm voice, turning his attention back to the road.

They sat in charged silence for a moment until she softly replied, “You may not be sure of what I need, But I am”. Percy’s nostrils flared as he almost dropped the reins turning to face her.

“When you sit there acting likе you know me, you think you have everything worked out. You think you have feelings for me, but this is a schoolgirl crush, this is a physical attraction, Acting like you only brought me in to get below me. I’m constantly fighting to avenge my family who were murdered by a goddamn necromancer and vampire, Never mind the death threats that occur to everyone who is ever around me. The kindest thing I can do for you is parting at the doorway! But you're acting like you would Rather be six feet under than be lonely.” He was breathing hard again, face flushed, and once again not paying attention to the road. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Y/N.

“So what do you do after that, hmm? When you’ve exacted your revenge? This is consuming you Percy! And if you had a problem with my confession a few months ago, then you should have told me, 'Fore you started getting all aggressive and controlling. You think you know what’s best for everyone, but do you ever stop to think about what everyone wants? Not what you think we need, but what we want?. You can be such a self righteous bastard, You only drink the water when you think it's holy.” She was breathing just as hard, ready to stare him down as long as she needed to until she realized the horses were pulling them off the road and towards the grass.

“So keep an eye on the road or we will both be here forever” She clipped out, jerking her chin towards the road, crossing her arms, then leaning back in the seat. A silent signal that for the moment she was done talking about this. Percy sucked in a breath as if to retort, but let it out and turned back to driving.

They drove through the night, neither speaking until the first light of the sun started creeping over the horizon.

“You were more than just somebody I was destined to meet” She softly commented, not looking directly at him. Percy didn’t respond for several minutes.

“I see you go half-blind when you're looking at me, and that scares me. One day it’s going to get you killed. You may not be worried for your safety, But I am.” He confessed in a similar soft tone.

“You know I'm not what you need” He asserted once more, watching the sky fade from dark to light pink. “I’m not willing to give up avenging my family, but I’m also not willing to risk you in the process. I can’t give you what you want. You can’t wait for me.” Percy sighed. He wasn’t going to deny his feelings for her anymore, but he was going to be realistic.

“Someone has to keep an eye on you Percy. You criticize me for ‘being reckless’ with my life, but you are doing the same thing with your quest for revenge. I’m in love with you, even if you can be a selfish bastard. And you may not want to accept that, but it’s true. So I’m not giving up on you.” She reached over to pull on the reins to stop the horses. Percy frowned at her, but didn’t stop her. She looked into his eyes, and they shared that intense look again, but this time they both understood what the other was not saying.

“Percy, you may not be concerned for your life, for your soul, But I am”.

#percy x reader #percy de rolo #percival de rolo #critical role #tlovm #the legend of vox machina #angst #granite #sleep token #one shot #fem reader

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vaxxy-the-raven · 10 months

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I've not been watching Campaign 3 for a while now, but Twitter and Tumblr have been feeding me crumbs...

Now, an idea has sprung up in my head that I want to explore, but I don't know if I will write for it yet.

I mostly write for Vox Machina, I find that dipping my toes into writing for the other parties makes me uncomfortable, but this fic wouldn't be so bad.

Idk, maybe some day.

But here's sort of how it would start, i guess?

SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 3 FROM AT LEAST EPISODE 51 ONWARDS

Thinking about Vex suddenly being startled by a feeling in her chest that she hasn't felt for a very, very long time.

She's concerned immediately, but for the wrong reason.

What sort of pain is this? Did she need a cleric?

Then it hits her.

But that can't be right…

Then the amulet goes off, the dragon tooth one Keyleth gifted to her oh-so long ago, from where it rests on her necklace stand.

She snatches it at once and rushes to find her husband, her chest aching more than ever, and finds Percy as he jumps out of his armchair in his study clutching at the amulet around his own neck.

Knowing the other is safe, they quickly rush to check on Pike, who was here to train Gwendolyn healing magic and emergency aid techniques.

Pike is fine, and her own amulet is back at home, so Vex & Percy's sudden and frantic appearance startles her and Gwendolyn.

When Pike is informed of what's happened, she immediately scries on Grog.

Grog's fine, he's been off doing Grog things, but he's stopped upon realising his amulet is doing that weird thing again that it hasn't done since... Well. In a long time.

They try to check on Scanlan next, but there's interference now - it's alright though, because he's suddenly appearing in a puff of purple magic looking terrified.

That just leaves Keyleth and Taryon then…

Pike tries to scry again, setting her target to Keyleth, but she just can't get through.

Scanlan admits he had struggled controlling his magic when coming here, which concerns his friends greatly - what was going on?

Still determined to try and check on the others, the group gathered some supplies before trying to teleport to grab Grog from out in the woods nearby…

But that's not where they end up. Instead, they find themselves ending up all the way in Emon of all places.

Scanlan is embarrassed, assuring them it isn't his fault, but the group's attention is soon turned to the sky.

A light is shooting into or out of the moon known as Rudius... That can't be good.

They rush to find Allura, who is franticly scrambling around her tower while Kima and Gilmore argue off to the side.

Magic is broken, divine and arcane... Uh oh.

And now these three pillars of magical strength Vox Machina have looked up to for years are now more terrified than Vox Machina has ever seen them before.

Something was happening.

Today's the solstice, right? Wasn't Keyleth doing something related to that?

They need to get to Zephrah, but they don't know how.

Was Keyleth safe? Was it her who set the amulet off?

It's stopped flashing by now... But they don't feel like she's been lost... Is she okay now?

That feeling in Vex's chest has also subsided, but Vex has no idea what that was. (She does, but she refuses to believe such a silly idea.)

The group had to rangle horses, but they eventually set off for Keyleth's home to find some darn answers.

After Zephrah, they can try to find Grog and maybe go look for Tary over in Wildemount.

It takes longer than they'd like, but they get there only to find out she isn't here.

She's in Marquet, actually, dealing with a huge thing that they can't know about.

Keyleth didn't want them worrying about her, of course, but Zephrah could help them get to Marquet via tree.

This magic works, at least.

So they get to Marquet, but they don't really have much to go on, though whispers and rumours direct them there.

Everyone there is dead when they finally arrive, a large machine now dormant.

Black feathers are scattered everywhere, laying in pools of different coloured blood.

Keyleth isn't here, but fallen Ashari soldiers are dotted around the ruins of whatever catastrophe happened here.

They need to find Keyleth.

Vex takes one of the mysterious black feathers and tucks it into her hair.

After searching and searching, they find some first aid supplies and empty potion bottles by a tree big enough for Tree Stride.

They hope this means Keyleth got home, but it means they missed her... Frustrated, they investigate some more.

Percy is curious about the machine but can't figure out how it once operated.

Satisfied they didn't miss anything, the group began the long journey back to Emon and across the sea.

They finally get back and report to Gilmore and the ladies, who are all deeply troubled by the news.

Vox Machina then disembark once more, heading for Zephrah once again.

This time, when they arrive, Keyleth is home - and she's in the worst state any of them have ever seen her in.

Hurt, using her staff as a crutch, she's beside herself with toe-curling anger.

That is, until she sees the innocent black feather in Vex's hair and breaks down.

There is so much to tell them.

There is so much to do.

#i have had so many thoughts about marble'dan...#maybe i will write this #critical role #cr #critical role campaign 3 #cr c3 #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #critical role campaign 3 spoilers #cr c3 spoilers #vox machina #cr drabble #cr fanfic #my fic #lynias writes something #lynias shut up challenge

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xknivesandpensx · 1 year

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Between the Lines

Summary: Hermione Granger is probably the last person Draco would want to be stuck in a closet with. Hermione liking the situation no more than him. Will spending time alone push them further apart or somehow bring them closer?

Finally part three of my prequel series, the last part in fact! This takes place during the third movie. I also mention things from the book and a little from my other writing which can be found here. It ended up being way longer than I expected but thanks for taking the time to read.

Hermione entered Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop in search for extra parchment and a new quill. The school year was coming to a close and while Ron stayed behind on this particular trip to Hogsmeade, being ill-advised to accompany the other students while his leg continued to heal. Harry, on the other hand, hid amongst the others while his invisibility cloak covered his body, joining to keep her company and because both boys were still under the impression Draco intended to get back at Hermione for hitting him. All the while, she thought it pointless to worry.

It didn’t take long to reach their intended destination. They thought it best for him to wait outside given the crowd gathered within. He’d be far more prone to bang into people in a large group and she planned to take no more than a few minutes.

To her surprise, adults filled the space, making maneuvering rather difficult. Some famous author took it upon herself to sign books, much like Hermione remembered Gilderoy Lockhart doing back before second year. The excitement reminded her of a crush she had on the professor. It all seemed so trivial now. Sending him a Valentine’s Day card, blushing whenever he came in sight and going as far as treasuring anything he wrote on (even keeping his get well soon letter tucked under her pillow after the Polyjuice Potion incident).

Of course, Hermione kept his books and maybe even stashed the notes inside, nonetheless she was well over any lingering adoration. Certainly, at this point, the events of the year overtook most her thoughts, leaving little to no room for a man who once stood on a pedestal in her mind. The truth of his memory charms were, after all, enough to shoo an abundance of his admirers away.

Her thoughts shook free of him after spotting a head of blond hair in the mass of people. His voice reached her ears as well, coming off as a muffled sort of shout, demanding others to get out of his way. It appeared as if Draco came in as unprepared as she did regarding the swarm of women and men.

The store owner directed Hermione to the back supply closet for the specific quill she sought and well advised her not to close the door. Apparently, certain classmates of hers thought it funny to lock their brother inside, making it so only those on the outside could free their captive. Instantly, she knew the culprits were Fred and George having a bit of fun with Percy, severely angering the other Weasley in the process. He complained about it nonstop in the common room, giving them an earful.

A small smile creased her lips upon the memory as she stretched on her tiptoes to reach the yet to be displayed box, pausing mid reach when another got unintentionally shoved inside by a group, who sounded like overly enthusiastic fans. The door got shut amongst the rushing adults, the slam echoing loudly.

A gasp escaped in a single breath. Despite the warning, Hermione dashed forward trying to turn the knob. “Oh no,” she spoke in a whisper, more in disbelief than anything else. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’re locked in.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” An edge of vexation roughened his tone. “Move aside.” Draco attempted the same as Hermione until he resorted to banging his fist on the wood itself.

“That’s not going to work. We’re going to have to wait until someone realizes we’re trapped.” She assumed Harry might take it upon himself to search for her, if a sufficient amount of time passed. Not that she could mention it, seeing as he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

“Yeah, I’m sure the cavalry is on their way,” Draco sarcastically commented as he leaned against the wall, aware a small amount of space rested between them. No more than an arm’s length at best.

Otherwise, a single light hung above their heads. The room itself held racks stuffed with boxes, new items on one side, older on the back wall.

Silence engulfed them.

Hermione reluctantly lifted her gaze to look upon him. The two of them hadn’t been alone in quite a while. He grew a few inches in height over the summer, his frame holding an intimidating impression (more so from the way he purposely held himself).

She liked his hair much more than his sleeked back style. It hung freely, bright blond locks falling slightly past his brows. It shaped his face differently and while Hermione would never admit to admiring his looks, especially while a soft, golden glow overtook his hard-set mien, she didn’t want to tear her prolonged stare away.

Despite her reservations, an immediate desire to ask Draco if he remembered their first meeting on the train bloomed in her chest. Where she’d done the same type of scrutinizing study. Did he recall sharing his candy with her or maybe even their moment in Lockhart’s classroom when a mere second of contact caused electricity to fly between them?

She found herself every so often reminiscing the sensation of a fleeting, enamored sort of fondness for Draco Malfoy, feeling it in the pit of her stomach. It still came in waves, yet easily smothered the moment he sent a glare or rude comment in her direction.

Hermione forced herself to look elsewhere before he took notice, trying to instead, come up with a solution to their problem. It started to get warm too, which left her slightly uncomfortable.

Rather than a Hogwarts uniform, she wore a dark navy pair of shorts and a blue button up blouse. Draco took on his typical black attire. Both sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, the material light enough for the oncoming summer weather. The color heightened his pale skin tone but he seemed to prefer the dark shade.

“Will you stop pacing.” If he could even call taking a step every few seconds that. It irritated him more so than it should.

“I’m trying to think. Unlike you who’s just standing there.” Draco said nothing, only crossing his arms in return. “Oh, I’m sorry I forgot I was so beneath you, me saying anything to you is practically considered an insult. Except, of course, if you want to complain, then you don’t seem to care at all.”

Both hands fell on her hips, yet he remained silent. Huffing in aggravation, Hermione settled herself on the ground, bringing her knees close to her chest.

Ten minutes passed in agonizing muteness between them. Muffled voices passed under the door but the myriad of people’s attention may as well be miles away.

He eventually followed suit, taking a seating position across from her. They might be locked in the tiny closet for hours. Crabbe and Goyle wouldn’t think to look for him in here, the two probably too busy at Honeydukes to notice he left their side in the first place.

Draco started feeling restless after a while, so he turned to shift so his forearm rested on his raised leg while the other stretched out.

“I can think of so many people I’d rather be stuck with than you.” His comment came with a condescending sneer, mostly because the silence started to grate him.

“I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.” Hermione rested her head on the shelf behind her. “I’d probably have more fun facing a Boggart.”

A scoff escaped him. “Getting a bad grade, how horrific. Really shocking fear for you. It’s almost as funny as Potter being terrified of Dementors.”

“And exactly how much trouble did you get in for dressing up as one and trying to scare Harry during a Quidditch match? Not your best plan. It came across rather silly.” She and Ron found themselves in the middle of a fight at the time, but that didn’t stop her from attending.

He got detention, had points taken away and endured an extensive reprimand by several professors. His parents weren’t happy receiving the letter sent home either.

“You go on about it as if he’s so innocent.” He turned his head from her, falling into complaint. “Showing off his Firebolt. Like people have nothing better to do than going around praising him, still being impressed by his stupid scar too.”

Hermione never quite understood his jealousy towards Harry. The boy who lost his parents, had to stay with an aunt, uncle and cousin who treated him dreadfully, who faced terrible things every school year. She supposed mentioning it would be futile.

She took a breath, venturing a different approach. Hoping to possibly gain some understanding. As to why try at all? Maybe she was tired of being combative or perhaps she needed a shred of proof his whole character didn’t lock itself in a singular mold. She saw glimpses already in the past, after all.

“I’m not scared of getting a bad grade specifically.” Hermione heard him sigh, but pressed on. “Sometimes a Boggart can get an exact image. Although every so often the concept can’t take solid form. For me, it’s less about a test and more being told I’m a failure. That I’m not good enough.”

Certain people saw her as someone less because her lineage. And while a compulsion to raise her hand in class existed, it wasn’t always due to knowing the correct answer, rather to keep herself in check. If she slipped from the compliment of being the “brightest witch of her age” who’d she be then?

Hermione went on a bit tentatively. “It’s the same for you, isn’t it? You’re not frightened of your father. You’re afraid of disappointing him… I might be wrong, but I think the reason goes much deeper –– ”

“Don’t act like you know anything about me,” Draco interrupted, leaning forward ever so slightly. A blaze of anger ignited in an instant. “How about you keep that Mudblood mouth of your shut about things you don’t understand.”

She dug too deeply and it stung. Maybe he did try to emulate his greatness, always searching for his father’s approval. Lucius maintained an air about him that nobody came close to. People respected him, knowing severe consequences followed if crossed.

If Lucius needed to give him a few good whacks with his cane every now and again to get results (because in spite of himself, Draco didn’t always listen), he had the right, didn’t he? Luckily, he tended to move his hands fast enough to avoid a blow. For the most part, anyway.

Tension slowly left his muscles, the heat not allowing him to keep his aggravation in place.

Not until Hermione saw his features lose their tightness did she attempt to say more. The weight of the insult remained, yet she tried to rise above it.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Fear is a tricky thing for others to understand. Ron’s scared of spiders and Neville of Professor Snape.” Her voice eased to a lighter measure. “It was rather funny to see him wearing that ridiculous hat.”

Draco ducked his chin, fiddling with his ring.

He intended not to reply until the image came flooding back. Somehow it washed away his persistent insouciance. “People were snickering behind his back for weeks. If he as so much caught a hint of a chuckle, he’d take away ten points immediately.”

It fell out of line from the traditional things he found amusement in, a far cry from sending him to his knees, pounding on the ground because he couldn’t contain himself.

But he laughed regardless. Alongside Hermione Granger no less.

It surprised her. The two of them sharing a moment of levity in a dusty storeroom of which the strong and distinctive smell of fresh ink overtook. While witnessing a brief softness in his open mirth, she felt a spread of warmth in her chest and trace of heat along her face.

It was, however, short lived.

Draco caught himself and stifled his laughter, forcing his legs to push him upward and direct his energy elsewhere. What has it been? A half hour? Longer, perhaps? “This is getting ridiculous. There must be something in here that will help us get out.”

He started searching through a few boxes, tossing them aside rather recklessly in need to do something, anything to vanquish whatever sensation he sensed coursing through his veins.

“Careful, you might break something,” Hermione chastised, quickly getting to her feet.

“As if I care.” He needed to get out now. What did it matter to him if parchment and quills flew everywhere or ink bottles shattered? If only he brought his wand, then perhaps he could’ve unlocked the door right away and avoided this whole thing.

Because he certainly intended to banish the entire ordeal to the back of his mind. He just needed to get away from her first.

In his rushed movements, Draco stumbled over a box, causing him to bang into Hermione and take her down with him.

The crash sounded earsplitting and the fall? It was far from graceful. More painful given Draco’s elbow slammed on the ground. It stopped his full body weight from landing on her completely, though he felt his knee jab into her leg on the way down, which caused a sharp but quick scream upon impact.

Hermione may have lost her ability to breathe after finding herself unexpectedly pinned beneath him, but Draco seemed to be acutely aware of their tangled legs and position of his hands. One rested above her shoulder, the other more so on her arm.

Given his previous claims, any form of physical contact should repulse him or at the very least trigger a hasty drawback. Eventually his fingers loosened their grip so his palm slipped to the floor. Touching her sent prickles along his skin, which threw him off a bit.

And for the first time Draco noticed the color of her eyes, a detail he not once bothered to remember.

He never saw brown eyes glow before, but hers did, like morning sunlight shinning on the bark of a redwood tree. Probably due to the low lighting above, yet in the moment, he believed even within the castle the dancing flame of a candle could ignite the same appeal. They radiated a warmth far surpassing his own pair of blue of which she stared into.

In his mind, Draco knew he needed to move, but the ability to direct his muscles failed him miserably.

Hermione spoke, only for her words to be drowned out by squeaking hinges. The door finally opened.

“What’s going on? Get off her.” He recognized Harry’s voice as a hand gripped his shoulder and somewhat clumsily pulled him upright, the maneuver a tad difficult.

“Let go of me!” Draco remarked, pushing Harry into the wooden frame. His gaze narrowed, noting the accusative tone. Giving the compromising position and knowledge of Harry’s dislike of him (returned, of course), he expected nothing less. “What kind of guy do you take me for, Potter?”

Harry helped Hermione up, speaking matter-of-factly once he gazed upon the blond again. “From the look of things, I have several ideas now.”

While Hermione didn’t blame the reason behind his conclusion, having picked up on it as well, she quickly attempted to correct it. “We fell, nothing else happened, I swear.”

Protective tension kept its hold. Harry cared for her deeply, their friendship built itself into a relationship he held close to his heart. Much like felt he with Ron and Hagrid.

He took her word for it, letting the impression leave him. Draco might go out of his way to torment them, but he really couldn’t picture him being the type to force himself on another. His mind simply jumped to the conclusion seeing him on top of her.

“What are you even doing here?” Draco questioned, breaking whatever silent conversation the pair seemed to be having. “Sneaking into Hogsmeade? I wonder how you managed to pull it off. Maybe I should let the professors take a couple of guesses.”

Harry slowly hid the invisibility cloak behind his back, hoping it went unnoticed. “I think I’m beginning to get the urge to tell the story of how Hermione hit you in the face.”

That was about the only ammo he really had.

“Oh yeah, terribly funny. I’m sure everyone would believe you.” It surprised him how none of them mentioned it, not that he’d be fond of it spreading now. Draco advanced on Harry. “If that’s your attempt at making a threat, it’s pretty weak, if you ask me.”

Before he managed to get too close, Hermione got between them. “Stop. You’re both starting to draw attention. That’s the last thing we need.”

And sure enough, people were beginning to look in their direction.

Draco caught her eyes again, confused on how they still held an alluring call. He forced a glower full of as much loathing he could muster, prior to directing his words to Harry. “Consider yourself lucky the school year’s nearly over. What a waste of time this is.”

The warning held a hollow meaning, the words placed to provide him ample reason to walk away.

Hermione watched him disappear from the shop into the warm sunlight. She suppressed the strange want to go after him and veered her attention back to her friend. “We should clean this up before we go. I’d feel awful leaving it a mess.”

Harry took on the task to help, knowing better than to suggest otherwise and asked for more details. “How’d the two of you end up in a closet in the first place?”

Hermione rattled off a few things between putting boxes away, making sure the door stayed open, yet her mind drifted elsewhere. She witnessed a different side of Draco. Again, but slightly different than before. He looked so, for lack of a better word, dissimilar to his usual self. His laugh rang free of any mocking undertones. Almost, well, mellifluous.

She’d probably never be given a second opportunity to hear it.

She doubted Draco took in the other moment the same way she did. His lips were so near to hers, hovering about an inch or two away. Hermione glanced down at them, finding herself, at the time and all the more so in the present, wondering what it may have felt like if he brought his mouth onto hers.

But kissing Draco Malfoy? What an aimless thing to consider.

#dramione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #harry potter #the prisoner of azkaban #it's been a month since i last posted something i wrote XD #i try i really do #still a bit nervous to post #but here it is #nice comments are always appreciated #sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes

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cabinofimagines · 1 year

Text

Holi-day four; It’s cold outside

A/N: I’m back with my shit -Danny

Pairing: PLATONIC Piper, Percy and Jason x GN!reader

Words: 908

<- prev - mlist - next ->

When you woke up the big house was surrounded by complete darkness.

Disoriented, you pushed yourself up on the floor and looked around, Piper was sleeping on the couch next to you, but the rest of your friends was nowhere to be seen.

Trying to remember what was going on, you got up and walked up the stairs, finding the entrance entirely abandoned. Looking out the window you realized in shock that it was snowing— a massive layer of snow was stopping you from getting out, maybe that was the reason everything was so quiet, everyone was probably trying to stay warm in such weather.

You went back to Piper, nudging her shoulder to wake her up.

“Mmph,” she groaned, rolling over.

“Dude wake up, we’re in trouble!” You said, and as soon as those words left you, a shiver struck you from the base of your heels.

“What?” She asked drowsily, blinking away the slumber.

“We’re trapped. Chiron hasn’t come back to camp and he forgot to bring back the weather barrier— the snow trapped everyone in their cabins.”

“Oh, shit,” Piper sat up, finally realizing how dark the room was. “Where’s everyone? We were all here!”

“I don’t even know what time it is,” you pouted. “They left us here to die.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Piper rubbed her eyes. “Most likely they're probably with the rest and they’re trying to fix this.”

“Why didn’t they wake us up, then?”

Piper shrugged. “Maybe they thought they were enough? I mean I can hardly charmspeak the snow away, right? So what was the point of waking me up?”

You thought about it, it was true that Percy, being the one who had more experience controlling water, would be able to drive the snow away, and Jason could summon strong winds to redirect it elsewhere.

“So we just... wait?”

Your friend looked around. “Well... I could eat.”

You frowned, it was unlikely you’d find food in the rec room, especially after Leo and Percy had been there.

“D’you think we can light a fire upstairs? I’m pretty sure the chimney in the main room works for real...”

You walked back to the stairs in the dark, losing your sense of direction briefly you stumbled upon something that felt like a small trunk. Crouching, you pulled it towards you and eyed it up curiously.

“Was this here before?”

“What?” Piper approached.

Opening the trunk, you asked your friend to get a flashlight and she was quick to find one, inside the medium box you found a bunch of unique supplies with a note folded on top of it.

‘For emergencies only :)’ -Klaus

“Look at that!” You said in awe. “This is food!”

Piper rummaged through the stuff. “Hot chocolate— marshmallows, blankets, fuzzy socks— dude, where did he get all these stuff? He barely leaves camp!”

“Well he is a Hermes kid, they always know how to get stuff.”

Piper grabbed the food and put the flashlight in her mouth, quickly going upstairs to warm it up. You stayed there putting on the fuzzy socks to warm yourself up, then went upstairs to try and get the chimney going.

“Hot chocolate coming up!” Piper walked into the room, now fully awake and ready to party. “Man, can you imagine being outside right now? Hate to be them...”

You looked out the window feeling a little guilty. “Let’s hope they don’t catch a cold...”

“Cabin eight can bring them back in a jiffy, don’t sweat it,” she handed you the warm drink.

You took your sweet time to enjoy your drink and snacks, sharing a fluffy blanket with Piper and listening to her stories from when she was in highschool.

You were having such a fun time that by the time the front door was pushed open and Percy’s tired voice came true, you suddenly remembered this wasn’t a planned sleepover.

“Oh shit!” You jumped to your feet, Piper following close. “You guys okay?”

“Oh look, they’re not dead,” Percy looked at you mildly annoyed. “Had fun sitting on your asses?”

“You have to excuse him, he got dragged like half a mile away from camp because he didn’t hear me when I told him to stop pushing,” Jason said, his nose was almost as red as his scarf.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Annabeth went to help the smaller cabins so the drafts don’t sneak in,” Percy brushed the snow off his hair and shivered. “Leo’s lighting a few controlled fires to keep the dryads warm— Frank is checking the forest and other areas to make sure no camper got trapped in a bad place, Nico and Hazel are trying to bring back the barrier and well, the rest of the campers are trying not to freeze their butts off.”

“At least we got to stop the storm,” Jason sighed. “You guys got any chocolate left?”

Piper and Jason went back to the kitchen, Percy pointed at the empty wrappers laying on the coffee table. “Where d’ya get all that?”

“Oh, we found it in the rec room, Klaus had left it there for emergencies— don’t know what kind of emergencies he meant cause it was mostly blankets and food, almost like it was made for this exact situation— crazy, huh?”

Percy’s frown deepened as he stared at the food.

“Here,” Jason handed the boy a warm cup of chocolate. “Let’s sit down, I gotta make sure I still have functional fingers and toes.”

#Danny's writing #pjo fanfic #hoo imagine #Piper McLean #gn!reader #holidays #xmas 2022

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literallyjusttoa · 2 years

Note

ah yes, my true beloved: percy and the mortal-gods bonding, but now, spice: they bond over their domain with him (full on adhd infodump, percy is getting free new shiny hyperfixations)

Oh absolutely. I already had the idea of Percy and Dionysus eventually talking about dolphins, just because of the hilarious irony, but I'd like to raise you one better. Gods bonding with ALL the demigods

Hermes and Leo are fast friends. Pranks? Dangerous machines? Giving Apollo a musical instrument at least once? It's pure clown-to-clown communication over here.

Artemis gets what Apollo meant when he called Frank the sweetest kid. What starts as a grudging respect grows into a genuine friendship, as he proves himself over and over. Artemis can't remember the last time she meant someone who was both confident and extremely courteous.

Ares LOVES Luguselwa. She completely understands her from the beginning, and is surprisingly the first of the group to fully trust her. He's cheering her on when she uses her knife hands to tear down Nero's forces.

Aphrodite trying to bond with her daughter, but failing. After all, Piper's love life is all sorts of complicated, and it's partially Aphrodite's fault. But you know who has experience with messy love lives? Hephaestus! Idk, for some reason I just really love the idea of Piper and Hephaestus bonding. Piper would definitely see Leo in his father, and Hephaestus would respect Piper's confidence. Piper gives Hephaestus an extra supply of tinkering tools before they all leave California.

Speaking of Aphrodite, she's been trying to be less intrusive in peoples lives, and just get to know them as people. Her first successful attempt? Hazel. She helps Hazel to see her gems as not only not a curse, but a beauty that should be shared with those she truly loves. This has lead to many impassioned rants on the meaning of love from Aphrodite.

Athena genuinely taking interest in Jason's temple project (how is it getting put together? What era of roman architecture are you drawing inspiration from?) This also serves as a mini-arc to help Athena get over her Rome hatred. It'll be so sweet, I bet nothing will go wrong!

#trials of apollo #sunny speaks #long post #ask #redeemthefam #au #and of course they all adopt meg along the way #although I don't know if any of the other gods can compare to Apollo when it comes to Meg #Sunflower sibs supremacy #all the way

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hillnerd · 3 years

Text

Waking up- Chapter 6 - Touch

AO3 FFN Beginning of story | Previous Chapter word count 9064

Here is the second part of chapter 5- I split them because it was going LONG. So it's still Hermione's POV. Previously in ‘Waking Up’:

Hermione gets ready for going out to a club & is anxious

She got ready w/ Fleur, Ginny, Angelina - Bonds w/ Fleur

Ron's not up for club either, but he does not reveal why

The entire group consists of the Weasley siblings (minus Percy), Lee, Angelina, Hermione, harry

It's a jolly good time despite ptsd acting up for Hermione- Until it's NOT a good time, and George grabs a mic and is threatening people with his wand.

Chapter warnings: cursing, intense emotions, drunkenness', fighting, reference to a dead character, somewhat explicit sex scene

CHAPTER 6- TOUCH

Panic seared through every nerve in her body. Ron was willfully standing in front of a sparking wand, and no one could do a thing to stop it - not legally anyway.

Ron stared the wand down, saying something she couldn’t hear from across the crowded bar, and the mic couldn’t pick up. She clawed her way out from the corner booth, waking Harry in the process, but by the time she’d crawled out from behind the table George’s wand arm had slowly fallen to his side.

“Fine... Fucking fine…” George’s voice echoed across the bar. “You’re all a bunch of useless arseholes.”

With that, George handed over the mic, escorted away with a bunch of people applauding as the music resumed. Ron, Angelina and Lee followed as the bouncer manhandled George then bodily dropped him off in a chair next to Ginny.

“When the tab is paid, get his arse out of here,” the bouncer growled at Ron before pointing a meaty finger at George. “He’s fucking banned.”

George handed over a wad of cash to Lee, who went to pay the tab.

All eyes turned to George.

“What?” He had a grin on his face, but his tone was sharp and eyes dead. “Did I say something that wasn’t true?”

“You said a lot, alright,” Angelina muttered. “You’re lucky Ron convinced them not to call Muggle law enforcement on you.”

George shot Ron a vicious scowl, but didn’t say anything. Ron had a carefully blank look on his face.

Lee returned from the bar, the bouncer behind him.

“Time we get going.”

They began their journey back to the hotel, pairing off, with the more sober partners keeping the more inebriated of their group from walking into traffic. Harry was ridiculously unsteady on his feet. Ginny couldn’t keep him upright and he nearly tripped over a passerby. Ron took over for Ginny, and Harry was very maudlin in his drunkenness.

“You’re my best friend,” he pronounced to Ron. “In the whole world, you know that?”

“Yep, thanks Harry.”

“You’re special. I know you sometimes don’t think you are, but you are. That locket didn’t know a thing.”

Hermione nearly tripped over, hearing the locket mentioned. She wasn’t sure what Harry meant, though. How could the locket have known anything? It was just an evil locket that drained people’s happiness and made them angry. It hadn’t shown any signs of sentience. Neither had the cup.

“Shut up, Harry” warned Ron, giving Harry a jostle.

“And sorry I love your sister. I couldn’t help it!”

She supposed the mention of the locket was just as nonsensical as everything else Harry was saying. She pulled Ron’s jacket that went nearly to her knees closer around herself, trying to ignore the ringing in her ears.

Ginny gave a laugh at Harry’s antics. She had drunk significantly more than Hermione, but somehow she wasn’t unsteady on her feet at all. Despite her amusement over Harry, Ginny’s eyes kept darting to George.

“Maybe we could dart into that corner shop, they’ll have booze,” George said, making a beeline that was curtailed by Ron leaving Harry at a lamppost and standing in his way.

“Let’s just get back to your hotel.”

“Fuck off, Ron! No one asked you!”

George had enough to drink to make him mean, and enough to nearly trip into the gutter. Ron caught him before he fell.

George bodily shrugged him off.

Hermione kept attempting to catch eyes with Ron, but he was too busy determinedly watching George and keeping Harry from walking into drainpipes.

They finally reached George’s hotel. He keyed them into his room then immediately sat on the bed, arms crossed as he glared out the window.

Ron deposited the unsteady Harry at the table, and Hermione happily took the other seat, her headache now piercing.

“I want to get out of here,” said Ginny as she leaned against a wall.

“Anyone sober enough to Apparate?” asked Angelina.

“I’m sober. I can side-along each of you where you need to go” said Ron, though he looked a bit peaky. “Then I can come back to stay with George.”

“I can stay here a bit longer to hang with George,” Lee said, a genial smile on his face that ignored the series of blanches after his comment. Not even the most drunk of them was under the impression he was staying just to hang out instead of monitor.

“I can stay too,” volunteered Angelina.

Ron shook his head. “You don’t have to. I know you both have work tomorrow.”

“That’s kind of you, Ron,” Angelina answered for them.

“Oh yeah, Ronnie the fucking hero” George groused, a mean look on his face.

“Damn, George,” said Lee with a shake of his head.

“I don’t need tending, and I don’t need you lot talking about me like I’m not here! I’m fine!”

“Look,” Ron began. “We both know—”

“Just what is it we both know?” asked George, rising from his bed.

“That you’re being an arsehole,” Ginny supplied, and no one corrected her.

“Well sorry I’m not all fun and fucking rainbows, everyone!” spat George, throwing his hands in the air.

“No one’s asking for that!” Ron protested. “We just don’t want you pissed and getting in trouble.” “Oh give it a fucking rest,” George snapped, poking Ron in the chest. Tents and rain and friends fighting filled Hermione’s mind. Her wand. She needed her wand! Hermione rifled through her beaded bag trying to find it.

“I’m tired of having you in my face all the time! I’ve never wanted you around before, so why the fuck would you think I want you around now? It’s like you enjoy being an annoying arsehole.”

“Oh yeah. I’m here for the enjoyment of it,” Ron said with a snort. “I get to keep my drunk older brother from getting arrested, keep him from eating shit in the gutter, and get treated like shit for it. A perfect evening, really.”

“I never asked for your help! I don’t want it!”

“Well someone has to pick up the pieces when you keep fucking up.”

“For fuck’s sake, get out of my room!” George bellowed, looking perilously close to punching Ron.

“No! I’m not letting you fuck up again!” Ron yelled back, red in the face. “After everything, it doesn’t matter if you’re an arse, family’s—”

Hermione’s hands shook as she scraped through the contents of her bag, unable to find her wand in the cavernous space. Useless. She was useless.

“Fuck off!” George seethed, looking like a cornered animal.

“No! After everything, family’s all we have and we have to be there for one another!”

“Like you were for Fred when he got fucking crushed to death?” George jeered. An explosion of protestations burst forth, but he ignored them all, eyes glinting in a mix of anger and anguish. He let out a horrible rough sound that bordered between laughter and crying.

Hermione desperately scrabbled in her bag, fingers grazing everything but her damned wand!

“Why couldn’t that wall have fallen a few feet to the left and taken you out instead of Fred?”

There was a crash and Harry’s chair was on the floor he had stood up so abruptly.

“Don’t you talk to him like that!’ Harry cried out, moving toward George, his wand pulled. Angelina and Lee quickly got in his way, as Ron stood still, and his expression shuddered.

Something like regret flickered across George’s face. He took a step towards his brother, but gave a yell as an orange curse hit him and he stumbled back into the bathroom.

All faces turned to the source of the spell. There stood Ginny, cold fury burning in her eyes. She gave another wave of her wand that slammed the door shut.

“Ginny, you can’t do magic outside of school yet!” Hermione squealed, fingers finally grasping her wand, though far too late to be of any help.

“Worth it,” replied Ginny. Hermione couldn’t very well disagree. She’d never thought she could dislike George Weasley so much. “Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand to look at him.”

Ron gave a sigh, and leaned his head against the bathroom door frame. “I guess I need to get you all home, then I’ll come back and— ”

“No, I’ll stay here.” Angelina put a staying hand up. “He’s been a right bastard to you and you don’t have to put up with it.”

“But—”

“We’ve got him,” said Lee, putting a hand on Ron’s shoulder. Ron opened his mouth as if to argue, then gave a sigh.

“And you’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything?”

They nodded.

“Then… Then I’ll get everyone home.”

One by one Ron apparated Harry, Ginny and Hermione home - he was too tired to apparate multiple people at a time reliably. They silently walked from their apparition point to the Burrow’s living room.

Ron busied himself pouring glasses of water for them, while the rest of them watched. Harry looked baleful, but was unable to say anything and Ginny was silently crying. This left Hermione, and she felt woefully underqualified to even begin to breach the hurt Ron had faced. The one solace was that Harry and Ginny seemed equally unable to come up with comforting words to say to Ron.

Ron saved Harry and Ginny the trouble by dismissing them to bed. Harry tottled over to Ron and gave him a long-lasting hug mumbling something about him being Harry’s brother. Ginny gave him a hug about the middle as well, before helping the still wobbly Harry up the stairs to bed.

Ron let out a sigh and collapsed on the couch.

“Next time I’m tempted to go out, remind me of tonight,” he muttered, throwing an arm across his face. “Especially if there’s George and drinking involved…”

His breathing shook the tiniest bit.

She’d never been very good at emotions. Her own would take over and she’d let her temper turn her into a veritable harpy. Other people’s emotions were just as difficult for her to handle. She worked so hard to learn to say the right thing, find what could soothe others, to apply logic and repeat the process. It never seemed to work, though. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d successfully talked down or comforted in her life. Not really…

She settled beside him and put her head on his chest.

“I know you’re upset…” she began. Acknowledging feelings was usually a good place to begin. That’s the sort of thing Ron might say, right? “But you have to know George didn’t mean any of that.”

He ruefully shook his head. “He did… It’s fine, though. Nothing I didn’t know.”

“He was just trying to get rid of you by being cruel. He was drunk and being spiteful,” she said with certainty.

“Doesn’t mean he was lying.”

“You handled this all really well, you know.”

“Huh?” he asked, removing his arm from over his eyes.

“You deescalated things really well, watched after us, and kept your calm… It was rather impressive.”

“Yeah, well I’ve had my fair share of dealing with dramatic wizards and witches,” he said with a hint of a smile, giving her a bit of a nudge.

“Oh we’ve never been that bad!” she said with a laugh.

He cocked his head at her. “The birds.”

“Well… Well, you were being a right arse,” she said, poking him in the middle.

“See? I’m quite used to the drama,” he said with a chuckle, draping his arm around her.

She bit her lip. “I wasn’t that bad was I?”

“You were pretty terrible,” he said with a laugh. “But that’s alright. I like how fierce and crazy you are.”

“Crazy?!”

“Oh sorry, I mean how calm and undramatic you are.” He schooled his face into mock solemnity.

“You’re terrible,” she huffed.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he said, shooting her that boyish grin of his. It was her favorite feature of his. Well, that and his blue eyes. And his bright hair. And his freckles. And his wide shoulders. And his long legs. And his big hands. And his arse.

With that thought, she sat up and put a hand to his face and his eyebrows shot up into his fringe.

“I can’t help it, but I really do,” she said, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the nose. “You know… Harry pointed out that you fancy me.”

“He’s a terrible drunk.”

“I told him I quite fancy you as well.”

“I would hope so, seeing as you’re my girlfriend.” His arm hugged her close to his side. “And even if he’s a terrible drunk, he’s right. I do fancy you. Rather hard not to, what with you being all brilliant and beautiful.”

Her eyes fell to his lips. This wasn’t the ideal place to kiss, in his family’s living room where anyone could walk in on them… but he’d called her beautiful and he was being so perfect. She didn’t want him to think about George again either.

She maneuvered herself until she was on top of him, knees on either side of his hips. One of his hands wove through her curls, the other doing a little trail down her side, a gesture that was growing more and more familiar each time they snogged. A hot neediness fed her movements. She moaned and leaned into him when she was stopped. His hands cupped her cheeks and slowly moved her face away from his.

“We’re in the living room,” he murmured.

“It’s late - so late that no one will know. Just snog me!” she whispered.

“Are you still sauced?” he laughed.

“Do I have to be ‘sauced’ to want to kiss you with a tiny bit of tongue?”

“Well I’d hope not, but any sober person should know this house always has someone up and in our business…”

“I’m sober now,” she told him frankly, feeling the slightest tinges of a hangover, but otherwise feeling very much herself. She gave a sigh and extricated herself from him. “You have a point about the lack of privacy, but I’ll have you know it’s highly unfair to call me beautiful and not allow me to snog you a bit.”

“Oh is that all it takes?” He had a pleased grin on his face.

“Well it’s definitely not your stellar personality,” she said with a teasing smile of her own.

“Of course not. It’s my gentlemanly ways.”

He bowed very low and she gave a much-too-loud laugh as he took her hand. He leaned down, blue eyes gleaming into hers, then gave her knuckle a lick.

“You’re disgusting!”

“You wanted a tiny bit of tongue, so I gave you tongue!” he grinned, before dimming the lights and leading her up the stairs.

They stopped in front of Ginny’s bedroom and touched foreheads.

“I know tonight was… was difficult,” she said in a low voice, “but when it wasn’t… I really did have a good time with you.”

He shifted his head and kissed her forehead.

“I did too,” he murmured, giving her a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered, putting her hand on the handle to turn it when it slipped in her grasp. She tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. “She must have forgotten and locked it...”

She gave a light knock on the door, and Ginny didn’t answer. There was nothing but silence.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding…”

“What?” Hermione asked, trying the door again.

Ron did a few spells and gave a huff.

“Harry’s in there,” he said, disgusted.

“What? No… They wouldn’t… Would they?”

“I’d bet fifty galleons Harry’s in that bloody room.”

“Oh…” she replied, putting her fingers to her pursed lips. “I suppose I’ll stay in Percy’s room then?”

“Nah, you can come to bed with me.”

He walked towards the stairs before coming to a stop.

“Okay…” he said, turning on his heels, a panicked look on his face. “I didn’t mean to assume— You definitely don’t need to—”

“Yes!” she whispered back.

Ron looked only mildly less panicked at her answer.

“Yes like you’re agreeing you don’t need to come with, or yes like—”

“Yes, like I’ll stay with you.”

A thrill ran through her as they smiled at one another, the bit of moonlight shining through the window illuminating them. As they went up the stairs together excitement flooded her thoughts of sharing a room overnight with Ron. She’d shared the tent with him, but they’d never truly been alone all night, and they definitely hadn’t been under the scrutiny of Mr and Mrs Weasley.

She’d never been one for rule breaking. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Okay, she had to admit she broke rules rather regularly. She might have broken about a thousand rules in the last year alone, but that was different— it was for a just cause that would help everyone. In this case it was purely breaking rules for her own happiness. The rush of it made her feel the same peace she’d had at the club.

The moment they got to Ron’s room and saw Harry’s empty camp bed she approached Ron to kiss him. Only a meter away, he let out a large yawn before going to his drawers.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her an oversized orange shirt. It had the Cannons logo on it and was soft to the touch from so many wearings. She’d seen him wear it probably a thousand times. It was rather sweet that he’d thought of pajamas for her, but disappointment began to well in her. She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped for, but something closer to their activities at the shed was what she’d imagined. “Do you need some shorts or something for the bottoms?”

“No, I think your shirt will do,” she said as she held it up and realized it went halfway down her legs.

“Right,” he said with a grin, “Well, I can step out while you change.”

“You can stay here,” she said. She felt a fluttering in her stomach as his eyes shot back to hers.

“Oh, erm… Alright,” he said, his pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Right! Yeah…”

He turned about, head pointed up towards the low ceiling.

She let out a nervous giggle and changed out of her dress into the dress-length shirt. She did a silencing charm on the room, for good measure.

“You can turn around now.”

He turned around and looked at her with a soft smile.

“Nice to see you supporting the Cannons!” His eyes fasted on the logo with a growing grin before his eyes went wide and met hers. She looked down and realized it was very apparent she wasn’t wearing a bra in the thin shirt. He went back to his drawers and found a pair of pajama trousers for himself.

“Do you need me to turn around for you to change?” she asked.

“Up to you, really,” he said with a shrug, beginning to unbutton his shirt. She chose to watch him from the bed, enjoying how a tinge of red blossomed across his cheeks and ears. As he finally got to his belt and jeans he turned himself around.

She liked watching him like this. She’d never had the chance to unabashedly watch him before. They’d changed clothes on the run, but it had always been practical fast movements. She liked looking at his shoulders that were rather wide despite his thinness, and the glorious spattering of freckles that were most concentrated across his shoulders. He pulled the pajama trousers up over his plaid boxers then did a cute little hop to arrange himself. She liked the taper of his waist, and wanted to see if it was as enticing from the front. Watching him made her forget to breathe; forget to do much of anything.

She wasn’t sure when she’d stood from the bed, but her feet made a beeline to him. As soon as he turned she surged forth, that same neediness from the sofa fueling her movements. She jumped straight up into his arms making him let out a deep ‘oompf!’ She worried for a moment that she might have hurt him, jumping on him as she did, but reassurance came as he sighed into their kiss. They moved against each other in the middle of the room, the lamp casting shadows across the orange room creating the effect it was on fire.

It was a bit of a messy snog, but she didn’t care as he pulled her into a hard embrace. His tongue traced the inside of her mouth, and she slid both of her hands into his hair, enjoying the feel of his soft strands running through her fingers. They continued to kiss as their feet stumbled back until Ron’s legs hit the bed and the two fell to it with a laugh. The spell she’d done on the bed to widen the bed earlier that day had held up, giving them plenty of room to twine around one another and kiss. She reminded herself to reinforce the hastily done spell later, otherwise they might end up with one of them on the floor— but she decided it was better to put it off and not interrupt a perfect series of kisses.

Since she was about thirteen she’d wondered what kissing Ron Weasley would be like. Her earliest fantasies were delicate and chaste like she’d seen in movies. Later they became more heated and sensuous, but she’d had so little experience with kissing she wasn’t sure what she preferred their kisses to be, really, as long as it was with Ron.

Their first kiss had seared through her as he lifted her up off the ground. The second time he’d been tender and unhurried. She’d stopped counting their kisses, but each time it was perfect, whatever surprise he brought her way.

Now that they were on the bed his lips were soft. He’d started slow, lazily exploring her as if savoring each moment, his kiss a gentle caress that reeled her in, peppering in a tiny nibble here or there.

“Wait,” he murmured sitting up. “You’re sure you’re sober?”

“Yes,” she answered. Her fingers grazed down him, savoring the lean muscles, how very smooth his skin was until the lines she drew reached an errant scar he’d earned over the years. One of his hands began to trail up her hip, just managing to skim underneath the overly large shirt. The pad of his thumb was drawing slow circles that just tickled the bottom of her ribs.

Soft, hungry kisses were travelling down her neck. She moaned as he met the juncture between her shoulder and neck. Through half closed eyes she watched the lamplight make his hair spark with amber and copper and gold. Her fingers played with his hair as that thumb of his kept its path up her shirt, and she felt a molten heat forming within her at the sensation.

Then the hand travelled low again, fingers just skimming the side of her hips and then the elastic of her pants. She let out a sigh and adjusted her hips towards him.

“You can touch me,” she breathed.

He let out a low moan. His long fingers ghosted over her pants until one gave a hesitant stroke over the warmth between her legs. One finger became two as he stroked against her, and arousal began to pool for her in a way she’d never felt before. It was such a small amount of friction, but it made her head spin.

Ron was touching her. She always revered the little touches they shared— his hand on her hip, his forehead touching hers, his hand around her wrist— but this was something wholly new.

The fingers moving against her, combined with his lips sucking on neck, made the heat deliciously build. As he curled his fingers she found the need to pull him in closer. It wasn’t enough! She wanted to feel him on her, not through a wet scrap of fabric.

She let her hands travel from his silky hair down to the elastic of her pants and began to push them down.

He stopped and looked into her eyes with a questioning look. She nodded and he hooked his fingers on them and trailed them down her legs before discarding them.

He gave an appreciative hiss before smiling up at her.

“Fuck me, you’re pretty,” he said under his breath. Her cheeks burned, but not as much as the heat growing inside her as his hands trailed their way back to her. His fingers traced up her legs, just barely pressing their way into her flesh, before resting directly between her legs. He seemed to be looking at her with fascination, and the idea of him looking at her down there suddenly made her nervous. She gently guided his head up to her so they could kiss while his hand continued to explore. She gave a gasp as he managed to find her clit.

He held himself above her with one hand as the other brushed inside her, teasing wetness from her and making her feel light-headed. She guided his hand back up her shirt, to feel his hand graze her breast.

She wanted more of him. She wanted him against her. In a daring move, she hooked her feet behind his hips and crashed his hips into hers.

He let out a startled yell before the bed gave a large lurch and Ron’s left hand that had been bracing him above her went clear through the mattress, sending him rolling off her and crashing to the ground.

The bed gave another shutter, and the bed, which Hermione had spelled to a queen size mattress, gave a spasm before shrinking to its normal twin size.

“Sorry! I should have reinforced that spell! I’m sorry!” she cried out, sitting up to check on Ron. He let out a series of ‘fuck fuck fuck’s under his breath as he slowly got to a crawling position, though not putting much weight on the left hand that had gone through the bed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, putting a hand to his back.

His whole back tensed and he scrunched his eyes closed.

“Ron?” she asked, rubbing his back a bit. “You okay?”

“Don’t,” he said, jerking away and giving a shake of his head.

He gave a hiss as he slowly rotated his left arm and flexed his hand. His shoulders were drawn so high they almost touched his ears before they slumped.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

“Huh?” he dazedly asked, blinking a few times and sitting up. “‘M okay.”

She nodded before grabbing her wand from the nightstand.

“Let me see your wrist.”

He held it to his chest. “Why?”

She gave a roll of her eyes. “To fix it, of course.”

He gave a flex of his hand before sitting up on his feet and slowly extending his wrist to her.

She took hold of it and gingerly weighed it back and forth. “So you landed on it?”

“I guess,” he said unhelpfully.

He held his breath as she held up her wand and did an ‘Episkey’ charm on it.

“Better?” she asked, knowing she’d done it perfectly.

He flexed his wrist and gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, I imagine that did it.”

She felt a flicker of doubt. “It’s better, isn’t it?”

“Course it is. You always do spells perfectly,” he said with a roll of his eyes. She began to frown. He hadn’t answered the question. “Hermione, I’m fine. I just feel a bit off after falling face first onto my manky floor. Who knows what filth I might have landed in. At least it wasn’t Harry’s old pants or something.”

She gave a laugh.

“You should come back to bed.”

“It’ll be a tight fit,” he said, eyeing the small twin.

“Oh yes… Wait! Bring Harry’s camp bed over. I think the spell will last better if we’re merely transforming two beds into one, instead of extending one.”

He grabbed the bed, and removed all the sheets. With a few flicks of her wand she was again in a large queen bed. She realized she was still nude underneath his large shirt, and the lingering arousal hadn’t fully been chased away by his fall.

“Where were we?” she said, rather seductively she thought, which both impressed and surprised her. She’d never been very good at anything remotely close to sexiness, but she’d managed a rather saucy husky tone.

He gave a bit of a gulp and turned off the lamp before joining her in the bed. As her eyes adjusted, the moonlight illuminated them well enough to just be able to make out his features.

She began to kiss him again, trying to rekindle the fire they’d had a moment ago, but he felt stiff and unresponsive.

“Is your wrist still hurting?” she whispered.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, taking a breath before their kiss resumed. He began trailing kisses down her neck and skimming her sides as before, and she tried to feel that same fire. His hands were touching her in the same places, but there was a forced quality to every move and every kiss. Their bodies no longer coaxed and set pace with one another.

His fingers went back to between her legs and poked at all the wrong angles. It felt like he was trying to pick a lock with a pair of chicken drumsticks. He’d always had very short nails, so she was surprised when they seemed to be poking her instead of the pads of his fingers.

Then he stopped kissing her altogether and went lower until his head was even with her pelvis.

She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of him looking down there. She’d barely ever looked down there, but didn’t imagine this could be a very flattering angle. At least it was dark in the room now?

He poked and prodded and she felt thoroughly turned off when one digit poked far too hard to the side of her labia.

“Erm… Maybe a little higher?” she asked, hoping he’d go back to her clit.

She gave a jolt as his nails showed up again. That was even worse! And how was that even possible when they were so short?

She accidentally let out a huff and he gave a sigh.

“This isn’t doing anything for you, is it?”

“It was…” The silence carried on, and she found herself entirely without words.

“It was rubbish,” he supplied.

“No?” she squeaked, biting her lip. He gave a withering look up through his eyebrows. “I’m sorry! It was really good earlier, though!”

He gave a snort. “Yeah I could tell it wasn’t going well when you weren’t as wet anymore…”

She pressed her face into the crook of her elbow to hide her eyes. It had seemed sexy at the time, but him actually saying out loud that she was ‘wet’ was absolutely mortifying.

“It really isn’t a problem,” she mumbled.

“Yeah it is,” he said, laying beside her, elbow on her pillow. He slowly turned her face towards his, blue eyes boring into hers. His eyebrows lifted and a small smile twitched, but not enough to bring out his dimple. “Let’s start again.”

“I don’t know…” she said, not sure she wanted to have him poke at her like that again.

“Let’s try again. If you want me to stop at any point I will.”

She looked into his eyes and saw a glint of determination in them she’d seen before. He made that face when he made the right move in chess, when he was about to save a goal, and when he was about to pull off a powerful spell. When he looked like that, nothing much could go wrong.

She gave a nod. It seemed too absurd to be shy, but she felt it burn through her as his hand cupped her cheek and brought her in for a languorous kiss.

A chasm of intimacy burst open as his lips burned against hers. As she surrendered to his kisses, she became increasingly conscious of his body, hot and hard against hers. His fingers slowly slid down the narrow of her waist, then edged behind and found her bare backside. He moaned into their kiss as he massaged it, almost as if testing the globe in his hand. Whatever awkwardness that had descended on them was gone, and her body molded to his.

With every kiss she felt marked as his, and she grasped his hair again. Only moonlight lit him, but she imagined the riotous color of his hair sunning her as she basked in his attention.

He stroked her between her legs again, this time finding a rhythm that made her hips jolt to meet him. The oversized shirt had ridden up past her breasts, uncomfortably bunching until she impatiently tore the shirt off over her head. He let out a rough groan and his hands and mouth stopped.

He pulled back a bit and stared at her nakedness.

She had the overwhelming impulse to reach for the sheet and cover herself, but resisted it. She held her breath as he silently stared, expression annoyingly enigmatic.

“W-well?” she let out, nerves making her voice pitch up. She was skinny, but still managed to have a bit of a tummy, and her breasts weren’t all that much to talk about, and her hips were too wide, and—

“Hermione,” he breathes out her name. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She turned her head away. She wasn’t. Then his mouth was on hers again, and hands were exploring her breasts. His kisses trailed to the crook of her neck, to her clavicle then finally down her chest.

“Christ, you’re perfect. Fuck…” he said, almost to himself as he leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth, the other hand squeezing and kneading her breast.

He backed away to look at her again. The way he beheld her, she could almost believe she was beautiful and perfect. He had nothing but adoration in his eyes as his lips fell to her body. He trailed down her, as fingers grazed a hot trail, and made desire pool in her.

He went further down and her legs fell open to him. His fingers explored her, but this time they easily found a path that made her moan. He set a rhythm, and experimented with angles. She glanced down to see he was avidly watching her face, like he would a chess board. Eyes on her, he leaned forward.

It began with a tentative lick while a pair of knuckles just grazed her in the right spot. He continued to do this and she threw her head back in a gasp. Then his lips dipped between her legs and began to suck at her clit. She let out a long whimper as he continued to alternate between lapping at her and sucking at her like she was a final meal. Heat and slickness built in her, making her tilt her hips into him, punctuating her gasps with jerks of her hips.

She was on the edge of falling, when he found the perfect rhythm and stayed there. Quick susurrations on her clit, and his fingers just barely grazing inside her, teasing and nearly fucking into her, made the coil inside her finally spring.

A heady ‘don’t stop!’ barely made it out of her lips before she let out a sound like a sob as she came. She felt the spasm of it rip through her, and she clutched the pillow around her as her hips stuttered and followed his mouth, continuing to twist as his fingers slowed down.

She panted and shook her head as her thighs wobbled and finally relaxed, dropping her hips further into the mattress.

“Oh God…” she whimpered. “Fuck… Oh god…”

Her mind had never been more of a void. She was utterly shattered. There was nothing but sensation, still floating in aftershocks.

“You alright?” came a hoarse voice from between her legs.

She let out a rough laugh, then managed to open an eye from between her curls.

“I’m… I just…” she gasped and shuddered a bit.

“Better?” he asked, knowing perfectly well that he’d done amazing.

“Yeah, I imagine that did it,” she panted, mirroring his words from earlier. “I think we ought to thank Harry in the morning.”

“Do you really need to bring up that specky git right now?” he moaned, kissing the inside of her thigh.

“Well, if it weren’t for him taking up Ginny’s room, I wouldn’t have gotten to experience… That!” she said with a shaky gesture.

“Took a bit, but I think I did alright in the end,” he said, a tired grin on his face as he wiped his mouth.

“More than alright!” she proclaimed. She looked further down the bed and saw he was still hard. She was so flushed and buzzing she wasn’t sure she had the ability to blush. “If you want, I can try to return the favor?”

Ron blanched and shifted his hips.

“It’ll go away on its own,” he said with another kiss to her thigh. She didn’t bother masking her confusion. Didn’t teenage boys always want to ‘get off’? Was he so disgusted from going down on her that he didn’t want her touching him?

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “It’s late and I want to be able to dream about that look on your face when you came. Fuck me, that was the hottest thing ever.”

He kissed her stomach right below her belly button then finally, wobblingly, crawled further up her body before collapsing beside her and kissing her. “I’ll definitely take a rain check though.”

“You sure?”

“I’m knackered. Dreams of me making Hermione Granger cum are all I need,” he hummed as he nuzzled up behind her. “I could get used to this.”

“So could I!” she said with a laugh. “I should clean up.”

“Nooo, just stay a little longer,” he whined, wrapping an arm around her middle and bringing the blankets onto them. Minutes passed. She wiggled in place as his breathing slowed.

“Just need to grab my wand.”

“Hmnnn,” he grunted into her side as she pulled her wand from the side table and did a quick clean up. She Accioed her shirt over, but had no way of putting it on without moving Ron.

“Ron?” she whispered. A small snore erupted in her ear and she sighed.

Dressing in the morning wasn’t the worst thing. Plus, she was draped in Ron, cozied up more intimately than she’d ever imagined she could be. His whole body radiated a comforting warmth, and in that one moment she felt more safe and contented than she had in years. Suddenly words she’d been achingly trying to keep at bay began to bubble up to the surface.

“Ron?”

He continued to snore.

In the safety of the darkness, in his arms, and without having to worry about his reaction, she whispered, “I love you.”

She only got snores in return, but there was a sort of relief in having said it out loud. Any tension left in her body dissipated, and he felt so nice spooned up against her that she felt her eyes drift close for just a moment.

* * *

She woke to the sound of apparition and a, “Ron, your mum is— oh shit! Sorry! Shit!”

Dazedly she shook her head at Harry’s cursing then, horrified, remembered her state of undress. Ron hadn’t forgotten and quickly yanked the quilt up to her nose.

“Shut it, Harry! Do you want Mum to hear you?” Ron hissed.

“Right, sorry!” he said, turning around with his back to them. He stood in only his boxers, hands clutching his clothes from the night before. “Erm… So, your Mum was waking everyone since it’s a bit late, and I fell asleep in Ginny’s room, and your Mum didn’t catch me, but I wanted to let you know in case… Well, in case of this, I guess.”

As he explained, a currant-faced Hermione yanked the Cannons shirt on and looked for her pants.

“And the best way to warn us was to Apparate directly in here to the foot of my bed?” Ron exclaimed, before reaching down to the foot of the bed and handing Hermione her pants.

“Yeah, well I am a mite bit hungover…”

“I’d tell you where some hangover potion is, but I don’t think you deserve it,” Ron replied, giving Hermione a peck on the cheek. “Alright we’re all decent now.”

“I’m really sorry!” said Harry, rubbing at his head. At first it looked like a tick of embarrassment, but he looked haggard enough that a hangover seemed the bigger culprit. “Er, where’s my bed?”

“It’ll be in the chicken coop if you do that again,” answered Ron.

Hermione finally gathered enough wits to grab her dress and say “I’ll meet you later,” and Apparated as silently as she could to Ginny’s room.

“There you are!” Ginny said, pulling on a pair of jeans. “Mum’s trying to get everyone up since it’s so late, and she almost put together where everyone stayed. Did Harry warn you?”

“If by warn me, you mean Apparate into the room and catch me completely starkers, then yes, he did an admirable job!”

“He did what?” Ginny roared with laughter. “Well I’m glad someone had a good time last night!”

“Didn’t you?”

“I mostly kept Harry from getting sick down the side of my bed. Though he did say he loved me, which was quite nice,” she said, a love-sick smile on her face.

Oh.

Hermione still hadn’t heard anything like that from Ron. He hadn’t even wanted her to touch him.

“I can’t believe he Apparated in there,” Ginny continued. “I told him to do it outside the door! We heard Mum bustling about and he was rather panicked at the idea of her being mad with him.”

Hermione nodded.

“So… Starkers?”

“Ginnyyy,” Hermione moaned and hid her face behind her hair.

“You know what? I don’t want to know,” said Ginny, running a brush through her long red hair. “Actually I do, but I think you’ve been through enough embarrassment for one morning. I’m going to go play some Quidditch, if Harry can get his act together. Want to come?”

Avoiding the house seemed a pleasant application of her time, but a quick glance to her book bag shuttered any thought of having a lark. She’d had her fun the night before, though she hadn’t earned it. She’d had enough avoiding. She needed to make plans for her parents.

* * *

It was arduous and barely fruitful, but at least she could say she’d put some thought into it, creating a schedule of places to visit over the next week to gather all the information she might need and who to glean it from. When she looked at the clock it was well past one in the afternoon.

At the Burrow it was unusual to go so late in the day and not be disturbed. She also hadn’t seen Ron since the fiasco that morning. The embarrassment seemed a perfect punishment for being so self indulgent. It was hard to believe she’d let herself fall asleep nude in his bed. She’d been so relaxed and…

“Oh!” Hermione gasped.

She hadn’t remembered to put up her silencing spell. Had she needed it? Had she woken up in the night? Perhaps there was a way to subtly ferret the information from Ron. Maybe she could bring it up at lunch. It was a bit late for it, but people always poked their head in when a meal was being served, so it must not have happened yet.

Despite having much more to do, she had to admit she needed food, or at least some strong tea, if she was to continue.

She went down the stairs to find the kitchen in uncharacteristic disarray. Bowls, trays and cutting boards littered every surface, but at the dining table was a very delicious looking feast of jacket potatoes with every sort of topping one could imagine all arranged in little ramekins.

“I bet there’ll be something to eat,” she heard Ginny’s voice carrying in from outside. She and a windblown Harry came in through the garden door. Her hair hung in an enviable curtain of beachy waves Hermione could never manage without bottles of Sleekeazy's.

“This looks a treat, doesn’t it?” said Ginny, going to sit at the table. “Well, let’s get Mum and Ron here so we can dig in!”

Just then Ron came down the stairs wearing one of Mrs Weasley’s patterned aprons that was dwarfed by his tall frame.

“Did you cook this?” Harry asked, looking impressed.

“Yeah… Mum’s been in her bedroom again,” he replied.

They all knew that meant she was distressed and had holed herself in her bedroom. Those had been coming with fewer and fewer days between them, and Hermione had to wonder what had caused it this morning.

“Why’d you go to such trouble? We have stuff for sandwiches,” Ginny asked, mood forcibly upbeat.

“I was hoping to tempt Mum out of her bedroom.” Ron sat out napkins and cutlery, slapping the metalware onto the table with more force than was necessary.

Harry and Hermione’s eyes met.

“We might want to clean off the kitchen counters, then,” said Ginny with a grin. “Looks a bit like a mad potion maker's laboratory.”

“You clean ‘em off, then, I’m famished.”

“I can clean them off,” Hermione volunteered, hoping to cut the tension, and Harry joined her in the effort, saying, “I’ll help.”

“The food’s all ready now— just leave it!” Ron protested.

“It’ll only take a moment,” said Hermione.

“Plus you didn’t make the mess, Ron did,” Ginny unhelpfully added.

��Oh fine!” growled Ron, and with a swish of his wand the items on the counter rushed their way to the sink with a great clatter, the metal cooking sheets causing a crash that reverberated around the room making everyone jump, and give small yells in succession. “There! Happy? It’s in the sink! Now will you all sit?”

“Merlin, Ron! Did you have to be so loud with it?” Ginny hollered, getting from her seat to get the rest of the dishes by hand. “What's gotten into you?”

“I just want people to eat the bleeding food! It took forever to make and it’s like herding a bramble of gnomes getting you lot to sit down and eat it all at once. No wonder Mum was always upset with us!” Ron groused. “I’m going to get her from upstairs, and when I get back, you lot better be seated at the table and piling up your potatoes!”

He stormed up the stairs, rattling the framed photos on the walls.

“You know, I always thought if one of us was to turn into Mum it’d be me, but I think Ron’s got it cornered. Did you see him, hands on his hip just like her!” Ginny snorted, miming Ron’s akimbo stance, and Hermione gave a reluctant laugh in turn.

As much as his dark mood made her worry, she did enjoy watching Ron doing little domestic things around the house. There was something rather charming seeing the overgrown young man in a flowery apron in a tither about everyone sitting down to eat.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes up knitting soon. What do you think, Harry?”

Ginny looked beyond Hermione and her face fell. Hermione turned to see Harry was sitting stock-still, wand tightly gripped in his hand. Hermione instinctively grabbed her wand. A shiver spread up the back of her head.

“You okay?” Ginny asked.

“Trays were loud, that’s all.” Harry’s eyes weren’t trained on any of them and he gave a stiff sort of shrug.

“Harry…” Ginny began, coming near him, but Harry shook his head.

“M’going outside,” he muttered before bolting out the door.

“Where’s he going?” Ron asked as he emerged from the stairs, looking cross.

“Your banging about with the trays set him off,” Ginny spat, going for the door.

Ron cursed before running ahead of her to the door.

“I’m the one who messed up, I’ll fix it,” he said, taking off his apron. “You two eat up. And Mum was asleep still, so I left her to it. Put some food aside for her and Harry with a warming charm, would you?”

He didn’t wait for a response before going out the door. Ginny silently gathered together full plates for Harry and her mother, getting a third one for Ron, though he hadn’t asked her to.

“I— I can’t do the warming charm… Still sixteen... Hermione would you?”

Hermione dutifully did so, making sure not to look as Ginny wiped at her eyes and gave a sniff. The redhead went to the sink and started furiously scrubbing at some trays.

“Shouldn’t we eat?”

“What’s the point?” Ginny sniped, slamming a dirty set of tongs into the sink. “Ron wants us to all sit down and eat like things are normal, but they aren’t and I don’t know when they will be. Mum’s only up for a few hours at a time, Ron’s the one making food, Harry’s going off from loud noises, and George…” Ginny shook her head. “I just want… I thought after everything we could find some happiness, but it’s just impossible.”

“You did find some happiness earlier, though, didn’t you? Playing Quidditch a bit with Harry?” said Hermione, feeling every inch a fraud trying to buoy anyone's spirits.

Ginny blushed a bit as she began scrubbing a pan. “We didn’t exactly get to the Quidditch part…”

Hermione nodded.

“I suppose that’s all we can do right now, little pieces of happiness like that.”

The two girls cleaned the kitchen in silence until it gleamed. They dutifully ate their lunches, looking to the door every few minutes for the boys to return. Hermione was able to get away with eating very little thanks to Ginny’s distraction, and managed to vanish the contents of her plate before Harry and Ron returned, both looking rather pale, but Harry no longer had a vacant stare on his face. Ginny quickly got him a plate and the two sat to eat their meal while Ron took a plate up to his mother’s room. Hermione waited for him to come back to the table to eat his own meal. He didn’t.

After twenty or so minutes she went up the stairs to find him outside his parent’s bedroom. He sat on the steps to the fifth landing, head on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. The meal still sat outside his mother’s door, untouched. Hermione made sure to step on every squeaky board to alert him to her presence before sitting down beside him.

“Was your Mum still asleep?”

Ron shook his head before sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face.

“She’s crying and I can’t get her to stop…”

She desperately wanted to know what prompted his mother’s backslide, but didn’t want to push him. Pushing Harry had been disastrous the other day, and she hadn’t the energy to face it from Ron as well. Ron wasn’t like Harry, though. He didn’t bottle things up the same way, and she knew he’d open up and tell her without her having to harangue him for answers.

“George got arrested for breaking his parole,” he said in a low voice, eyes not meeting hers.

“What?! What parole?”

“Night before last he Apparated right on top of the London Tower Bridge. I was up when Kingsley called, so me and Dad went to get George from the Ministry. He got parole. Last night he broke it by pointing his wand in public and someone saw and reported him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

"I wasn’t going to tell anyone. George gets enough looks, doesn’t he? He’s been such a mess, and Dad and I thought it’d be best Mum knew when things were all settled, but Kingsley Flooed the house to check on George about an hour ago, and well…”

“What a terrible way to find out.”

“Mum’s been holed up in her bedroom since. Harry took Ginny for a fly, so neither of ‘em know yet... I just thought maybe some food and tea would work to coax Mum out, but of course it didn’t.”

“Where’s George now?”

“With Bill, I think. Bill took it on this time.” Ron just shook his head. He stared down at his hand and gave a loud swear.

“Is that the time?” he launched off the steps, barreling past Hermione.

“Where are you going?”

“To finish this fucking buggering pissing piece of shit day!”

She scurried after him, but ended up a floor behind him as his long legs skipped steps with ease. She could hear his mutters all the way down the stairs.

“Need to get some wellies, clean the kitchen…”

“Ginny and I saw to the kitchen” she called after him, hoping to slow him down.

“Oh, fuck me! The paperwork!” he moaned as he reached the last flight of stairs and Apparated with a loud crack. A few seconds later she heard another crack outside the house.

She went to the window and saw Ron sprinting away, paper in one hand, wellies in another, not bothering to look back or give a hint of an explanation.

For a terrible instant she was back next to that riverbank in Wales, rain pummeling her as she begged Ron not to leave her.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Little pieces of happiness… She supposed she’d have to live on the little pieces of happiness from the night before, because there weren’t any to be found today.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Next chapter is Ron's POV again. Thanks for reading! If you like this and want to see more please review! :)

I've been terrible at responding, but please know I read them and EVENTUALLY I respond to everyone. :P

BIG THANKS TO @abradystrix FOR BETA-ING!

#fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #romione #fanfic #ron weasley #hermione granger #waking up #chapter 6 #my writing

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rynnaaurelius · 3 years

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Titan’s Curse But Make It Time Loop: Nico di Angelo Edition

-Okay so I’m at work and not doing much and who wants to actually edit your shit drafts for your actual WIPs so that they’re less bad? No one, that’s who

-So I had an idea: The Titan’s Curse. Also known as the book where people start to die. It sucks to be a demigod in this book--for the first time in the original series, it really does.

-Not everything is fixed, not everyone is saved, and people start to have to make really tough decisions.

-So we fix it. Not by throwing Percy, or Annabeth, or Thalia, or, hell, even Bianca or Grover into the mix.

-Throwing the marginally more grown-up, more trained, and more knowledgeable demigods into the fire, who’d get everyone alive and safe by the third time ‘round? Nah.

-We’re making Nico fix this.

-Because here’s the thing about Nico di Angelo: Sure, he grows up to become a major badass, the Ghost King, so on and so forth. But not yet.

-For now, Nico is baby, a ten-year-old whose experience with any kind of fighting consists of one (1) Capture The Flag game and who’s still half-reliant on Mythomagic to explain what the fuck is happening.

-He’s also got the worst knowledge makeup possible! He knows he’s a son of Hades, which is bad, he knows to stick monsters with the pointy end of swords but nothing else, he knows that Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace are Very Big Deals (But also doesn’t know why beyond parents), and he’s, at best, vaguely aware that there’s some kind of bad prophecy hanging around.

-Also by the end of the book, he’s just been told his last immediate family who isn’t Hades is dead in one of the worst ways possible, and he--pretty irrationally IMO, but Nico’s a kid who has been through a lot recently, so we’re not holding that against him--blames Percy Jackson.

-Literally, you probably can’t pick an angstier or worse choice to run through the time travel trope. I love it.

-We’re making this kid save Bianca’s life via time loop, which happens due to. . .hmm, we’ll say the Fates did it.

-So, Loop 0 = Canon, only at the end of the day on December 21st, after the conversation with Percy, Nico falls asleep only gods know where only to wake up the day he meets Percy Jackson:

Loop 1:

-Nico doesn’t actually change anything meaningful at first.

-Spends most of it shellshocked and not unconvinced the last week (For him, anyway) wasn’t a horrible nightmare; shellshocked and staring at Percy Jackson, anyway.

-(Percy’s wondering what’s up with the silent kid his sister had talked up as a cheerful chatterbox)

-It’s only when Bianca agrees to join the quest for Artemis that he starts kicking up a fuss; demanding to go, screaming that she can’t leave him even more, not again.

-(Bianca hesitates; briefly, enough to remind Nico that she loves him. But she’s not their mother, and she needs this)

-Bianca still dies. Percy comes back pale and guilty. Nico doesn’t yell at him when he returns--he already knows. He accepts the Hades figurine so that he can throw it into the lake.

-He slinks off back into Cabin Eleven and falls asleep, hoping desperately that he gets a third chance.

Loop 2:

-He does.

Loop 3:

-After a very painful death at the hands of Dr. Thorn, Nico, generally being a straightforward person at this stage of life, takes the obvious path this time around: He tries to tell Bianca--who brushes it off as a dream.

-Annabeth still goes over the cliff when Nico takes the initiative of attaching himself and his sister to Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace at the dance. He tries to tell Percy and Thalia when Bianca still joins the Hunt, promising Nico that whatever he saw, she’ll be extra careful.

-(Bianca’s fearful of what Nico's saying, and thinks that if these sworn sisters can’t keep her safe, who can?)

-Artemis gives Nico a speculative look but agrees when he begs her to protect Bianca at all costs.

-He doesn’t get on the quest. Being a reasonable demigod of questionable parentage, he sneaks out of camp.

-He gets caught, because despite being aware of his awesome new powers, he doesn’t know how to use them, and is still a ten-year-old who can barely hold a sword the right way.

-He gives Percy the puppy dog eyes and shows off said awesome new powers. Percy forces him back.

-Nico follows him.

-Repeat until Percy dies saving Nico from the Nemean Lion in Washington, DC.

-Nico can’t find it in himself to be terribly sad--especially when he doesn’t make it much longer.

Loop 4:

-He’s really stuck like this, huh?

-Oh, Di Immortales.

-(Before Percy gets his chest ripped to shreds by a lion and Nico meets skeleton cats, he learned how to hold a sword properly and curse fluently in Greek. Percy probably only meant to teach him one of those things)

-In unrelated news: Having a big crush on a guy who thinks he’s only known you for a couple hours? Terrible.

-Trying to hate the guy who let your sister die when he’s that stupid and nice? Even worse.

-That stupid lion.

Loop 5, 6, 7, 8, 9:

-Nico repeats: That stupid lion.

-Somewhere in Loop 7 he starts to steal supplies out of the camp store when he follows Percy following the quest.

-They forcefeed the lion enough trail mix and frozen ice cream in Loop 9 that they don’t die this time.

-At least until someone called the General shows up and Nico’s dead before he can raise his sword.

Loop 10:

-Nico wakes up in his and Bianca’s room in Westover and starts crying. Bianca tells the headmaster they’re both sick and Nico lets her hold him all day.

-They fall asleep and Nico swears he won’t let her die again.

Loop 11, 12, 13:

-He wakes up and he still can’t get out of bed without feeling that blade cutting between his ribs, burning like it’s on fire.

-Gods, he’s so sorry, Bianca. Dispiace tanto.

Loop 14:

-He can get up without feeling like he’s about to die again. Bianca fusses but assumes it was just a bad dream.

-Nico is caught stealing and can’t follow Percy until it’s too late.

-Everyone assumes this means he’s a son of Hermes, however, and Nico can’t correct them without opening his mouth and letting the sobbing laughter out.

-Figuring he’s about to get another chance next round anyway, he takes Travis and Connor Stoll up on their offer to learn a thing or two so that he doesn’t get Cabin Eleven slapped with kitchen duty from now until Doomsday.

-He likes the Stolls. He spent most of the time, pre-looping, actively avoiding everyone at camp as he waited for Bianca and Percy to come back, but they’re not that bad.

-Percy comes back with the figurine and no sister and Nico remembers why he’s stuck.

Loop 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23:

-After Loop 12 and being killed in Washington DC again, Nico realizes: He needs to learn how to fight.

-Unless he gets killed early or refuses to leave Westover, the loop resets after seven days. So, he has seven days to train each time.

-He gets to camp, finds the arena, and meets Clarisse La Rue. He demands she teach him how to kill monsters.

-She laughs, and tells him that attitude in his size will make monsters easy to kill, they’ll laugh so hard.

-Clarisse teaches him how to swing a sword each time--but only after mocking his unamused face.

-Somehow, Percy coming back with news of Bianca’s death only hurts more each time.

Loop 24:

-Nico wakes up before Bianca this time. He looks over at her bed and knows. He’s got to try this time.

-It’s disturbingly easy making friends with Percy Jackson after the last loops.

-Bessie’s new. Cute, but new.

-Nico wonders just how much he’s missed in the past--he thinks of Annabeth Chase, and hopes she hasn’t been dying each time.

-Percy doesn’t even argue when Nico shows up in the stables with a bag slung over his shoulder, and the sword he’s been stealing out of the shed strapped to his hip.

-Nico suggests the ice cream--again--to Percy in DC before

-Nico might be getting the hang of this.

Loop 25:

-Nico is not getting the hang of this.

-Zoë Nightshade’s refusal to accept Percy and Nico on the quest--violating a prophecy, and gods, Nico’s curious if that prophecy ever mentioned this--has so far gotten them attacked and killed by spartoi once.

-And again. As Nico bleeds out on the floor, he watches a panicked blond man--a demigod--plead for mercy.

-Isn’t he on the other side?

Loop 26:

-His name is Luke Castellan and he apparently wants the gods dead.

-Nico can relate at this point.

-The General is Atlas, and Nico knows enough about Greek mythology, real and wrong, at this point to know that is bad.

Loop 27:

-Twenty-six tries, but they finally make it out of DC. Threatening the questers with Atlas killing them all is more than enough.

-For the first time, Nico doesn’t know what happens next. He glues himself to Bianca’s side and glares at anything suspicious.

-With help that Percy refuses to name, even when Nico tries his hardest, they go to New Mexico.

-There’s a boar and it’s so close, they make it to what the others are calling “the junkyard of the gods”.

-Nico sees the Hades figurine on the ground.

-Bianca grins in delight and picks it up, calling for him.

-He can’t help it.

-Nico starts screaming.

Loop 28:

-His sister’s murderer was never Percy Jackson.

-His sister’s murderer was a force of mechanics that makes Nico fully understand, for the first time, what the gods are, beyond stats on a card.

-Talos.

-Nico is going to destroy him.

Loop 29:

-She dies.

Loop 30:

-Again.

Loop 31:

-Again.

-Loop 32, 33, 34, 3536373839FortyFo r t y O n e--:

-Again. Again. Again. Again again againagainagainagainAGAIN--

Loop 42:

-Nico gets out of bed. He finds Percy Jackson at the dance, hugs him, and tells him he’s sorry.

-Nico walks outside and waits for Dr. Thorn in the snow. He can feel the shadows curling at the edge of the wood like a sixth sense, now. Waiting for him to summon the restless dead out of them.

-So many attempts to save his sister, ranging from sacrificing himself to sacrificing Percy--not that Percy needs the push, Nico has found--to any and all members of the quest.

-She dies. Always, always dies. Whatever Nico does, that junkyard is full of the death of Bianca di Angelo.

-He tried avoiding it. Once. Loop 33. Nico threw such a fit he’s surprised he wasn’t sent back to Camp Half-Blood by the Hunters, but it kept them out of the junkyard.

-He tries not to remember how little was left of his sister’s body by the monsters that time.

-Son of Hades. After all this time, Nico’s beginning to wonder if this is what it means. Death and death and death.

-Dr. Thorn walks outside, and Nico can feel a ghoulish grin crossing his face that has no place on a ten-year-old.

-One of them is going to die, this loop. And Nico will not go to New Mexico.

Loop 43:

-Nico wonders if there was a past life of his he needs to remember. Who could he have made this angry?

-He lies to Bianca and they stay in Westover again this time. Better than death, anyway.

Loop 44:

-Nico tries a different tack this time. A more roundabout way of things.

-He takes Bianca and throws the two of them in the way of the battle with the manticore.

-After all this time, he still doesn’t know much about Annabeth Chase. She gets kidnapped and returned safely to Percy every time, to the best of his knowledge.

-Nico dies holding up the sky, but at least Bianca lives, under the protection of Artemis.

Loop 45:

-Nico looks in the mirror and studies the new grey streak with fascination. And, maybe, some hope.

-Things can change.

Loop 46, 47, 48, 49, 50:

-Nico gets kidnapped a few times. Once, he’s killed in a rage by a Titan with horns, but it’s quick. Mostly, he holds up the sky to get Artemis out.

-She looks at him strangely each time and Nico wonders if she can see what he’s done.

Loop 51:

-They figure out he’s a son of Hades. They offer him Olympus. Olympus and Bessie--the Ophiotaurus, rather.

-Nico says no.

Loop 52:

-Nico says yes.

Loop 53:

-Being on the verge of overthrowing the gods and keeping everyone he’s grown to care for--in the case of several Hunters, against his will; in Percy Jackson’s case, Nico loves him as much as he hates him at this point--doesn’t do much, apparently.

-Nico stays in Westover again. He resists the urge to tell Bianca that would-be destroyers of Olympus don’t need to brush their hair, whatever she says.

Loop 54:

-Nico goes over the edge of the cliff again, but with Percy Jackson.

-This isn’t the first time; in Loop 46, Percy had taken the sky for both the sake of Artemis and Nico until it killed him.

-What’s different, is Nico’s in the middle of what’s become the usual panic attack when he’s about to die for the hundredth time, and his powers react.

-Percy holds him close and calls him cousin. Tells him he’ll never leave Nico.

-You have no idea, Nico whispers. You can’t leave me.

-You think I want to? Percy whispers back. You’re not alone, Nico.

-Nico’s sobbing sounds like laughter.

Loop 55:

-Nico tells Percy the truth for the third time. This is the first time he hasn’t told Bianca first.

-They’ve just found the Erymanthian Boar, Thalia’s told Nico his goth needs work--whatever that means--and Nico’s bracing himself for the junkyard again.

-Getting kidnapped by the Titans really gets old after a while.

-He still has the grey streak, and no number of excuses will fully soothe his sister, but the Hunt’s a good distraction from it.

-Nico doesn’t blame Bianca anymore for it. He thinks.

-Nearly a year into this loop and Nico’s finding it hard to blame anyone for much of anything, anymore. Especially when he sees what she’s faced. Again. And again.

-For now, this time, Percy Jackson is staring at Nico with wide eyes at what Nico’s told him--through these loops, Nico’s starting to wonder if he now knows more about Percy than Percy’s own best friends--and says he believes him.

-Once, Nico would’ve exploded from joy. Now, he just sighs and nods.

-Percy tells him how to condense the conversation for the next loop. He advises Nico to research Talos, “like Annabeth would.”

-He advises Nico to warn Percy’s next loop self about Annabeth’s kidnapping. Nico wonders if he’s gone insane that he’s considering it.

-Bianca dies.

Loop 56:

-Nico makes the executive decision this time to try and befriend Annabeth Chase. As such, he takes Percy’s advice.

Loop 57:

-It takes him two tries to befriend Annabeth Chase and learn about Talos.

Loop 58:

-Three times.

-But the nail. The nail in the ankle of Talos.

Loop 59:

-He hangs back at camp again this time and meets Charles Beckendorf, head of Cabin Nine, and son of Hephaestus.

-Nico figures that short of finding the god himself and committing temporary suicide--not that it hasn’t crossed Nico’s mind--his son will have to do.

-(He’s tried his hand at summoning ghosts, but Daedalus refuses to show, for some reason)

-Beckendorf frowns and tells Nico he would have to see Talos himself.

-Nico hadn’t realized just how much cursing he had picked up off of Percy and Thalia until that moment.

Loop 60:

-Nico knows what the prophecy says. One shall be lost in the land without rain.

-He knows it’s why he’s been failing so much.

-The trouble is, he no longer cares.

Loop 61:

-It took him a try, but he gets Beckendorf on the quest, prepared to defeat the Talos prototype.

Loop 62:

-Strike that, two tries.

-Nico really hates the Nemean Lion.

Loop 63, 64:

-Nico has solved half a problem: How to defeat Talos without putting someone inside the robot.

-The other half of the problem is now that they are all electrocuted by a dying automaton for their efforts.

Loop 65:

-Beckendorf’s crush--girlfriend? crush, they’re both insisting--Silena Beauregard comes along this time. Nico won’t complain over the extra manpower, even if he’s positive that eight campers and Hunters are patent overkill for one quest.

-Silena pulls Bianca out of the wreckage. Nico’s heart stops.

-Silena’s crying when she mentions that if they had been a bit earlier, she could have been revived.

-Nico wonders if Thalia’s going to stab him as he starts whooping. And takes notes about where Talos falls.

Loop 66:

-Nico swears, if Percy Jackson tries to sacrifice himself for Annabeth Chase one more time--

Loop 67:

-Bianca.

-I found you, he sobs. I found you.

-Gods damn the Hoover Dam.

Loop 68:

-And again.

-Despite having the distinct inkling at this point that he doesn’t much like like girls, Nico could kiss Silena Beauregard and Thalia Grace when they manage to revive his sister each time.

-She’s shaky and leaning on him and was dead, he could see her soul floating away--

-But she’s there.

-Nico refuses to let his sister out of the sight at the Hoover Dam and Percy befriends the Naiads this time.

-At least, until the Titans--who Nico made the very big mistake of taunting at DC--sends monsters he can’t control.

Loop 69, 70, 71, 72, 73:

-They keep dying in various combinations at the Hoover Dam now that Nico’s figured out how to save Bianca.

-At least, until he gets separated from Percy in Loop 73 and he meets a redheaded girl with a penchant for calling Nico pint-size.

-Athena dislikes Percy, Nico, Bianca, and Thalia in equal measure. Having learned of the Great Prophecy in Loop 16 and Percy’s mooning over Annabeth in. . .well, every loop, Nico can’t quite blame her.

Loop 74:

-Her name is Rachel Elizabeth Dare and Nico likes her. She takes none of their shit and if it weren’t for the fact that they already have eight people on the quest, he’d want to take her along.

-Bianca gets in a fight with the Old Man of the Sea. Thalia electrocutes him when he throws Bianca in the bay.

Loop 75:

-Nico wakes up in Westover with the distinct feeling that he was drowned on dry land.

-He stays in bed shivering, that day.

Loop 76:

-Atlas is the father of Zoë Nightshade. Nico learned this around Loop 50. He had realized around five loops ago that this probably meant she was going to die “by a parent’s hand.”

-He hadn’t realized that it was going to hurt to watch.

Loop 77, 78, 79, 80, 81:

-Now that he’s figured things out to about San Francisco, it seems the world is out to get him. The number of fights or mistakes that he either makes himself or has to head off are ridiculous.

Loop 82:

-Nico is so very tired. And wishes he felt ten years old again.

Loop 83:

-If Thalia gets in one more fight with Nereus, Nico's going to walk into the sea.

Loop 84:

-He wanders off, in this one. Grover had been killed in Hoover Dam, so Nico’s waiting for the reset at this point.

-In the meantime, Nico figures there are worse things to do than enjoy a good afternoon in San Francisco. He even meets a boy in a purple shirt.

-His name is Jason and he has hair like the sun.

-If he ever fixes this, Nico wants to find him.

Loop 85:

-Nico’s not fast enough in the junkyard.

-In San Francisco, he tries to find the ugliest, biggest trouble he can find.

-He finds a pair of teenagers in armor who yell Latin at him instead.

Loop 86:

-There’s a dragon that will attack them in the Garden of the Hesperides if they make it angry enough and Nico is so tired.

Loop 87:

- Zoë Nightshade is dead. They’ve won.

-Funny definition of “win”, considering they’ve all almost died this loop about a dozen times each, and Nico can’t explain why he’s crying on the body of a Hunter he only met a week ago, in their eyes.

-She hates him, some loops. More loops, she looks at him with ghosts of old grief in her eyes and hands him a knife.

-The gods execute Bessie, and then, Nico watches as his father turns to him and Bianca with sorrowful eyes.

-Nico should’ve figured, after almost ninety loops.

Loop 88:

-Luke offers one of them the entrails of Bessie again.

-Nico takes them.

Loop 89:

-For all the good it does. Nico wakes up as he does every time now: Powerless, in bed, and with only a grey streak to show for his efforts.

Loop 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98:

-Nico doesn’t know how to save Zoë Nightshade. Bianca, he could trick and fight his way into it. Beckendorf and Silena and Percy and a loophole in lost could save his sister.

-Her, she just. . .dies. Sometimes in DC, sometimes in San Francisco, sometimes on the hills of Mt. Tamalpais. Always at the hands of Atlas.

-Always, being murdered by her father.

-It’s not as gutting as watching his sister die, but it aches more in his chest, somehow.

Loop 99:

-He sticks close to Zoë this time. Same as he’s done with Percy, Annabeth, his sister, Thalia, and Grover, time and time again. But not her, Nico is realizing. Not the clinging he’s achieving now.

-Hoping for. . .something.

-He knows better than to tell the immortal Lieutenant of Artemis the whole truth. The loneliness is enough.

-She’s less frosty to him from the start than to, say, Grover or Percy, after Annabeth goes over the cliff again. When he shows up in DC, she’s much less angry than he’s seen her.

-Along the way to New Mexico and then San Francisco, he listens. He’s grown better at it, this far in. When the others are asleep, when Bianca is being fussed over after Talos, when everyone but them is asleep by the fire, he listens.

-And she tells him about her sisters. About her father, when the world was young and Atlas had looked on every daughter of his with pride. She tells him, pride glistening in her eyes, of the battles she has seen, the hunts she has overseen at the command of a goddess, the monsters she has killed, and the epithets she has been given.

-He doesn’t ask anything of her. Not until they’re in the house of Annabeth’s father, drinking lemonade the night before the battle, and Nico knows she is about to die again.

-What do you want, he asks. You’ve done everything. What’s left?

-She stopped, ice seems to creep over her again, and Nico wondered if he’d hit some sore spot.

-He’s opened his mouth to make his apologies when she answers, so quiet and quick he thinks he’s imagined it.

-To be remembered. When my lady has taken another lieutenant, as she must, and I have gone to where all gods go when they die, I wish for my memory to remain. And. . .

-Nico waits, and ignores the sudden, terrifying thought that he no longer knows what he wants.

-I wish to see the stars again. I was born a nymph of the sunset; starlight is precious to me. I want to see it again.

-Nico dies to preserve the memory of Zoë Nightshade.

100:

-Nico di Angelo wakes up in Westover Hall. He hopes for the last time.

-He does everything right: Annabeth goes over the cliff, his sister joins the Hunt, Percy is soon his friend, and he convinces Silena and Beckendorf to join the quest.

-The Nemean Lion never stands a chance, and Nico is glad to be rid of it.

-His sister lives.

-Nico watches Percy watch Rachel Elizabeth Dare go, looking like he’s just taken a frying pan to the face, and fights the urge to snicker.

-Thalia doesn’t start a fight with Nereus, but Percy certainly does. Nico could’ve sworn he saw the boy with sun-hair again, watching with curiosity.

- Zoë Nightshade dies in the arms of Artemis and is made into the stars she loves so dearly. Nico promises her soul that he will remember.

-For, he has found, the dead have a tendency of remembering things they shouldn’t.

-Annabeth and Percy now have grey streaks to match Nico’s, and Nico can’t wait to spend the rest of his life trying to explain that.

-It’s closer than he would like, but much less close than other lives with Olympus. The Ophiotaurus is alive and safe, and they are all alive.

-As Nico walks out of the council, he looks off to the side. By the fire is the familiar girl with red eyes--the Lady Hestia, looking much closer to Nico’s age than that of the Olympian she is.

-Besides her are three old ladies. Nico’s heard about them from Percy, in Loops 26, 53, 61, and 62.

-One lady holds a ball of string that is the color of a warm umber. The other is knitting what looked suspicious like socks. The last. . .

-Scissors, in one hand. Just as expected. Nico swallowed.

-In the other, was a knot of burnt string, tied to the socks. Behind her, Nico could see discarded string of all colors: an electric blue, a stormy grey, a black that seems to glisten with the promise of a storm, string the soft, hopeful pink of love, yarn run through with bright copper.

-Glowing threads that Nico could only describe as the color of starlight.

-As he walked out, firmly between Percy Jackson and Thalia Grace, the Hunt of Artemis behind him, Nico hears one last promise:

It is done, Nico di Angelo.

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annabethy · 3 years

Note

Not quite a role swap but like artistic Annabeth and STEM Percy AU? Just fluff and that couple dynamic but not in the way it’s normally done I think would be immaculate

in which Percy’s good with numbers, but Annabeth teaches him the importance of art,, percabeth

Percy’s good with numbers. He sees the world from a logical point of view, and he always has. Math is something that makes sense to him — he prefers it over everything else because he finds that with numbers, there’s always an answer. He isn’t fond of the unknown. He prefers a set process that has a definitive answer. It’s the life of engineering that’s followed him into his personal life. But with Annabeth, he finds he prefers the unknown.

There’s something artistic about Annabeth, Percy can’t help but think. It’s the way she focuses on each piece she creates, entirely consumed in the beauty of it. It’s the way she bites on her tongue that just pokes through her lips with every brush stroke. It’s her paint-splattered clothes and messy ponytail that make her seem like a masterpiece, handcrafted from the heavens above.

He finds beauty in her and the things that she creates. There are no logistics in art. It’s open-ended, with infinite possibilities, and he quickly learns to appreciate the perfection of all things that have no definitive answer. He wants to venture into the unknown and see what it creates when he gives it the opportunity to.

Annabeth, just like the art she creates, is unpredictable. No amount of math or science can ever do things in the way that she does, one paint stroke at a time, and he doesn’t want it to.

From where Percy’s seated in the art studio, he can see the way sunlight pours over Annabeth’s body. They’re high up in the New York City skyline, and it’s only appropriate that the background is as breathtaking as Annabeth is in this moment.

She’s covered in paint, as usual, but it just makes him see her as a work of art. There’s a smudge of grey on her cheek from where she’d attempted to scratch an itch, though he doesn’t tell her that. Her hair glows golden, flyaways visible against the illuminated skyline.

He shifts in his seat on a table clattered with art supplies, and Annabeth shoots him a scolding look.

“Don’t move,” she warns him, but there’s a playful tone to her voice.

“It’s not my fault you refuse to put a couch in here,” he says, pointedly shifting again. “I’m going to break my tailbone against this table. And really, is it that bad of an idea to have some furniture in here? I spend almost all my time in this place.”

“You’re welcome to go to the library with all your other engineers,” she sneers, lifting a wet paintbrush at him menacingly. “Maybe you should have chosen a better major.”

“I like numbers,” he defends. “With numbers, you can be sure. With numbers, there’s always a correct answer. You just have to be smart enough to find it.”

“I can’t believe I’m dating someone who like calculus.”

“All I’m saying is that I like being sure.”

Annabeth lifts the corner of her lips as she resumes painting against the canvas. He cranes his neck to see what she’s working on, but it’s no use. She’s turned too far away from him to properly see anything besides a blur.

“I like art,” Annabeth says softly. “Are you sure about me?”

She says it with a calm voice. It’s a light comment, and he thinks that she’s just messing with him, but it still kills him to think she may feel he’s unsure about her when she’s the one thing he knows he needs.

He stands up from the table, clearing a spot for his computer that had been on his lap. He has to step over various canvases and piles of things he couldn’t even begin to name before he makes his way to her side. He immediately pulls her against him, lips pressing against her paint-covered cheek with a featherlight touch.

“You’re the one thing I am sure about,” he whispers into her ear, pressing a kiss to the shell of her ear. He can practically feel the shiver that races its way up her spine, and it makes him smile. “You, Annabeth Chase, are a work of art. You make me see the world in a way I never did before. If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that you’re it for me.”

Annabeth turns her face so that she can look him in the eyes. She looks so cute from close up that he can’t help but kiss the tip of her nose.

“You’re it for me too,” she tells him. “Even if you like doing math for a living.”

Percy laughs into the crook of her neck, nuzzling the soft skin there. He breathes her in, cherishing the smell of her and a mix of paints and primers.

He stays there for a moment, hugging her by the waist with his face pressed into her neck while she begins to finish what she’s painting. He likes being with her like this, against her warm body that smells so much like his home – like the home he wants to come back to every night and wake up to every morning.

When he does lift his head, he sees her entirely devoured in finishing what she’s created. Up close, he can better see the way her eyebrows scrunch slightly, and the reflection of the canvas popping with color. Her eyelashes are curved to perfection, framing the gray irises he’s fallen in love with.

And he remembers why he fell in love with those eyes now; it was the first painting she’d gifted to him after he told her about his fondness for the ocean. He’d told her about his days spent at Montauk, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling the sunlight burn his skin. And he remembers that she’d told him how she prefers the rainy days where thunder can be felt shaking the ground, where it pours so hard the power goes out. It wasn’t until weeks later that she showed him what she’d been working on, and it was an image of a storm along the coast of Montauk. A symbol of the two of them coming together — the storm in the sea. Annabeth had come clean and mentioned spending a few weekends at the beach he grew up along, how she had spent hours trying to get it right. The dark clouds above the sea she’d painted had matched her eyes – the violent waves crashing against the rocky shore symbolized the fierce emotion he sees every time he looks into her eyes.

It was that second that he fell in love with her, pulling her in for a kiss because it was the only way he knew how to show her just what he was feeling. It was something he couldn’t put into words. It was something that only her painting could encapsulate. It was wonderful and perfect and them and—

It was art.

“That’s beautiful,” Percy tells her now, watching as she paints before his eyes. It’s an image of the two of them, and one that he recognizes all too well. It’s the picture he knows is sitting in his wallet right this second.

The canvas is filled with whites and grays and blacks and everything in between as the two of them are standing beneath the rain on the beach, tangled in each other’s arms. Their hair is soaked, and rain is pouring around them hard, but they’re standing amidst it all, lips locked, to prolong the moment.

“Do you remember that day?” she asks. “I couldn’t possibly forget.”

“I miss it,” she says. “I know it started raining, and we couldn’t really do much, but it was just…”

It was perfect.

Percy kisses her forehead. “I know.”

He isn’t sure how long he stands there with her, watching her finish the painting in silence, but he doesn’t care. He is intrigued by the way she perfectly portrays the emotion behind it. All he can think about is how amazing it is, watching a scene unravel before his eyes.

Percy will always have a love for math. It’s what makes him comfortable. Numbers and equations do not fail so long as you know what to do. A part of him will always prefer the mathematics behind life.

The other part of him finds he needs the beautiful creation that comes with not knowing.

Annabeth is his polar opposite and his other half.

She is the art to his science. She taught him what it means to really sit back and let life create something beautiful. And he supposes it really did create something amazing. It brought her into his life, let them grow a love so strong no math can ever begin to explain it.

Percy used to think that letting go of control was the end of everything. He’s just now learning that it was truly the beginning.

#percabeth #percy jackson #pjo #annabeth chase #percy jackson and the olympians #my writing

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aknosde · 3 years

Text

Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

The first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Percy Jackson & Reyna Avilla Ramírez Arellano // Hurt - Comfort // roughly two or three days post-Tartarus // tw vomiting & tw implied/referenced past child sexual assault // light swearing // 3.4k

(hey, @specific-dreamer, i started writing it :))

ao3

—————

Reyna exits her bed smoothly, flicking on the lamp as she goes. At night, when her cabin feels too dark and too small, the light is one of her only wards against her stiff spine and the shake of her shoulders. She ghosts her hands through her closet, searching for something thick and substantial, like the light and the reassuring click of the lock as she opens her door.

The floor of the quarter deck is cold under her bare feet, but the polished wood is soothing in its smoothness. She tugs on her sweatshirt against the cool temperature that accompanies flying far above the warm Mediterranean. Someone must have screwed with the thermostat last night–tonight–otherwise it would be compensating for the chill in the air.

It doesn’t affect the rest of the ship. The wood doesn’t contract or expand under the temperature, the boat doesn’t creak. It’s immune to the cold air and warm water in that way. She can’t quite decide if the silence that accompanies it is comforting or not as she descends to the main deck.

All of the lights are on down here, the rooms devoid of people. She knows that the lights of the lower deck will be off, because Leo sleeps down in the engine room, but the main deck is no man's land at this time of night. Someone has swept the floors, and with the lights on and undisturbed by organic shadow, this level seems more like a model of a ship than somewhere where people live. When the feeling turns from interesting to uncanny she finishes her route to the galley.

Though the galley is less of a galley, straight and narrow, than an actual kitchen you would find in a home. It’s large, even though Leo claims it’s unnecessary given his plate technology, and rather comfortable. A counter winds around the room, a large refrigerator with people’s personal food labeled, an oven and stove, and lastly, the sink: her destination.

She’s almost to the kitchen island before she sees Percy, sitting on the counter, looking for all the world as if he is a fixture of the kitchen itself. She doesn’t freeze when she sees him–she’s better than that–but she does let herself take stock of him, one leg hanging off the counter and his other knee propped under his chin, holding his head up.

His eyes look irritated, bags underneath that more closely resemble bruises, and a few pieces of hair are falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t do more than glance her way as she crosses to the sink next to him, so she leaves him be. Percy’s always been… observant. She could tell by the way he looked at her as she dropped from the Argo’s rope ladder. But since Tartarus he’s gotten quieter. Before, it used to just be a thing about him, not speaking unless he had something to say. Now it’s more obvious, like something or someone is keeping him.

She fills her glass of water and leans against the island, staring at the fridge.

She and Jason had had their own kitchen, as praetors. It was in the Principa, tucked out of the way, cold blue-greys and aggressively modern appliances. It reminded her of her childhood kitchen in that way. Cleanly impersonal–it more closely resembled an office break room. She and Jason barely used it, but still, they tucked their s’more supplies into a corner cupboard, and occasionally they would find each other there, making tea during late nights and early mornings.

The Argo kitchen is nicer, filled with warm colors and the smell of cinnamon. Percy cooks in here, she knows, though she has never seen him at it. When she had woken up that first morning after the disaster in New Rome there had been conchas on the counter. Leo, for all his initial grumbling, took to cooking in here while Percy and Annabeth were gone. His own little way of grieving, she thinks, taking a sip of water.

Percy lurches as if the ship has, uncharacteristically uncoordinated in his urgency. She straightens immediately as he twists off the counter and onto his feet. His forearms come down hard on the ledge of the counter, bracketing himself, and then he retches into the sink.

Strings of hair hang in his face as he does, she can now see that they are separated by sweat, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s across the aisle and holding his hair back and gives him the privacy of looking away, tucking away loose strands of hair. It’s deceptively soft, even with charred and patchy places here and there, and curlier than Leo’s. Memories of Hylla rage strong as she twists it around her finger, leaving no chance of it falling in the way again, the grey streak resembling a swirl.

Reyna can practically feel Hylla’s hands in her hair, her body sprawled against the wall of their cabin, head in a bucket. Hylla’s body, pressed against one side of her back, not overbearing, just a reminder that she was there now. On good nights they would end up in their bed before Reyna fell asleep, talking until Reyna’s brain could come back home. Hylla would twist Reyna’s hair into braids more beautiful and pure than Reyna could ever imagine being, and Reyna would complain about the smell of the bucket until Hylla got up to throw the contents overboard.

“Better your lunch than yourself,” Hylla sometimes joked upon her return, in that way people do when they are living through horrible things, doing horrible things, having horrible things thrust upon them. The memory burns now that Reyna isn’t there. She can’t find the humor in the joke now, only the threat of the first mate holding Reyna by the hair and threatening to make her walk the plank if she didn’t stop crying.

She couldn’t stop, but he didn’t seem to understand that, he just held her wrists until Hylla was there, in his cabin, talking with her voice smooth in a way it had never been before the Queen Anne’s Revenge. She talked until Reyna was allowed to leave, until the door shut with her still inside.

That was the night Blackbeard and his crew decided Reyna wasn’t worth it, a night she would forever be thankful for. Reyna couldn’t recover as fast as Hylla, she couldn’t put up with as much, she was wrecked after each encounter, and that night she would be thankful for it, and the day after, and the next, until she and Hylla were running the ship and she never had to think about it again.

Percy pants against the sink, signaling that he is done, and she takes a step back, suddenly uncomfortable and anxious for something to do.

She decides on giving him her glass of water–gods know he needs it more than she does–and watches him down the whole thing greedily. An air of clarity seems to blow through him, clearing his eyes and fixing his posture. Maybe that is the magic of a child of Poseidon. Water: an instant cure to all ailments.

“Thank you,” he says with a gasp as he finishes drinking. He wipes some vomit off a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning before he rinses it off in the sink. Reyna nods serenely in response, no judgement.

It’s a wrestle with herself, to decide if she wants to ask what has him puking his guts out. The fine line she always walks is taunting her, telling her not to alienate people, telling her that knowledge is power. The voice sounds suspiciously like Michelle, which only makes her prickle further. It’s a moot point, regardless. She can remember sitting with Thalia, legs swinging over the edge of a bridge, “I loved him to pieces, Reyna, but that asshole wouldn’t tell me he was hurt unless I pinned him down and threatened to zap his eyebrows off.” She’s going to ask.

“Are you okay?” They are hollow words, because none of them are, and she knows his answer.

“I’m fine,” And then a second later he is over the sink again, all of the water coming right back up.

She takes a place behind him, Hylla’s place, holding his hair back and drawing on his back with her other hand. She can feel his muscles clench each time more of his stomach empties, takes in his breathy swears, traces the letters on the back of his New Rome hoodie. She thinks it might have been hers at one point. It swallows him.

He pulls back, eventually, putting space between them. She lets him have it, but sticks to her spot, crossing her arms.

“Want to try that again?”

He breathes raggedly, head hung. “I can’t–” he lifts a hand to gesture to himself vaguely, but rests it swiftly, looking like he regrets the action. “I haven’t been able to keep food down. Since we got back. It’s too rich. Too much. I was stupid, forgetting how that worked,” he explains, reading the pull of her brow. “Forgot how it felt, too,” he adds, quietly.

She flicks the sink on, letting his remnants wash down the drain, and looks at him thoughtfully. He’s too tired to notice, or maybe to care. His knuckles white out on the edge of the counter, pulsing no doubt in tandem with his stomach. One of his legs begins to quake and she nudges it with her knee. He shifts.

“Is there a reason you’re camped out in here and not the bathroom?”

His breathing, slow and steady, a trained pattern, is interrupted by a faint chuckle. “Thought I wouldn’t run into no one. It’s not working out, clearly.”

He sits back on the counter gently, already clutching his stomach again. “I’ll get over it soon. Just a couple more days. I just–need to make sure I don’t tear my stomach lining.” His words come spaced out and slow, working between his breaths.

“Annabeth?” she asks, unable to mask concern, or maybe uninterested in doing so.

“Got over it,” he answers swiftly. It almost sounds like he is going to say more, but he doesn’t, and she lets it drop in favor of watching him. When he gulps she’s already by his side.

This time bile is the only thing that comes up. He hacks, searching for more, but all that's left is acid. She’s supporting almost his entire weight with one arm. A twitch of worry makes her muscles tense, alien to any type of worry she experienced while he and Annabeth were in the pits of hell. This is immediate, intimate, not abstract. Like seeing Jason’s face dripping gold.

Percy’s whole body shudders, head so deep in the sink she thinks he might be able to touch the sick and the porcelain with his nose if he were to go any further, but the spell seems to have stopped. His arms shake against the counter, and before he can follow through with getting his own vomit plastered across his face she uses her hold on his hair to gently tilt his head towards her.

His eyes are almost completely unfocused, squinting against the kitchen lighting behind her. His water lines have released their tears, finally surmounting the amount of control he had been maintaining. He looks utterly wrecked, and not in the deranged and semi-wild way he had been fresh out of the Doors of Death.

She switches her arm from propping him up to wrapping it around him, keeping him from falling back against the sink and grunting between his weight and his condition. His limbs are loose with relief, now. Almost limp. She orients him until he’s pressed against her hip, utterly malleable under her hands. An odd sense of warmth seems to travel up her arms and into her heart as he slots against her. From what she’s seen, from what she knows, Percy is not one to be controlled. He rebels against it, particularly resistant to anyone who is not a peer, or better yet, a friend. Yet here he is, letting her move his body for him.

It’s something she could never imagine herself doing; willingly handing herself over like this. But with the warmth is a new desire, a spark of hope that one day she will grow with people until she can let them take care of her like this.

“Let’s get you to the med bay,” she says.

“No.” It comes quiet and breathy, and then again with urgency, “No. Annabeth likes to take inventory there when she can’t sleep. Not the med bay.”

Avoiding the med bay on account of Annabeth is a stupid decision, but she reminds herself that Percy cares more about other people than he does himself. He doesn’t want Annabeth to be worried, Reyna thinks, to keep his problems to himself, and though that is not always the best plan, it’s not the worst. Reyna recognizes the necessity of keeping your shit to yourself. Percy might be one of the only people she knows that understands that and deserves it, so she just sighs.

“Okay.” She hooks her other arm under his, making sure he’s steady, and lowers him to the floor. “We’ll just set up camp here.”

He presses the back of his head against the cabinets, hands groping the cool stone floor, and then lets himself tip fully onto it. No complaints. Apparently he likes the change in location. She grabs a dish towel, folding it up and sliding it under his head, and a bowl, if he needs to give up his internal organs while she’s gone and can’t quite make it to the sink. With a shove of his shoulder he turns on his side, loosely grabbing his stomach and making her feel safe in the fact that he can’t choke on his own vomit.

She feels funny when she stands again, brushing her hands against her pant legs. She’s never taken care of someone like this before, never had to. She and Jason were there for each other during their fair share of unfortunate situations, but she never had to watch him like this; curled up on the ground, shaking, weak. She wonders if he was ever caught like this, in the bathroom across the hall. If he had ever wanted to ask her for help.

Annabeth isn’t in the med bay when Reyna goes to scrounge up some anti-nausea medication, and she isn’t coming down the stairs when Reyna makes her way back to the kitchen. Percy’s in the same spot, though. She supposes that counts for something as she sits next to his head, reading the directions on the back of the box.

It’s generic, a syrupy red that reminds her of fake blood in old horror movies. Percy coughs as it goes down, making a face and muttering something about cherry flavoring and scented markers.

When she’s sure he’s not going to up chuck the medicine, which would be a type of irony she is not ready for, she goes searching for something he can eat. The stores on the Argo II are significantly better than that of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and greatly aided by the presence of a fridge, but she ends up with a packet of pedialyte powder she remembers seeing Percy use during their first week on the Argo. It’s orange, which she can respect as it’s the best artificial flavor.

Percy groans while she’s stirring it, and before she knows it she’s sitting by his side, letting him press his face into her leg. Her body seems to know what to do, even if she doesn’t, and she’s grateful for it.

“Would you rather rehydrate or take more medication?”

He groans again, nose brushing her thigh, and says, “Both.”

“Disregard the instructions?”

He hums against her leg, whispering her resolve into the ground, because she doesn’t argue. It doesn’t hurt that she couldn’t decide either, or that she has always been good at knowing when to break the rules.

“Whatever repercussions there are to this, it’s your fault,” she says instead, already measuring another dose.

He downs it like a shot and with a grimace, even though he is still laying on the floor. It manages to wring a snort out of her, as does the way he remarks that the straw she put in the pedialyte looks like a worm: “Which I’ll allow only because you chose blue; the best color.”

He fumbles in and out of consciousness, mind half addled, and she thinks she’s found a cheat code to becoming his friend. With his sharp eyes half closed and his height stolen by his horizontal position on the floor, too tired to keep his body wired and slurping through a straw because the energy to sit up seems like a far flung concept, he’s easy to see and even easier to like.

“You made the good shit,” he half slurs as he takes another sip.

“Yeah?”

“Grew up on this stuff,” he says by way of explanation. “It was free at my first school, low income and what not. Wanted to make sure we had enough calories to suffer through the school day. Picked it up at food banks, too.”

She hums, pretending he hasn’t just revealed something that she doubts he’s told anyone else. “Kept it around for the taste?”

“Malnourished after Lupa, just a bit,” he says arching his neck in discomfort before taking another sip. “I made sure to pick some up while we were still in the states. ‘Beth knows I like it though. I think she already bought some.”

“Yeah.” Reyna can vaguely remember something along those lines, sitting with Annabeth and going over supply lists for the ship. She’d been rambling and scatterbrained, which Reyna now knew was her default state.

He switches subjects after that, nothing sticking for long. It’s an interesting contrast to the Percy that she’s met. She wonders if he was like ths as a kid, or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe it was until they were swapped, maybe it was until Tartarus and she just never got the chance to see.

“You’re talkative when half your guts are down the drain,” she tells him, after listening to him ramble about the Knicks for a couple minutes.

“Blame my state.”

“I am, dumbass.”

“So rude,” he says in Spanish, sounding like her neighbors in Puerto Rico, getting together under the shade during the heat of the day, complaining about their daughters. “What’re you doing here anyway,” he asks, “Why aren’t you nice and cozy in your bed.”

“Obviously sitting on the floor with you is superior.”

He coughs out a laugh, there. Weak, but she can feel his amusement from the crinkle of his eyes before he sobers. “Really, why?”

“Nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Want to talk about Tartarus?” she snaps, because no, she does not want to talk about her historical issues with boats, or how she’s thinking of Jason, out there escorting a forty foot statue in an attempt to stop yet another war.

“Sorry,” Percy whispers, pulling his head back a bit.

“No, I’m sorry.” She’s supposed to be better than this. She’s supposed to be a leader, which does not include letting her frustrations out on others, no matter the time of day–or night. “That was unprofessional of me.”

He snorts. “We’re lying on the kitchen floor and I’m wearing Black panther pajama pants. Trust me, you don’t have to be professional here… And I’m sorry–for asking.”

“It’s alright,” she ends up saying, mostly thinking that he’s right. She’s about to tell him so when she notices that his eyes have slipped closed. “Let's get you to bed.”

“I’m not gonna sleep,” he grumbles.

“Well if I get you some more magic potion can you lie to me?”

He smiles at that, one side of his mouth going up farther than the other, like in almost every photo she saw of him during her months at Camp Half-Blood. “If you, Reyna Ramírez Allreano, get me more orange pedialyte, I will absolutely fall asleep as soon as I’m in my bed.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

#percy jackson #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #its been a while since i posted something for pjo #pjo #pjo fanfic #hoo fanfic #hoo #alea iacta est #Reyna!Swap au #chart writes #fic: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur #riordanverse #anyways I'm pretty happy with this and if you want some explanations or clarifications you can ask me or look at my final notes on ao3!#i already have another one in the works! it just needs to be beta read

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