#beat this game recently! i am very normal about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darklydeliciousdesires · 1 month

Text

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.”

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.”

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?”

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.”

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?”

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.”

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict.

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?”

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake?

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat.

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet.

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?”

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?”

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.”

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him.

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it.

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?”

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer.

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.” Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.”

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back.

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.”

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked.

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close.

“Tell me more, sugar!”

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?”

She nodded.

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!”

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?”

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.”

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show.

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,”

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?”

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.”

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.”

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?”

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons.

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.

“Luca?”

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her.

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta smut #luca changretta x ofc #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fic #nobody's girl #luca and emily

56 notes · View notes

neo404 · 16 days

Note

Request where reader doesn’t even know he likes guys but he has been hanging out with Nick a lot lately he think he just likes Nick as a friend Nick eventually put the pieces together that reader like him he just isn’t aware of it so Nick decides to just kiss which shocks reader at first but then everything clicks

( I don’t know if you watch the show 911 is kind of the story line that has happened recently)

Your lips, my lips…

Summary: with one kiss Nick completely changes your life and ties all the lose knots on your mind.

Note: I haven’t watch 911, does it have gay people? If yes, I might give it a go lol.

Nick and I have been good friends for a while, we know each other for a year, maybe a bit more, we met thanks to a friend in common and since then we grew closer and closer. I like to think of him as my best friend, we do everything together and he has always been there for me when I needed him.

If I’m being honest, I can’t imagine a life without him, he’s just so fun to be around and cares deeply about everyone, he makes me feel safe and loved. It’s funny, because we are so close a lot of people have thought we are a couple, not that I don’t think Nick would be a bad boyfriend, is just that I don’t really like boys, I just like Nick, in a very close friends type of way. In a ‘cuddles while watching a horror movie’ type of way or a ‘your hand lingered on my arms for longer than usual, an it made my heart beat faster’ or a ‘every time I see you smile it makes me happy’ or a ‘I get jealous when I see people flirting with you because I’m afraid they will steal your attention’… but it’s all platonic feelings, after all, we are very close.

‘’So… movie at your place again?’’ Nick sits beside me on the ground of the parking lot after handing me a can of soda. I crack it open and nod.

‘’Yeah, as always.’’ He opens his can and also takes a drink. ‘’It’s your turn to pick the movie.’’

‘’Oh true, thanks for reminding me.’’ He smiles warmly at me and I feel my heart get warmer on my chest, I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I feel it. ‘’So, we got the snacks.’’ He says shacking the bag on his hand a bit. ‘’Wanna go home yet or…?’’ he raises and eyebrow looking at me and I let out a tiny chuckle.

‘’Can we sit here for a while? The weather is nice, the breeze is amazing tonight.’’

‘’Yeah, that’s fine, you are the one driving us anyways.’’ He playfully punches my arm and I laugh.

‘’True, what would you do without me?’’ it was a rhetorical question truly, he could do so much without me, I am the one who doesn’t know what to do without him.

‘’A lot, actually. You are very needy.’’ I gasp and pretend to be offended by his words.

‘’Me? Needy? Says the one that calls me at ungodly hours of the night because he can’t sleep and wants company, or the one that begs me to have sleepover at my place or the one-…’’ Nick shoves one of his hands to my mouth.

‘’Okay, enough. I don’t wanna hear you.’’ He rolls his eyes and I smile, his hand helping to hide my blushing cheeks. ‘’You are such an idiot; I actually hate you.’’ I nod and he slowly removes his hand from my mouth.

‘’Yeah, whatever you say.’’ I roll my eyes at him and he pushes me playfully once more.

‘’I do, I hate you.’’

‘’No.’’ I shake my head. ‘’No, you don’t.’’ this time he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.

‘’I do!’’ I smile and take another sip of my drink, this is a little game the both of us have, people don’t get it but I find it very entertaining how he tries to make me believe that he hates me, he doesn’t, and I know it, and he knows it too.

‘’You sure do.’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ he puts his arms down, looking at me confused, I normally play along for a while.

‘’I mean that you like me so much you think you hate me.’’ I shrug my shoulders.

‘’Wait, maybe you are right.’’ He grins. ‘’I like you so much it makes me want to hate you.’’

‘’See, I’m always right.’’ I take another sip of my drink and when I lower the can I feel one of his hands on my cheek, and then his lips smashing into mine, I swallow quickly and lean in to kiss him back. after a few seconds the backs up, I blink hardly, my cheeks turning red and my heart beating like crazy. ‘’I-… what?’’

And it that moment it all made sense. With one single kiss Nick made my restless night have a meaning. All this time, all my fast beast, my red cheeks, the lingering looks, the longing for his touch and attention. It made sense, I liked him, I liked him so much it made me stupid.

‘’I like you, you idiot. I like you a lot, it makes me want to punch you in the face.’’ Nicks voice is quiet, his hand still on my face, the warmness of it making me feel dizzy. ‘’Look, I know we have been good friends for a long time, I was just so scared to tell you but I thought you liked me back, so please, just forget this if-…’’

‘’NO! No, no, no, no.’’ I take a Deep breath trying to gather my thoughts and form a single coherent sentence. ‘’I like you too. Shit, I like you. Holy shit, this makes so much sense…’’

‘’You do?’’ Nicks eyes light up and I nod my head eagerly.

‘’Yes. Can we kiss again?’’ he doesn’t say a word, he just leans in and kisses me softly, this time is longer and my hands make their way to his waist, his other hand playing with my hair. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this sooner; I can’t believe I have liked him all along and I had no idea.

‘’Let’s go watch that movie.’’

‘’Can we make out while it plays on the background?’’

#nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo x male reader #sturniolo triplets x reader

44 notes · View notes

phykios · 1 year

Text

Holding Out For A Hero, co-written by @darkmagyk [read on ao3] [written for the @pjo-hoo-bigbang] [thank you to @ashilrak for the absolutely stunning art!!]

[part 1/2]

---

At twenty-seven years old, Annabeth had had enough. Truthfully, she’d had enough at seventeen. And at seven. But at twenty-seven, she had enough bravery and arrogance to refuse the next time a god came to her with a quest that needed taking. Even when it was her mother who offered.

“You will not take it, then?” the goddess asked.

Annabeth nodded. “I will have to decline. Respectfully.”

There was a beat as Athena appraised her, gray eyes calculating. They softened, then, apparently finding Annabeth worthy. “You have become very wise, my daughter. The hunger for glory has brought the downfall of many a hero; I am glad that it will not take you as well.”

“It’s not about that,” said Annabeth.

But Athena ignored her. “Fear not, Annabeth. I am not disappointed–rather, I am proud. You have done very well.” And then she rewarded Annabeth with a rare, sincere smile, a queen bestowing her favor. Even a few years earlier, Annabeth would have flipped for joy. She would have fallen to her knees and begun to weep at this display of motherly affection.

“Thank you, mother.”

It was just too bad that Annabeth no longer cared.

---

She didn’t think she had taken a breath all day. Something was going to go wrong; she just didn’t know what yet. She watched the movers, carrying her things, telling them how she wanted her new house to set up. It wasn’t very much stuff. Her apartment in Boston had been so much smaller than the house in Maine. And she didn’t want to fill it up yet. She’d bought the place, more crumbling manor then one woman’s starter house, because she wanted to build it and shape it to be everything she needed.

It would be great if she could figure out what that was.

But she was starting with a house. She was an architect after all, even though she’d sold her firm.

This was supposed to be her oasis. This was supposed to be her retirement.

So, something was bound to happen. She scanned all of the movers. Looking for a flick of a tail, the clump of a hoof, the shimmer of scales, anything that would give the game away.

She knew that monsters stopped bothering demigods as they got older, but they didn’t normally completely leave them alone. She’d killed a lot of monsters in the last decade. And she couldn’t imagine moving into her new home, her quiet retirement, without one last great battle.

She felt for her knife, tucked into her waistband. Ready for her, always ready for her.

But none of the movers turned into monsters all day. They just unloaded her things, unwrapped and unpadded things, deposited boxes in the rooms as marked.

And then they left, without attacking, without breathing fire or raising a weapon against her. For dinner, she pulled out the phone book and rooted around for the pizza place, and lamented that there was only one in town, and that her house was barely in delivery range.

When she settled into her new house, in her new bed, with cold Dominos in the fridge. And no one tried to attack her.

Annabeth Chase, Daughter of Athena, Hero of Olympus was almost thirty years old, and she was trying to figure out what you did, when all the best and worst things that could ever happen had happened to you, happened before you were eighteen.

She tried not to feel like the protagonist of a shitty romcom, but it was not like she was making it easier for herself.

Helena, Maine, was very small. It felt kind of ridiculous to say that Annabeth was feeling culture shock. But it was just so small, and Boston had been home for so long. She swore that she would miss the colors, the skyline, the crush of souls. She had promised up and down at her goodbye party that she would miss it all…

And yet.

The smell of sea air was much, much stronger here, and somehow even more intense inside of the fixer-upper she had recently acquired, the salt smell soaking and permeating every pore of the wooden beams. It was a beautiful piece of property, a couple blocks away from the shoreline, placed neatly between the evenly-spaced trees of the neighborhood and the wilder, more overgrown forests as the land stretches inland. She didn’t really want to know what happened to the previous owner, or when, how, and why the gods of Olympus decided to try their hand in real estate, but a house in Nowheresville USA was a small price to pay for years of blood, sweat, and tears, she supposed.

It had a little downtown area, which was just a mainstreet with local grocers, a beauty salon, a couple of restaurants that all claimed to have the best lobster, a diner that did have the best pie she’d ever had in her life, the most historic building, now a hotel that she’d helped restore, had more or less sold her on the town, a little gift shop and tour right next door that advertised historic district walking tours, sun set cruises, and the best whale watching tours on the East Coast, a clothing store she’d bought some new sandals from, a coffee shop, a record store with a decent selection, and a little book store that had already told her they did not have anything in ancient Greek, and was therefore useless to her.

The arts and craft store was actually a little ways out, but they had some great wool and she’d already stocked up.

She was retired. But she was still planning on taking the occasional consulting job, or even a few independent design projects. But not yet. She wanted to give herself some time to sit and relax, and let the sea air soak into her veins.

And she’d knit while doing it.

Oh, she did a lot of other things too: she compared all the lobster restaurants in town, ordered a full pie a week from the diner. She bought new leggings at the store. She bought Into the Gap and the Footloose soundtrack at the record store. She broke down and bought Firestarter because the guy in the bookstore wouldn’t stop talking about Stephen King. She had lunch with the hotel manager and talked about architecture, and she went on walking tours, the Blueberry Tour, and even the ghost tour. She walked on the beach, and on the little docks.

She went back to Boston, too, sometimes. They had not yet finished the renovations on Magnus’s shelter when all the paperwork from selling her company and buying her house came through. And she liked to visit her dad, too. She was always worried about him getting out and talking to people, after the divorce. Sometimes she wondered if her dad had ADHD, too, given how he could go for days, absorbed in his books.

She was shocked, twelve weeks in, when she drove back into town on Monday, after her fifth trip to Boston, and found her shoulders loosening as soon as she spotted Main Street. She rolled down her window, and breathed in the sea air.

And she felt herself relax. Really and truly relax, for the first time since she was five or six.

No monsters or Harvard admissions or deadlines hanging over her head. Just home.

One day, she drove into town, and got dinner in the little hamburger place near the boat docks. It was the third best hamburger in town, but it was the only restaurant with a window onto the ocean. The patio was closed for the winter, but it was still a phenomenal view.

She ordered a glass of wine, automatically sending a prayer of thanks to Dionysus, and made herself a pair of leg warmers in between bites and sips.

“Those are cute,” said her waitress, Sarah, who went to the local high school, and worked every Monday, Wednesday, and alternate Saturdays. She had a boyfriend who was more serious about their relationship than she was, loved Danielle Steele, and was ambivalent about college unless it could take her someplace romantic like New York, or Los Angeles, or even some magical, faraway place like Paris–if she got really lucky.

You learned too much about everyone in a small town. Privately, Annabeth thought it was kind of delightful.

“Thanks,” she said. “Honestly, this is the fifth pair I’ve made this month.” She considered them. They were a bright purple. She liked the color, but probably not anymore than the blue and gray ones she’s been wearing.

“Fifth?”

“I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed. “Uh huh?”

“Yeah, just–it’s been nice to get back into a hobby and everything.”

“So, do you… um…” Sarah twirled her pen around her fingers, looking decidedly left of Annabeth’s cheek. “What does your boyfriend think of them?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” And thank all the gods for that. And may the gods curse the lot of the male heroes for their idiocy.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t? What about an ex?”

Annabeth shook her head.

“Never? But you’re so ol–I mean… uh…”

Annabeth shrugged. She wasn’t that old. “Never had the time for one.” She blinked away the flash of sandy hair and angry blue eyes, and took another sip of wine.

“O–okay.”

If Annabeth hadn’t been retired, maybe she would have taken more notice. Maybe she would have correctly clocked Sarah’s interest in her newfound free time as more than a little concerning. Maybe she wouldn’t have forgotten the conversation after she went home, snuggling down into her bed after another half a glass of wine, drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Then again, what was the harm? Annabeth was new, and interesting, and her lack of things to do was just a little bit of small-town gossip to pass around. Gods knew they needed some kind of excitement in their lives.

Big mistake.

It wasn’t two more days before Brenda, Sarah’s mother and co-owner of the dive, made her move.

Which was a damn shame. Annabeth really liked this grocery store.

“Oh, Annabeth!”

Brenda’s bright, brown eyes were ringed with blue in a way that she imagined Silena might quietly approve of, and at least today, they had all the laser-focused intensity of a Gorgon stare as she came barreling towards Annabeth in the cereal aisle.

She acknowledged Brenda, but didn’t quite smile. Smiling sometimes gave people the idea that these interruptions were desired.

This had never been a problem in Boston or New York. You could go on fifty shopping trips, and never run into someone you know. That was a big drawback of small towns, all the people.

“I’ve seen you at the restaurant a lot lately,” Brenda said. “And Sarah has, too.”

She nodded. “I love your patio.” Because she did. It reminded her a little bit of her own back deck. Except for someone else cooked, and then cleaned up at the end.

“I’m glad,” Brenda said, “but several of us have noticed that you always eat alone.”

That was true. In her five months here, her dad had visited four times. And she hadn’t taken him to Brenda’s place, because that would involve way too many questions. “Yeah, I feel like I always run into someone I know at the restaurant.” She said.

“How long have you been in town now, Annabeth?”

“I moved here in September,” she said, cocking her head to the side, unsure of where this was going.

“And do you think you’ve really settled into the community?”

“Um…” What kind of question was that? “Yes?”

“Because I worry about you.”

“Oh Brenda,” she sighed, “that’s sweet, but…” But she could already see where this was going. She’d had this conversation four or five times with a few of her neighbors. She looked Brenda up and down and wondered if she was Catholic or Lutheran or whatever Presbyterian was. Also, if someone was ever going to explain to her what the differences between all those things were.

“I’ve spoken to some of the others, they say you eat at one of our restaurants nearly every night.”

Oh… well, that didn’t seem like a lead up to invite her to church, at least. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. “I can’t cook.”

Brenda frowned. “And how does your boyfriend feel about that?”

Again with the boyfriend stuff. “Well, I don’t have a boyfriend, so nothing.”

“Yes,” Brenda nodded, “Sarah mentioned that. And so, I was thinking, there are a lot of great guys in Cabot Cove. And with you being so new, me and my book club might be able to help you out.”

“Out… with a guy?”

“Yes,” She smiled, “exactly.”

“Um…” That mostly sounded like a headache and a half. “I don’t know if… that’s… the best idea…” In fact, she knew it wasn’t the best idea. It was, plainly, the worst idea anyone had ever come up with. Never mind the fact that daughters of Athena didn’t date on principle–dating a mortal sounded like a very particular brand of Tartarus. And she had tangled with enough of Tartarus to be wary.

Undeterred, Brenda powered through. “Oh, that’s fine!” she said, patting Annabeth’s arm. “The book club is usually just for us girls, anyway.”

Annabeth chuckled, weakly. That didn’t make it sound any more appealing.

“So will we finally see you on Thursday?”

Internally, she sighed. Brenda and her entourage–Denise from the bookshop, Susan the grocery store clerk, and Linda, the receptionist at her contractor’s–had been gently hounding her to stop by their book club for weeks now. Annabeth already didn’t particularly enjoy hanging out with many people her own age. The fact that she was officially invited to the realm of forty-year-old mothers with too much time on their hands didn’t sit well. What she wouldn’t give for Clarisse and Chris and a no-holds barred beatdown to let off some steam right now.

Brenda’s eyes were wide, the bright blue making them look even wider, a pleading look that was wildly out of place.

Maybe if she went once, it’d put them off for at least a few weeks.

“...So, what are you guys reading?” she asked, finally, withholding most of the skepticism from her voice.

Brenda cheered, giving her a hug.

Which was how Annabeth–a known dyslexic–found herself in Denise’s living room at 8 PM on a Thursday night, reading some new romance novel called Snow on the Beach by Sally Jackson (where had she heard that name before…) after choking down some of Linda’s cheeseburger pie which did not at all pair well with the cheap Chardonnay Susan brought with her.

At first, Annabeth had been worried, as dyslexia did not exactly make her an avid reader. Luckily for her, it turns out none of the other women were avid readers either, preferring to spend most of their book club time drinking and talking shit on their husbands. It almost reminded her of being in college, only a little bit sadder.

Right down to gossiping about cute boys.

“I’m telling you, ladies,” said Susan, throwing her wine hand a little wildly, her third full glass nearly tipping over. “There’s no way he uses mousse. His hair just looks so touchable all the time–and the way it whipped in the wind!” She sighed, her eyes fluttering.

Apparently everyone’s favorite hunk had given a presentation about local marine life to the town’s boy scout troop, and they could not shut up about him.

“You know,” chimed in Denise, “I heard from Karen who heard from Nancy that he rescued little Jennifer Woods’ cat from a tree just last week!”

They all broke down, cooing.

Annabeth just barely contained her eye roll.

She was almost glad when the talk turned to the town doctor and his recent divorce.

“I could see it coming from a mile away,” said Brenda, taking a sip of water. “I have some experience with that, after all.”

“I just can’t believe it happened so soon!” Susan said. “They had only been married for, what, two years? And he’s still so young!”

Linda tutted. “How could a woman who landed a man like that–a doctor, of all things–just give that up?”

Susan leaned in. “I heard,” she whispered, conspiratorial, “that she ran off with some childhood sweetheart of hers. Joyce lives across the street, you know, and she said she saw a strange car pull up to their house in the middle of the night, before taking off! It was such a racket, it woke up her yappy little dog, oh, what’s-his-name–”

“Have you ever met him? The doctor?” Brenda asked Annabeth, obviously sensing her disengagement with town gossip.

She blinked, stupefied for a split second. “Oh–uh, no, I still go to my doctor in Boston.” Her doctor being her cousin with magical healing powers, or either her ambrosia supplier when she could get a hold of him.

As one terrifying, multi-voiced entity, they all shrieked. “He’s so handsome!” Susan cried.

“And he’s so sweet!” said Denise. “My sister works at the front desk part time, and he always gives her a smile and a ‘good morning’ every time he comes in!”

Wow. A smile and a good morning? What a keeper. “I’ve only heard good things about him,” she said, attempting to shrug off the attention. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man.”

Which was when Linda decided to make her move.

In hindsight, Annabeth really should have seen this coming.

“You’re not seeing anyone right now, right, dear?”

All that attention she had hoped to avoid was now all focused on her. She hadn’t felt this intently watched since she had taken on those gorgons last year.

“Um…” she began, intelligently, her mind racing. No, but they didn’t need to know. Also, she was going to kill Sarah the next time she saw her.

“That’s perfect!” crowed Denise. “I’ll talk to Katie, and she can get you two set up on a date!”

“I–”

Brenda and Susan cheered. “Oh, you two would make such a cute couple!” Susan said, taking another very large sip of wine.

“But–”

“And I’m sure you’d be a much better woman to him than his bitch ex-wife–”

“And your kids would be just adorable! With his brains, and your beautiful hair–”

“Hold on!” Annabeth finally cut in, face hot. “I am so not interested in kids right now!”

“Well, you’re not getting any younger,” Linda said, her voice just a little too sharp to be entirely friendly. “But you don’t need to bring that up on the first date.”

All her cleverness and strategy, and somehow, she couldn’t figure out the right combination of words to get these old ladies off her back. “I just think that–”

“I think it’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Brenda said. “Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

Which was how Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, hero of Manhattan, Harvard graduate magna cum laude, ended up on a blind date with some doctor from some podunk New England beach town in the only bar for miles.

Jack’s Bar operated out of the town inn, appropriately named the Helena Inn. Presumably unable to recoup its costs with just the few out-of-towners, it was open to the general public until well into the early morning. It had an interesting kind of energy–with the low ceilings, poor light throw, and creaky floors, you could certainly feel the age of the eighteenth-century building. But the exposed beams gave it an interesting charm, and no one could deny that they made a damn good lobster roll.

Despite herself and her low expectations, she had dressed up for the occasion. Her outfit was an older one, but it still fit her, even if it didn’t exactly fit the bar’s atmosphere. Her black skirt was long, and a little bit faded, but it still mostly matched her black suspenders, and any wonky coloring would be hidden by the contrast of her gray sweater. Sitting at the corner of the bar, she pulled her skirt down, even though it already fell below the knee, feeling distinctly out of place among the blue jeans and stretched sweaters of everyone else around here.

“What are you having?” said the bartender.

“Some wine, please,” she said, softly. “White.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “You from out of town, or something?” he asked, pouring her a glass.

Her shoulders sagged. “No. I actually live down on Meetinghouse Circle.” Gods, she stuck out like a sore thumb. This was a mistake. “I just… haven’t gotten the chance to stop by yet.”

Her bartender just nodded. “Just wondering, since you seem a bit too dressed up for a little old place like mine.”

Jack’s Bar. “You’re Jack, then?”

He shook his head. “My dad. I’m John.”

Annabeth stuck her hand out. “Nice to meet you. Annabeth.”

Shaking her hand, he didn’t smile exactly, but his face relaxed in a way Annabeth found pleasing. “So you’re the mysterious newcomer I’ve heard so much about.”

“Guilty.”

“You meeting up with someone?”

She nodded. “Brenda and her friends set me up on some stupid blind date…”

“Excuse me,” came a smooth, deep voice from behind her. “Are you Miss Annabeth Chase?”

She turned.

He was wearing well-fighting trousers and a clearly expensive unbuttoned Izod button down–she could almost sense the tightness of the stitching. On his broad nose was a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, resting delicately atop his prominent cheekbones, and his dark gold hair swooped gracefully across his forehead.

Also, he wore his lab coat.

Oh, brother.

“Dr. Martin Stasiovsky,” he said, holding out his hand. “And may I say, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

So he was that kind of guy, huh. “Me too,” she bit out, shaking his hand.

“Shall we?” He held out his arm to her, brows raised expectantly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw John suppress a laugh, disguising it as a cough.

And then he led her to a sticky wooden table, pulling out a chair with a cracked leather seat, before sitting himself down opposite her with a flourish, as though his lab coat were a cape. He rested his elbow on the table, placing his head in the crook of his palm. In the dim light, you could certainly call his features handsome, even seductive–or at least they would be, if he hadn’t already advanced to playing footsie with her under the table.

She pulled back her feet, tucking them beneath the rung of her chair.

“So,” he said, undeterred. “Tell me about yourself.”

She tried. Gods of Olympus, did she try. But every time she began a sentence about herself, he would swiftly interrupt her, going on a barely-related, irritatingly erudite tangent. For example:

“I’ve lived all over, but I actually grew up in Boston for a bit–”

“Ah, Boston, yes, you know it was the staging ground of the Revolution? When I was younger, I was able to correct the tour guide at the Old North Church on a thing or two–”

Or:

“I work at an architectural firm–”

“Oh, architecture is very important. Do you know, it was famed nineteenth-century skyscraper architect Louis Sullivan who said the iconic words, ‘Form Follows Function,’ which has become something of a motto of mine–”

Or even:

“No, I don’t really see my family–”

“My family and I tend to summer in southern France every year, though we recently had the opportunity to visit Vienna–an absolutely marvelous city–”

The thing that finally got him to shut up was: “I did my undergrad and grad school at Harvard.”

He stiffened, nose wrinkling like he had just got a whiff of something really bad. Maybe it was the gross-ass whisky he ordered. “You,” he said, absolutely dripping with patronizing disbelief, “went to Harvard?”

“I did,” she replied. “And I graduated magna cum laude.”

A pause, and then he laughed, short and ugly. “No, you didn’t.”

“Um… yes I did.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t have the head for Harvard.”

Anger began bubbling up in her, like lava in the pit of her stomach. She clenched her fingers around the stem of her wine glass, and tried to breathe through her nose. “And where did you go to school?”

He pulled back, frowning. “Well, I mean–I went–my first choice was Harvard but I ultimately settled on–”

So he didn’t even get in. She didn’t even let him finish. “Ah, that’s a shame. Must have been one of my girlfriends who took your spot.”

“Well, when I was applying to school,” he sniffed, “they knew better than to let girls into Harvard.”

“Wow,” she whistled. “Fifty percent more spots, and you couldn’t even get in then.”

Leaving him sputtering, nearly speechless with shock, she stood up, downed the rest of her wine, then walked over to John to pay her tab.

She skipped next week’s book club. And the one after that. She tried to tell herself it was because she was mad at them for setting her up with such a douchebag, and not because she felt that she had somehow failed at being a proper girl.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide forever in a town as small as this one. Once again, she was accosted in the cereal aisle by one of the well-meaning but perhaps a touch over-bearing town ladies.

Maybe she should just stop buying cereal.

“Oh, Annabeth, dear,” said Susan, setting down her green plastic basket. “It’s so lovely to see you! We’ve missed you at the book club.”

She had only gone once. “Yeah,” she replied, for lack of anything else to say. “You know…”

“And I was so sorry to hear about your date.”

Annabeth bit her lip. “Oh?”

Susan nodded. “Denise’s sister told us all about it. May I just say–how rude!”

Annabeth looked away, rubbing at her arm. Sure, she had been a little forceful, but he had kind of deserved it.

“The nerve of that man, to say you weren’t smart enough for Harvard!” Susan took her hand, patting it. “Don’t worry: I have a first cousin who lives in the next town over, she has a son who’s single, and you will love him.”

“That’s really kind of you, Susan, but I don’t really think–”

“Nonsense! He goes to Dartmouth, working on his PhD. He’s an intellectual, dear, and he’ll be able to appreciate just how smart you are.”

Despite herself, she found she was a little bit interested. “What is he studying?”

Susan frowned, thinking. “I believe he’s a historian of some kind,” she said. “He studies something very old. I think the Middle Ages?”

For a split second, Annabeth was worried she would say that he studied World War II. That would have been a little too close for comfort. But she did like history, and people with multiple degrees, so… why not?

“When is he free?”

He ended up being free that Friday night. Annabeth and Malcolm met up at Jack’s Bar, only this time, Annabeth had chosen to tone down her outfit, opting for a brown, blue and white striped sweater, with a pair of nice black jeans instead of a skirt. “So, Susan tells me you’re studying the Middle Ages?”

Malcolm nodded. “I’m writing my dissertation on the 1204 Sack of Constantinople.”

Ooh, a siege. “What about it?”

“How it directly led to the eventual collapse of the Byzantine empire,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “The Latin invaders, by destroying Constantinople, left it wide open for the Ottoman empire to come riding in and capture one of the key military bases in the Mediterranean.”

Gods above, he sounded just like her dad. Strangely enough, she didn’t seem to mind. “Win the battle, lose the war, huh?” she offered. Every tactician worth their salt knew that way failure lied.

“More or less,” Malcolm agreed.

“Reminds me of a paper I wrote in college, actually, in a history class. About the civil war, and how the confederates had aimed for a lot of splashy victories, but not a cohesive strategy,” she said.

“I’ll admit, I haven't focused much on US history in recent years. But I’d love to read it.”

She felt herself blush. “I mean, it was just an undergraduate paper in a history survey course,” she told him. “It wasn’t like it was written with publication in mind.” Though it had made her professor more or less beg her to become a historian.

“I mean, you clearly had a lot of interesting ideas. And I’m a TA, I read undergraduate papers for a living. I’m sure yours would be a breath of fresh air.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because my dad felt the same way, and kept a copy. So I might actually be able to read it. I can maybe have him fax it to you sometimes.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“But you’ll have to share some paper from your past, too. What was your master’s thesis about?”

“The repurposing of Athena as the Madonna in Medieval art.”

Annabeth had already been paying attention, but she felt herself lean forward. And she thought some battle strategy was her kind of research. “That sounds amazing,” she said. “Now I have to read it.”

“Did you do art history as part of architecture?”

He remembered what she did! Her opinion of him went up a few notches. “Yeah, but more than that I’ve always had a… an interest, you could say, in Athena.” That might be putting it mildly.

“Me too,” Malcolm said.

“But you aren’t a classicist?”

He shook his head. “This is going to sound weird, and maybe kind of arrogant, but… the classical world always almost made too much sense to me. Everything I ever learned, I got it, I understood it. It made researching it… almost harder. It was hard to form questions, because everything felt like it had an answer. That’s why I like the Medieval period. It's almost like taking some of the puzzle pieces from the classical world, and some new ones, too, and trying to figure out a new picture. Like… Christianity. No accounting for Christianity. And that makes learning it so much more interesting.”

“Not a church every Sunday kind of kid?”

“No, my moms,” he paused, coughed, and cleared his throat. “My mom wasn’t really for it, and so it wasn’t a part of growing up. That a problem?”

“Oh gods, no,” she said.

Malcolm seemed nearly as invested as she was, they’d both leaned forward, and he had a clear view of his gray eyes. They were nice eyes, she thought. Intelligent and maybe a little dangerous. She thought maybe she’d seen them before. “But, we’ve talked too much about me. Tell me about your work.”

And so she did.

“...and I like the idea of Neoclassical, but it always seems so flat to me. I feel like what it’s missing is color. I want more color in architecture in general, I think, but all that white marble is grating.”

“Have you ever been to the Parthenon?” He asked, with an almost breathless reverence in his voice.

“I have,” she said, smiling, “my dad took me as a graduation present.” Or, really, more of a one-two punch, graduation present for her, divorce present from him. Visiting Athena’s holy place seemed fitting for both reasons.

“What was it like?” He asked. “I’ve never been able to go, but gods, I want to. More than anything.”

Malcolm got it. Malcolm got the Parthenon and Athena.

And so maybe, Malcolm could get her. Maybe Malcolm could understand a child of Athena.

She looked at him. He was handsome in a way. His chestnut brown hair, his clear gray eyes, his…

His gray eyes.

His moms.

But gods, he’d said.

He was looking at her now, and frowning.

“You’re a child of Athena!” They said at the same time, accusatory, surprised.

They leaned back and looked at each other for a long moment.

“Well, damn,” Annabeth said. “I think we might be siblings.”

“I… yeah.”

“Um…”

Just her luck. Here she was, actually enjoying herself, having fun with this guy, and it turned out he was her half-brother.

“That sounds about right,” Annabeth said. “The first guy I can stand, and it’s because he’s my little brother.”

“Sorry,” he said.

She sighed.

“So… I guess our date is over?”

She thought of her home, quiet and lonely, and sighed. “No. I’d rather not go back to my place just yet. Besides, if I left early, Susan would never let me hear the end of it.”

Malcolm laughed.

“But, tell me more about your research,” she said, resting her head on her hand. “I’ve never spoken to another child of Athena before. Lay out the battle for me, and the strategy for Byzantium going forward.”

She saw her dad the next weekend. He came up from Boston, excited to see the progress she’d made on her house. And for the first time in a long time, recounting her new friend Malcolm, she had something to actually update him on other than the contractors finding termites or the pipes needing to be replaced.

She was actually excited, until she said the words “Turns out having a half brother is actually pretty fun.”

Cause she’d tried half brothers before, and it hadn’t really worked out.

But her dad just smiled, said he was so excited for her, and then complimented her on all the structural work she’d gotten done, before they both got distracted by a discussion of the tactics of the Germans in World War I. Her dad was kind of awesome. It was so much fun to talk to him.

She couldn’t really explain to Susan and Brenda and everyone that she and Malcolm were half-siblings, and so she would not be entering a relationship with him, but they did start spending a lot of time together, and so she endured just a little bit of teasing, and figured it was alright.

She and Malcolm plotted out the siege of Constantinople half a dozen times, trying to find the perfect strategy to defend it. They broke out swords and knives and sparred in her backyard. She even had lunch with his mortal mother, and heard someone else’s reminiscences of Athena, which was much more fun, and less desperately sad then her Dad’s.

It made his return to Dartmouth in early March a new kind of struggle. So much so that she not only returned to book club, she asked about another date.

She brushed them off when they asked about a break up, but she did find herself enthusiastic when Brenda suggested a new person. A firefighter and beloved local hero. He volunteered with kids and saved kittens from trees and “He’s just so handsome, Annabeth.”

She was actually kind of looking forward to going on this date, especially when Brenda called her to tell her excitedly that he was going to take her on one of the world famous whale tours they had in town.

Annabeth showed up all ready for water and whales. It was an unseasonably warm March morning, so she had on a yellow shirt, an older pair of overalls with monster claw marks in the knees that she had successfully disguised as deliberate rips, and she looked through her sunglasses for the dark haired man in the Fire Department shirt.

She found him. He was broad and stocky, with a fire department shirt under a light washed denim jacket. His hair was dark and clearly gelled and hair sprayed into its perfectly coiffed place.

He was probably two inches shorter than her, and she could see his face drop when she introduced herself.

After some brief, stilted small talk, they followed another couple and a family of five onto the boat. And the man at the front, driving the boat, announced that he was a replacement, that the normal tour guide was out this week, but that it would still be just as fun.

And if that was the case, Annabeth vowed that she would not be coming back for the regular guy. They saw one dolphin far off, and found themselves sprayed with the water as the speedboat choppily stopped and started, sending her stomach roiling angrily.

Graham, her fireman friend, complained every ten minutes, and then every five minutes, and then every other sentence out of his mouth.

She couldn’t get an answer on what movies he liked, or his family, or his work. He asked her questions, but looked angrily at the ocean while she answered.

She gave up, and sat on the gloomy boat, in the hot day, and listened to the tour guide swear they’d see something interesting soon.

They didn’t. And Graham was uninterested in dinner, as they had originally planned, whining that he needed to go home and change.

Annabeth let him go. And skipped book club again.

And again.

“You should go back,” Malcolm told her on the phone. “A date might do you good.”

“Fuck off,” she said, leaning her head back against the wall. “Children of Athena don’t do romance.”

“I would like to remind you, I also went on that date. And I even had fun. Companionship is nice. Even mom knows it.”

Clarisse said something similar when they chatted about her upcoming wedding. Which was infuriating.

Clarisse, of all people.

It was enough to raise her hackles, and to complain about it to Malcolm, again.

Which led to him getting invited to his mom’s house for lunch. Which led to Polly Pace proving she could replicate Susan and her friends' notions of how to get Annabeth a proper boyfriend.

“I might have a few ideas.”

She groaned. “Polly…”

“Look, sweetheart,” Polly said. “So many of those women around have one or two young men they have their little crushes on, and they are never going to give up that hope. So they try and live vicariously through you.” She rolled her eyes. “But I promise, I want what’s best for you. Let’s just have one more try.”

Annabeth couldn’t believe she agreed, but she did. And here she was. Polly swore up and down that this one was the most handsome man in Helena and that Susan had been trying to entice him for something like an affair for weeks.

Annabeth decided to go just to see what it looks like.

But she opted not to dress up for this one.

Annabeth slid into her usual spot at the bar, dressed in baggy jeans and a faded pink sweater on the last cool night of the spring, her back as close to the wall as physically possible. Wordlessly, the bartender slid over a glass of the house red, with a sympathetic smile. “Another date?” he asked.

She grumbled, taking a sip.

John just laughed. “Word on the street is Brenda’s declared you the most eligible bachelorette in town. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has half a dozen more dates lined up for you after tonight.”

Groaning, she resisted the urge to slam her head against the bar, settling instead for digging her palms into her eyes.

She felt, rather than heard someone come up beside her. “Evening, John,” said a male voice. A… sort of familiar voice.

“Hey, kid,” he replied. “Haven’t seen you here in ages! Still not drinking beer?”

The mystery man chuckled. “You know it. A coke, please.”

Annabeth frowned into her hands. Where had she heard this voice before? Was he a news anchor or something?

John tsked. “I don’t get you, kid. Why come down all this way if you’re not even going to have a proper drink?”

“What, the pleasure of your company isn’t enough?” Mystery man laughed again. “No, but I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”

Annabeth’s ears perked up, attention fully grabbed. Was this…?

“Oh?”

“Yeah, a friend of Polly’s, or something.”

She jolted back, as though she had been shocked, and turned to face her blind date.

He was tall and broad, with tanned skin and messy black hair. He had gotten taller, she thought, and she could see the lines of his pecs where the muscles had developed under his plain black t-shirt and denim jacket.

His voice was deeper, but the timbre was the same.

And then he turned, his sea green eyes widening, and she had no doubt.

Percy-fucking-Jackson.

Oh dear gods. Percy-fucking-Jackson, son of Poseidon.

She had her knife in her grip before she even registered she had taken it out.

He swore in Greek, and then his sword was out in his hands.

“Whoa!” John yelled at them from behind the bar. “You gotta take those outside!”

Annabeth glanced around. Him, and all the other patrons, were staring at them, eyes wide in fear. “Huh?”

“No guns in my bar!” She glanced down at her knife, and could see, out of the corner of her eye, the mist swirling around, coalescing into the flicker of a gun. “Either put them away, or get out.”

Why did the mist have to pull this shit all the time?

“Sorry,” Percy said. He shot her a glare, like this was all her fault, as though she were the one who had apparently stalked him to fucking Helena, Maine of all places, and then he tucked his sword away, turned his back on her, and stomped towards the door. Like she wasn’t a threat. Like she didn’t matter.

Fuck him very much.

She didn’t put her knife away, but she did chase after him, out into the gravel parking lot. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“You know, Chase,” he said, “I was supposed to have a really nice night.”

He had his sword raised again as he glared at her from under the one streetlight in the parking lot, which made her feel much better about not putting her knife away. “Well, so was I.”

“And now, some girl is going to think I’m an asshole who stood her up, all because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.” He eyed her knife, like he was funny.

“Newsflash: I was the girl you were meeting,” she said, “Gods, I can’t believe Polly thought I should go on a date with you.”

Percy scoffed, looking her up and down. “Well, you really turned out all the stops for your date.”

She gritted her teeth, too angry to flush. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known it was you.”

They glared at each other. And then, again, infuriatingly, Percy put his sword away.

“Stop doing that,” she nearly growled.

“Doing what?”

“Putting your sword away.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am a threat!” Annabeth pointed her weapon at him. “So, pull your sword back out, and act like it!”

He looked blank for a long minute, and then he smiled. “Annabeth Chase, you are absolutely a threat,” he agreed, “but I don’t think you’re going to attack me.”

“I could so attack you.”

“You absolutely could,” he agreed, and nodded at her knife, still out, clutched tightly in her hand. “But you know better than to start a useless fight. It's a waste of resources and energy, and you’re too smart for that.”

She glared, and pretended she didn’t enjoy being called smart by him. “You don’t want to fight?”

Shoving his hand in his pockets, he sighed. “It’s been a long day, Annabeth. I don’t feel like getting my ass kicked and wasting what little nectar I have left on your knife wounds.”

That, more than anything, caused her to pause, and lower her knife. She didn’t put it away, though.

Percy Jackson wasn’t just a demigod hero. He was the demigod hero. He’d fought gods and lived to tell the tale. He raised storms or probably armies, if he really wanted to.

When Kronos had risen, Percy Jackson had been at the head of the defending army, an army cobbled together from the handfuls of demigods spread across the country.

Annabeth had been by his side.

To hear him say that she was a threat, that she would kick his ass. She… found herself blushing. And hoped that in the darkness he could not see.

But she still kept her knife out. “What are you even doing here?” she finally asked.

“Same thing you are–living here.”

“You live here? But you’re a New Yorker.”

“And you're a Bostonian,” he said, and then he sighed. “I’m tired, Annabeth. I thought I might be able to escape. To relax. To retire.”

Well, that was relatable.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, I get that.”

They stared at each other again. But it was less charged, now it was almost lost. That day, on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building, she had been so sure she was never going to see Percy Jackson again. So very sure she would never again hear his voice, roll her eyes at his stupid jokes, fight with him, laugh with him. And why not? He had been offered the most priceless gift the gods could offer.

And then he had refused the gift, and fucked off.

“Why Helena?” She asked, her teeth gritting despite her best efforts. “You could have stayed in New York.” Or gone literally anywhere else.

“You mean, ‘Why did I decide to follow you to some little beach town in the middle of nowhere’?” He sneered, and she glowered. “If I had known you had moved here, too, I would have already left town.”

She rolled her eyes. “When did you show up then? To intrude on my quiet retirement.”

“It will be two years in June,” he said, and she clenched her mouth closed. She hadn’t even been here six months. By all accounts, she followed him here. Fuck. “Never thought I’d find you in a place like this.” He glanced around, but there was nothing around them. “Not a lot of skyline here to add to.”

She was surprised he remembered. She did not remember what his career goals were. “What do you do? I haven’t seen you around before today.”

Percy… suddenly looked away. “I give whale watching tours.” There was something so awkwardly earnest about his statement, she almost felt bad that she burst out laughing.

“Of course you do,” she said. “I went on one of those world famous whale watching tours, you know. Honestly? Not impressed.”

“When the hell was that?” he said. “I’m pretty sure I would have recognized you if you came on one of my tours.”

“It wasn’t with you, it was some other guy, but–”

He scoffed. “Annabeth Chase, surely you know that a child of Poseidon would make a better tour guide to the wonders of the ocean then some mortal.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Just for that, I’m going to take you on a tour.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m taking you on a whale watching tour,” he said. Ordered, really. “Tomorrow. Meet me at the east docks at three, and I’ll show you.”

“You’re… serious?”

“Of course. My honor as a tour guide has been besmirched.” In the darkness of the parking lot, she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “And I’m going to prove to you just how amazing I am at it.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that, so she just rolled her eyes one last time and turned towards her car. She didn’t put her knife back in its sheath until she was half way home.

She had no intention of showing up the next day.

She knew that, and Percy knew that, and the gods knew that, and no one expected anything differently of her.

Which is why it was so strange that she found herself driving towards the East Marina at 2:30 the next day.

Why? She could not say. It was so dumb.

Percy didn’t actually want her to be there. He’d probably just laugh if she showed up. This wasn’t even where the last tour had set off from.

Fucking Jackson. If this was all an elaborate prank to get back at her for accidentally… okay, maybe accidentally-on-purpose leading him into Clarisse la Rue’s secret safehouse so she could ditch him that one time, she was going to kill him.

She was stupid to come out here, she was stupid to even entertain this, she was…

“Annabeth,” Percy Jackson called, from where he was leaning against a wooden post at the edge of one row of boats. “I’m so glad you came.”

And he sounded like he meant it, too. Or at least that he hadn’t been dreading her presence.

He was not dressed so differently then he had been last night: acid wash jeans, a gray henley which was starting to thin around the shoulders, hair again looking like it had never seen a brush or comb in his entire life. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and straight onto the dock. And yet he was still disgustingly handsome.

It made her even angrier. She had spent all morning trying to tame her stubborn curls so that her hair looked nice, and he couldn’t even be bothered. Prick.

“Yeah, well,” she said, crossing her arms as she came to a stop in front of the boat. “You better make it worth my while.”

She looked at the boat, it didn’t look like the one from her last whale tour. It had a small deck surrounding the steering. And then what looked like a door going down to somewhere. On the back, in blocky letters, it said Little Star.

“Come aboard,” Percy said, “welcome to the Little Star.”

“Different boat from the other one.” Annabeth said.

“Well, yeah, that was the tour company’s,” Percy said, “this is a personal matter.”

“Personal, huh?”

“My honor has been challenged,” Percy said. “So have a seat while I blow your mind.”

“I’m hard to please, Jackson,” Annabeth said, “so we’ll see.”

She sat in the seat he offered, a little white bench. And watched Percy lean over to the dock to untie the rope.

She had a clear view of his ass. He probably was doing it on purpose.

Asshole.

“Annabeth Chase,” he said, grinning as he turned back to her. “You, unlike every mortal I have ever taken out, know that I can do anything on the ocean. Once we get far enough out, we can even do our own private scuba diving tour.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare cheat.”

“What?”

“You can’t just… charm me with the temple of Poseidon or whatever,” she said. “You have to give me what the mortals get.”

He paused, a flash of disappointment crossing his face, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He didn’t touch the wheel as the boat headed out from the dock, just sat down in the captain’s chair and turned to look at her. “So.”

“So.”

“How long have you been in Helena?” He asked.

“I moved in September,” she said.

“Was it because you heard through the grapevine I was here, and you couldn’t resist?”

“As if.” Annabeth said, making a face.

“Well, if you’re not stalking my every move, what are you doing here?” Despite his tone, she thought she should be offended. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad.

She shook her head. “It was like you said, about wanting to retire, relax. I just…” Annabeth sighed. “I just wanted to get away from the monsters, the gods. The expectations.”

“This is a nice place to disappear, I think,” Percy agreed.

“How many monsters have bothered you?” Annabeth asked. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of one, even out of the corner of her eyes, but she was not ready to be so relaxed from the constant fear that had plagued her since she was a little girl. She’d been told that they would become less insistent once she reached adulthood, and strictly speaking, that was true. But that had been saying that the biweekly occurrences had trickled down to once a week, and after many more years, twice a month or so. And she dreaded to know just how long this peace might last. Or not last.

“I’ve never been bothered by any out here,” Percy said. “A few when I was in the city, visiting Ma, but that’s it.”

Annabeth let out a breath that she maybe hadn’t known she had been holding for months. “Oh.”

“It has been a relief.” He said, “Nearly fighting you was the most exciting thing I’ve had in like a year.”

“It's not too late,” she offered. She did have her knife on her. Some things would never change.

“Do you want to fight me on the ocean, on my boat, Chase?” He raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re good. You’re very good, but I don’t think you’re that good. And it seems like a waste of a good architect.”

“Whatever,” she said, because it was easier than admitting he’d kick her ass in a boat, on the ocean.

He took her acquiescence with grace. Which was nice. He was much much too smart to not know what was happening. “So, what have you been up to? Did you decide you wanted to build your monuments somewhere untouched?” He glanced behind them, and the shape of Helena.

And she could admit to seeing it, to seeing the temples and palaces she could build there. But Maine had no place for temples and palaces. “I bought a big old house,” she said, “1870.” Over a hundred years old. Only the Helena Inn was older. “And now I’m trying to renovate it.”

“I bet it will have ionic columns, over-designed pediments, and domes out the wazoo, huh.”

“Not sure that goes with the Victorian style.”

“You’re a great architect, you can invent your own style.” He was being much much too complimentary of her talents. She needed to get them on a better footing, tease him properly.

“Where are you living?” She asked.

He gave her a slightly lopsided look, that twisted into his dumb, troublemaking smile. “Here.”

She glanced around, trying to figure out how literal he was being. “You… bank out at the bottom of the harbor?” She finally asked.

He let out a laugh. “No, I live in my boat.”

She glanced around. “This isn’t a houseboat.” Unless it was. But she’d seen some before, and they seemed to have more space. More everything.

“No, it's not, but it's got a cabin below.” He motioned to the door. “Galley, table that turns into a bed. Even a bathroom. I can hook her up to utilities on the dock. But houseboats don’t normally move that much. I wanted mobility.”

She glanced around, and tried to reassess the fact that she was in Percy’s house.

“You let me into your house.”

“It isn’t that big a deal.” He said, “I mean… I trust you. And the boats for the tour aren’t mine. So, welcome aboard. We’ll be reaching our final destination momentarily.”

He looked uncomfortable, and for the first time, turned his attention to the wheel in front of him. And Annabeth did not know what to say. So she turned away, too, looking out at the view.

It was pretty, she had to admit. The murky water of the Atlantic expanded out before them. She thought she could see some scattered schools of fishes beneath the waves. “No cheating,” she said again. “I want the mortal experience.”

“I cheat with the mortals basically all the time.”

“Bullshit.”

He walked over the edge of the boat, leaned over the side, and grinned. “Hey, they pay for the beautiful ocean life, and I am happy to provide. I’d have taken you on a Poseidon Adventure, if you wanted, but everything I’m doing now is stuff I’ve done in front of a hundred mortal tourists.”

“So, what, the whales just hang around and wait for you to come out?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And the other guy?”

“What the whales do with the other guy is not my business.”

They hid from the other guy, if Annabeth’s experience was anything to go by. “Well, you’re not allowed to–to talk to them or anything. No summoning sea creatures.”

“There’s really not much summoning on my part, anyway,” he said, turning them alongside the wind, taking them further out of the bay. “They sense me coming, and then…”

From behind her came the sound of something breaching the waves. From… close behind her.

He grinned. “They come out to say hi.”

Twisting around in her seat, she nearly shrieked at the sight of an enormous, fifty-foot-long humpback whale, not more than a handful of meters away from the side of the Little Star. Its large, dark eye was fixed on her, peering into her soul, before gently blinking, bobbing its head up and down so its bumpy nose caused little swells to rock the boat.

“That one’s Tiffany,” Percy said. “She’s waiting for you to say hi.”

Annabeth swallowed. “Um… Hi there, Tiffany.”

The whale blinked at her, slowly. Like a cat.

“It's really nice during calving season when all the babies are just born. They come so I can bless them. And people go wild for the babies.”

She almost couldn’t tear her eyes away from the giant frickin’ whale that was close enough she could spit on it, but she managed it, turning back to Percy. “You… bless sea creatures?”

“Of course.” And he sounded almost surprised by her question. Like most people just… blessed baby whales as part of their day job.

“Does it help?”

“I mean, I’m no Poseidon, but yeah, a little bit.” He looked at her for a moment. “Has no little owl chick ever asked for your blessing before?”

She reached out, and kicked him. And though it connected with his calf, he laughed.

Asshole.

He didn’t just show her the sights, he talked her through everything, offering a collection of facts about whales and dolphins, the Atlantic Ocean, and even Maine history. She knew she was getting the tourist spiel, but it was also pretty interesting. For instance, did you know that once lobster was considered food for only the poorest of people, and laws were passed so that even prisoners wouldn’t have to eat it every meal.

“How did that change?” She asked, almost despite herself.

“Businessmen started selling it as a delicacy on railroads.” Percy said, “It was cheap, and not available elsewhere, so they were able to turn a big profit, and position it as exotic.”

He did tell her other things too, mostly, he pointed out different dolphins they ran into by name: Lana and her son Todd. Betsy and Chaz and Anna. A school of fish who he said operated as a collective named David. He gave a little bit of a running commentary on most of them, including explaining how he named little Sally himself, earlier this year, when her mother asked for a blessing.

She tried not to think that it was really, really cute that he named her after his mom.

After last time, she really hadn’t been expecting much, but the day ended up being really fun. And beautiful beyond belief. She was really regretting not bringing her camera, or her sketchbook. She’d used so much of her drawing skills for blueprints and designs, but perhaps she could capture a different kind of beauty.

Maybe he could bring her out here again sometime. Let her take in the shoreline or the horizon.

“So, have you seen enough?”

She blinked, and then looked at him. “What?”

“Have you seen enough to know that I am the person in charge of the best Whale Watching tour on the Atlantic? Are you dazzled and amazed by my charms and natural beauty?”

“In your dreams,” she snapped. That was dumb. This was dumb. This was about him proving a point to her. And she hated that he was succeeding. She didn’t want to encourage him. Or give him any more credit then she had to. She wasn’t going to come out here again.

And she certainly wasn’t going to think about how nice it was to spend some time with him again.

They didn’t talk as he guided the boat back into port. He actually used the steering, this time, hands on the wheel, not looking at her, or really anywhere but the shoreline.

When they got there, she watched the easy way he tied the knots, almost missing it when he offered his hand to help her onto the dock. She just gave it a scathing look.

He laughed a little, and she nearly stomped her foot in indignation.

It was spring, so there was still enough daylight left at 6 PM. Maybe she could sit on her porch and sketch in the natural light. Try to remember what she’d seen today.

“Do you want to get dinner?” She looked up, and he was smiling at her, cocksure grin, hands in his pockets, body totally open to her.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Well, I figured that neither you or your siblings had developed a way to inject sustenance directly into your veins, and therefore still needed to eat. But if you don’t want to eat, no skin off my nose.”

“I think I’ve had enough Seaweed Brain for one day, thanks.”

Something flashed on his face for a second, but it was too quick to know what it was, and then he rolled his eyes. “Well, I hope you’ve become a better cook since high school.” He said. And then turned around and walked away from her.

Which was a pretty profound statement, given that she was standing next to his house.

She let out a breath, anger or annoyance or something else, and then jogged over to her car, in time to see Percy walking down the sidewalk, and turning towards main street. A place he could get dinner, without her.

“Asshole,” she said it out loud this time, if only to herself. And then she drove home.

She had some leftover lobster mac and cheese in her fridge, between the blueberries and the half-empty bottle of maple syrup. The freezer at least had a couple weeks worth of TV dinners. The rest of the fridge was empty. Just like the cupboards.

She ate the mac and cheese cold. It was still pretty good, but she couldn’t help thinking, as she chewed on meat once considered fit for only widows and orphans, that it was pretty fitting.

The loneliness was certainly the same.

Her dad came up the next weekend. School was officially out, his grades had been sent to the registrar's office, and he’d decided to start his summer visiting her. It was nice to see him. And the fact that he brought a box of Mike’s Pastries cannolis and a separate box of lobster tails brought her no end of joy.

He brought her a couple of other things, too. At her request, he’d picked up the order she’d called into her favorite yarn shop in Wartham. It was run by her half-sister, apparently, as Malcolm had told her, an expert weaver who no longer had an eye for quality, because at age eighty-eight, her vision had started to go, but she still knew everything but texture and touch.

He’d also gotten the other things, the painting and sketching supplies she’d battered Alex Fierro with questions on ravens wings about.

She was going to embrace the beauty of this town.

And she needed more to fill her days.

You could only make one hundred pairs of leg warmers before your craft got a little boring. And they had passed sweater season a while back. And she’d redesigned the entryway about seventeen times in three weeks, before her contractor had told her he needed to be elsewhere for a month while she finalized her plans.

Ironically enough, it ended up being Brenda’s idea. Despite having sworn to never return to book club, she found that her Thursday night TV dinners were becoming just too interminable to bear alone. The other women hadn’t commented on her long absence when she showed up at Denise’s house with a blueberry pie that Susan had seen her purchase, only poured her a glass of wine and made room for her on the comfortable couch.

It was nice. It was really nice.

And it was that nice mood that must have made her more agreeable to Brenda’s suggestion.

“Sarah talks about your knitting all the time–she says it’s better than some of the store-bought leggings that the girls like to wear these days.”

“Thanks,” she said, weakly, not wanting to admit that knitting, by itself, wasn’t really that hard… though she did certainly have a significant advantage.

“Have you ever thought about starting a business?”

“I actually have my own business,” she said. Despite being up in the boonies, the fruits of her architecture consultancy was more than enough for her to live on. “I’m really not interested in another one.” What would her lawyer say, if she asked Connor to incorporate her legwarmer business? There wouldn’t be enough celestial bronze in the world. She had been thinking about getting rid of some of her excess leg and arm warmer supplies, but it was so easy to make them, actually making a profit would seem underhanded.

She said as much.

But then, Brenda lit up. “Oh! What about the Flea Market in Norfolk?”

Which was how Annabeth ended up with a corner stall in the Norfolk Outdoor Flea Market, the shadow of a great oak tree protecting her delicate skin from the first truly hot day of summer.

Interest hadn’t been as high as she’d hoped, less because she wanted to make money, and more because she wanted to reduce the pile of knitting that was sitting on the chair in the living room.

But she’d probably sold about twenty pairs, and only managed to knit two more in the time, so she would call it a win.

The market had started at 11, and the crowds had thinned out after 4. She’d gotten lunch at a cart down the little line of tents from her, some of the best falafel she had ever eaten in her life, and that was saying something, since Magnus knew all the best spots in Boston. All the ladies from the book club had stopped by, cooing over her socks and scarves and leg warmers, and even seemed enthusiastic about buying a thing or two. Now, though, it was getting late, and looking over her leftover stock, she frowned at the idea of having to pack it up and take it home.

She had hoped to empty her tub. Maybe she’d price it lower, next time.

“Annabeth Chase and knitting.” She paused, closing her eyes, and resisted the urge to groan. She’d know Percy Jackson’s voice anywhere. “Who’d have thought it?”

She looked over at him. He was in a green and blue color blocked shirt and acid wash jeans. His green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun, his black hair looking like he just stepped off his boat.

He probably had.

“That fact that you don’t know anything about my mother shouldn’t surprise me, Seaweed Brain.”

Understanding dawned on his face. “Weaving!” he said. “Right.”

He reached out and picked up one of the few non-fashion items. It was a little fish, of indeterminate species, but rendered in shimmering blue, made, she wouldn’t admit, after their whale tour.

“How much?”

“What?”

“The fish, how much?” He looked at some of the other things, and then grabbed a pair of shocking pink leg warmers. “And these, too.”

She just stared at him, confused. “You need bright pink leg warmers?”

“They’re for my sister.” He said, running the knit between his thumb and forefinger. “These feel nicer than anything I could buy at the mall.”

“Oh.” She said. And was caught out. Not least because she wasn’t sure if she knew he had a sister. It couldn’t have been a sister on the Poseidon side, otherwise Annabeth would have heard about it.

“How much?” he asked again.

“Um…” What had she been charging again? “Three dollars.”

“For which one?”

“For both.”

It was Percy’s turn to say “Oh.” He pulled out an old leather wallet and handed her the money. He gathered his things, but didn’t wander away. She looked at her watch, and looked at the booths around her. And with a sigh, she started to pack up.

“Do you want help?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to fuck off, but then, the pile was large, and the box was going to be heavy, and she could see the muscles in his arms pushing against his shirt. “Yes please, I’m just throwing everything in it.” She demonstrated her haphazard practice. “It’s yarn, it will be fine.”

“How long have you been making these?” Percy asked. Distracted by a green scarf that would match his eyes.

“Since I moved here,” she said. “I mean, I’ve always knitted and stuff, but I’m basically retired now, and I have a lot of time on my hands and…” She shrugged.

“That’s a lot of work in just a few months.”

“I’ve had a lot of time,” she said. “Hopefully it will sell better in the winter.”

“Do you make a good return?”

“I don’t care about the money, but I know I’m not going to stop, so I’d love to get rid of some of it so it doesn’t migrate from the chair to the coffee table or something.” After she said it, she looked up at him, fearing for a moment that he was going to make a joke about how she never had visitors, so never had to clean up her knitting projects. It would have… hit its target.

“Fair enough.” He let her put the lid back on the box, and then he lifted it up, just like she knew he would. She grabbed her bag, and led the way out to her car.

“What are you doing out in Norfolk?” She asked. She didn’t even know if Percy owned a car. For a New Yorker who lived his life on boats, it seemed strange.

“Cindy likes to come up to get for the preserves, and she invited me along.”

Annabeth had no idea who Cindy was, but she found she did not like her. Not one bit. “Oh, where is she?”

He shrugged. “One of the guys selling wood sculptures was her old high school boyfriend, and I’m pretty sure the reason I was invited along. I was dismissed about two hours ago.”

Oh. “Sorry,” she offered, chagrinned. “You’ve been having bad luck on dates, I guess.”

He laughed, and it was such a nice sound, different from his derisive snort. “Cindy driving me here wasn’t a date,” he said. “Though, I guess you’re right. The last actual date I went on did almost end with a daughter of Athena gutting me.”

“That was an actual date?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “most eventful blind date ever. Normally it's all ‘Oh, where are you from?’,’What’s your favorite color?’, ‘What do you do?’”

“New York City, blue, blesser of whales,” she said, automatically.

“See, we skipped the boring stuff and went straight for the throat,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes. “I see, now. It’s because no one else ever believes you.”

He said nothing, only shutting her trunk with a broad grin.

“Do you need a ride back?” The offer was out of her mouth before she could really think about it. But when she paused, she decided it wasn’t a mistake. It was about a twenty minute drive. And she suddenly realized that she wouldn’t hate spending it with him.

He looked at her for a moment. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to put you out.”

“You wouldn’t be. And this way Cindy doesn’t need to be interrupted in her pursuits.”

“Thanks,” he said as he crawled into the passenger’s seat.

Annabeth closed her eyes, breathing through her nose, then swallowed.

Into the fire.

“Thor, really?” Percy said, about ten minutes later.

They had actually been having quite a nice talk so far, comparing pantheons. Last time Percy was in New York, he had ended up tangling with some kind of Egyptian alligator monster, and Annabeth had plenty to share about the vikings. “It was weird.”

“And how do the Norse gods compare?”

She shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess. No ban on alcohol, so things are considerably less…” She paused, casting about for the right word. “...Contained, I guess, when you get a bunch of them in one place.”

Their own god of wine and madness had been banished to an arcade in New Jersey some time ago, cursed by his heavenly father to a century of sobriety for some infraction or other. The few times Annabeth had run into him, though, he still managed to make her life more interesting than she cared for.

Even without their god of revelry, the few times during the war that the Greek demigod army had gotten together, they’d managed to pull enough of their tattered and tired spirits together to have something resembling a shindig. Maybe throwing a party in the woods of Long Island the night before laying siege to the Empire State building wasn’t the best idea, but after Beckendorf’s death, they needed to let off a little steam. Especially Percy.

Especially Annabeth.

Percy may have been the one on the Princess Andromeda with Beck, but it had been her plan that had gotten him killed.

Pollux and Travis provided the drink. Katie, a daughter of Demeter who Annabeth hadn’t gotten a chance to get to know very well, provided the weed. Austin, Will’s brother, brought the music on his boombox, something hard and loud and thumping.

And Percy and Annabeth, they had spent most of the night together.

Not… not the night, but…

She glanced over at him. His eyes were on her, unfathomable as ever. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing: kissing the taste of wine out of her mouth the night before they thought the world was going to end.

“Sounds like a party,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice hoarse. “It was.”

It had been different, exploring the nine worlds with Magnus. Likely because she was only a lost legacy. People, in general, hadn’t wanted too much from her. But it had been pretty funny the few times she had to introduce herself. The Norse were matrilineal.

“Now I want to change my name to Percy Sallyson,” he said after she told him about it.

“You already have her last name,” Annabeth pointed out.

“Sure,” he agreed, “But I could make it better.”

They were almost back to town, almost back to the marina. But she didn’t want their conversation to end. “Do you want to get dinner?” she blurted.

He’d asked her, last time, after they’d gone whale watching. She’d been mean in her reply.

“That sounds great,” he said, without skipping a beat. “Where do you want to go?”

The answer ended up being the Italian place, which Percy promised was delicious, though, “Nico swears it's not authentic and is therefore an affront to Italy. I told him that was only because Helena didn’t have a mob scene worth its salt.”

It was good, but after childhoods in both Boston and New York, she got what Nico probably meant about the lack of authenticity. She’d also never been to this particular place before, it was a little off Main Street, and the few times she’d seen it, it had seemed too fancy for her. There was another, cheaper, greasier pizza joint she defaulted to when she was in the mood.

“So, things are better with your dad?” Percy was asking as he tore the last breadstick in half, handing one of the halves to her.

She couldn’t even believe he remembered that. “Yeah, much better. Charlotte’s still weird about the divorce, but Dad is much happier. And he’s glad to be back on the east coast, too.”

“I saw one of his books on cassette at the library,” he said, “I was thinking of grabbing it and listening to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see if I could spot the hidden demigods in World War II.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it is,” she said, twirling the breadstick around her fingers.

Percy started. “You don’t read your dad’s books?”

“Not anymore.” She paused, then sighed. “When I was really little, he used to read me drafts. But he got busy, and married, and had more kids, and… It never felt right, I guess, to read them myself. I’m not a big reader, anyway. You know that.” Demigods always struggled with reading anyway. If it wasn’t in Greek, it wasn’t even worth it.

“My mom used to do the same when I was a kid,” said Percy, his voice wistful.

“That’s right–she’s a writer, isn’t she?”

“She is. She actually just had her fourth book come out a couple of years ago. I’ve got them all on tape.”

She felt her lips quirk up. How could someone so infuriating be so adorable?

“You know…” She could hear Percy tapping his foot under the table. Their plates were bouncing a little. “If you wanted, I could–I could give you one.”

“A tape?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, dragging his breadstick through the remnants of their communal olive oil. “If you wanted. I think you’d really like her latest book.”

He wanted to give her one of his mom’s books. That meant he’d have to come by and drop it off. And then come by to pick it up. Or she would have to go to him.

She… did not hate the idea. “Sure. What’s it called?”

“Snow on the Beach.”

Annabeth started. And then laughed.

Harder than she meant to.

“What?” Percy was defensive, his arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, nothing,” Annabeth chuckled, coming down from her momentary insanity. “I just–I already read it. In Brenda’s book club.”

“Oh.” He sounded unsure. “I um… hope you liked it.”

“I loved it,” she said, without hesitation. It had taken a few false starts, but the story of Joanna and Mr. Taylor had been so compelling, she had powered through dyslexia by sheer force of will just to be able to see how they slowly fell in love, despite the regency class pressures that surrounded them.” She felt a slight flush cross her cheeks and she didn’t know why. “Um, please tell her I really enjoyed it.”

But he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll definitely let her know.”

She kept expecting them to run out of things to talk about, or to be forced to revert to the war, to the demigod expectations that always hung over them a little.

But they never did. They made it through breadsticks and pasta bowls with anecdotes about mortal families and movies they’d liked and a little cafe up in Cabot Cove she just had to go to.

They fought over the check, and he won. But they walked out together.

“You were right,” she said as they stepped into the evening. It had been a long dinner, but summer was barreling towards them, so it was still mostly light out.

He blinked, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Me? Right?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

But he was still smirking. “What was I right about?”

“Dinner with you was lovely.”

His smirk dropped, and she could see his blush in the not quiet setting sun. “Oh.” He coughed. “Um, yeah, it was really really great to properly catch up. We should do it again sometime.”

“How about Tuesday?” She said impulsively, before really thinking about it.

But the cat was out of the bag now.

“Um…” The hesitation was not what she wanted.

“We don’t have to,” she added, quickly. “If you’re busy, or if you have other plans–”

“Would it be weird if I asked to have dinner at your place?”

“My place? You mean my house?”

“Yeah.”

That gave her pause. No one had ever been to her place before. Ever. Not even Malcolm. And there were boxes she still hadn’t unpacked, painter’s tape she had left on the wall, kitchen cabinets empty of pots and pans… “I mean, we could, but we’d probably have to order a pizza.”

“No, I…” He paused, “I’d cook for you, if you’d let me.”

“You’d… cook in my kitchen?”

He nodded. “My boat has a galley,” he said, “but it can get a little cramped in there. I haven’t had the opportunity yet to make my mom’s famous blue chocolate chip cookies.”

She frowned. “Blue?”

Percy grinned, sly and easy. “Yep.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“They taste better when they’re blue,” he said. “Trust me.”

Trust me. He’d said that to her once before, the first time they’d met when they crashed into each other during a quest to the sea of monsters. She’d been looking for the Golden Fleece to save Thalia’s tree, and her spirit, from dying. He’d been doing it to keep Kronos from getting it. They’d ended up on a boat together, but despite his skill at sailing, she hadn’t wanted to trust him. She hadn’t trusted him. She had wanted to go to the beautiful world then sirens had offered her. But she’d done it, some little spark of her soul had wanted to trust him. He’d saved her from drowning.

And then she’d said those same words to him two years later, when she’d been on Olympus with him and had a knife in one hand, and Luke at his feet.

And he had.

“Alright,” she said. “My kitchen, Tuesday.”

She then spent the next three days summarily freaking out.

She had one, pathetically small sheet pan. Her oven wasn’t clean. Her sink was somehow overflowing, despite the fact that she had less than ten dishes overall. Her remaining bell peppers had begun to grow a brand new colony of mold. The fridge was full of leftovers she never remembered to throw out and the freezer-frozen dinners. And those were just the kitchen problems.

Her knitting had taken over the loveseat and was migrating to one of the end tables. She’d managed to put the leftover items from the flea market right into the spare bedroom she was using for a storage room while she continued to work on the house, but too many boxes had migrated out of it when she’d needed something, and never managed migrate into the recycling or back into the room.

And three days was not really enough ramp time to psych herself up for a major cleaning. And unlike Boston, Helena didn’t have a maid service she could call last minute.

But, she was honestly proud of herself for managing to throw out everything that had obvious mold or smelled really bad in the fridge, get all the dishes in the dishwasher and turn it on, though not unload it, and crochet a new afgan for the couch that matched the picture she’d painted of the ocean, inspired by the tour, that hung in the living room.

The last one probably wasn’t strictly necessary, but it had certainly seemed like it come Tuesday morning.

Annabeth had only just barely finished putting her mop away when there was a knock at her door. “Just a minute!” she called. In quick succession, she straightened the afghan on the couch, pushed in the wooden chair at her kitchen table, and checked her reflection in the mirror, moving a stray curl behind her ear. After some consideration, she had decided on the light blue dress from the back of her closet, pairing it with an old set of owl earrings that her father had gotten her for her birthday when she was young.

There was no hiding the big grin on her face as she opened the door.

“Hey!” Percy was smiling back at her, his eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. His arms were laden with plastic grocery bags, and she tried not to notice how tight the sleeves were of his black, Social Distortion t-shirt.

She stepped back, making room for him. “Come on in.”

“Your place is gorgeous,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Thanks,” She said, “I got it because I felt like it was a real diamond in the rough. I’m doing a lot of work on it, off and on.”

“You redesigned something that could please the gods, I think making a perfect house is something you can do in your sleep”

She blushed, and showed him into the kitchen. “I’m… I don’t have the most extensive kitchen set up, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “We can make do.”

And make do they did.

Percy had had the foresight to bring all the necessary ingredients at least, though they did run into a bit of a snag after dinner. (Percy had made her beef stroganoff. It was without a doubt one of the best things she had ever eaten. Not that she would ever tell him that.) “So,” he said, plopping his bag of flour on her counter. “Where’s your stand mixer?”

She blinked. “My… what?”

“Stand mixer. We’re going to need one if we want cookies.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t even sure that she knew what that was. “I… don’t have one.”

“Oh.” Percy blinked, taken aback. “You don’t?”

She shook her head. And made a mental note to get one, as soon as possible. Brenda would be able to help her. Or Susan. Or somebody.

He bit his lip, his eyes darting around. “That’s–that’s okay. We can–we can wash out the marinade bowl,” he picked up the dirty bowl in the sink which had held the raw beef, “use that to cream the butter, and then we can mix it by hand. Do you have a whisk?”

“Uh…”

Percy opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “You know what? That’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He took out the eggs from the fridge. “They made cookies before stand mixers were invented, right? I think we can manage.”

After a brief pause to clean some of the dishes, they were off to the races. Percy had unearthed a wooden spoon from the back of one of her cabinets, and was mashing the butter with the eggs and sugar while Annabeth sifted the dry ingredients together with a fork. She was perfectly aware that Percy had given her the easier task, but from her vantage point at her little kitchen table, she was perfectly content to sit and observe as Percy leaned against her counter, one arm cradling the bowl to his chest while he mashed with the other.

He was a lot taller than she remembered him being. During the war, she was only an inch or so shorter than him; now she wouldn’t be surprised if he had nearly half a foot on her. And he had filled out, too–broad shoulders and big hands and sturdy thighs. He had just the barest hint of stubble on his sharp jaw, and strong brows… one of which was raised as he looked at her, his lips quirked in a smile. “Hm?”

“I said, can you pass me the vanilla and the food coloring?”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, setting the bowl down so hard that the flour mixture jumped a little. “Yeah, sorry.”

He just chuckled to himself.

“So, what’s the deal with the blue food coloring again?” she asked as she passed the little bottles to him. Their hands touched and she tried not to think about it.

His face dropped, just a touch. “How much did I tell you about my mom?”

She frowned, taking her seat. “Not much, I don’t think. She’s a writer, and…” Screwing up her eyes, she racked her memory for something, anything, any small inconsequential detail he might have shared with her when they were younger. Back then, though, there really had been no reason to talk about their pasts. They didn’t spend that much time together. Not a lot of time for sharing in the middle of a war. “Was she married?”

He nodded. “Twice. Her first husband, he was a real piece of shit.” A scowl overtaking his face, he measured out the vanilla, but dumped nearly the entire bottle of blue into the flour. “I didn’t know at the time, but when I was really little, he would beat on her.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Percy, I’m so sorry.”

Percy shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Almost… wow.” He paused. “Almost twenty years.” Shaking his head, he stuck his hand in, mixing the cookie dough. Slowly, inexorably, the color changed: from tan, to periwinkle, to cerulean. “They had this dumb fight–I don’t even remember what. But somehow, the topic of blue food came up. He swore up and down that there was no such thing. But my mom insisted. And ever since then, she would have blue food all the time. Blue tortilla chips, blue candy, blue gatorade–and eventually, she started adding blue food coloring, too. He hated it.” Percy grinned, reaching for a spatula. “Blue food was her way of fighting back. Her one act of rebellion. Eventually, it just became our thing.”

She could picture it, a young Percy looking up at his mother with those big green eyes as she whipped up a batch of blue cookies. “How is she now?”

His face didn’t change much, but it was almost like there was a glow about him, a warm little fire lighting him up from within. “She’s good. She’s working on a new book, and she remarried almost ten years ago.”

Oh, that was right–he had a sister! “You have a sister, yeah? What’s her name?”

“Estelle.”

She inhaled, something clicking. “The Little Star?”

The smile spread across his face, lighting up the whole room with his love. “Yeah. She’s pretty great.”

Together, they spooned out the cookies, fitting as many of them onto her sheet pan as they possibly could, and she settled back into her seat as Percy slid the tray into the oven.

“So,” she said, about six minutes into cooking. “Whatever happened to her first husband?”

Percy crouched, peeking into the oven. “Remember that time we ran into Medusa in Jersey?”

“Don’t remind me,” she said, shuddering.

“Well, I gave her head to my mom.”

“How did you even get–”

Annabeth stopped. She blinked.

“Wait. You gave… she…”

He smirked.

Dang. “Are you sure she’s not a secret viking?”

“She’d never wielded an ax, as far as I know,” Percy said, “but she’s a dangerous one.”

She did have a spatula, which she mainly used to get frozen pizzas off the baking sheet, though the cookies had to wait on a plate, because she didn’t have a cooling rack.

“Oh gods,” Annabeth said, ten minutes later when she bit into a still warm cookie. “Oh my gods. This is the best damn cookie I’ve ever had in my life.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the blue,” Percy said, having already swallowed his cookie whole. “There’s just something missing without it.”

“You might be right,” she said. “Might be.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But he was smiling, “I’ll just have to keep proving it, blue food. It's the best.”

“What else can you make blue?”

“Lots of things: cakes, bread, pasta, mashed potatoes,” he shrugged. “I like trying new things. And my mom has been teaching me some of our family recipes.”

“Do you take requests?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Somehow, despite being taller, he managed to look at her from under his eyelashes. Expectant. Hopeful.

And really, what did Annabeth have to lose out on? Another fantastic meal? “Are you free on Friday?”

He was.

Friday rolled around, and Percy arrived, once again loaded down with groceries. Only this time, he stepped into a full kitchen. “Whoa,” he said, quietly stunned as he opened a cabinet. And then another. And another.

Annabeth felt her cheeks heat up.

“Where did you get all this?” he asked.

“Oh, here and there,” she said.

Maybe one day she’d tell him about driving to Boston on Thursday and practically buying out the Sears kitchen department. But not today. Not tonight.

That night, they made pastichio, and split a bottle of wine Annabeth had picked up from the grocery store.

The next week, it was Swedish meatballs. Then, the following Monday, Percy stopped by unannounced, bringing with him an extra container of vodka sauce for pasta, because he had just made too much and wouldn’t be able to eat it before it went bad. Eventually, he started showing up to drop off a cassette. Then to watch the game. Then just to say hi.

And he always stayed for dinner.

By the end of June, he was over every night, making great use of Annabeth’s kitchen. The fridge was still full of leftovers, but it was leftover soup or pasta or vegetables or to die for chicken. And she wasn’t worried about the onions in the crisper going bad. She even learned what the crisper was for, and what it was called.

She didn’t think she’d ever eaten so well in her life.

“Are you doing anything for the holiday?” he asked, after he had finished the dishes.

Annabeth shook her head, sipping her wine. “Dad’s in Europe, and Malcolm and his mom are visiting family in Virginia. You?”

“Paul’s family is taking a vacation in Chicago.”

“You weren’t invited?”

“I was, but I don’t think the risk of inciting dear old uncle,” he flicked his eyes upwards, “is worth flying out for it.” he shrugged, “and I might be joining my mom the day after, so I’d have to come straight back anyway.”

“Shame,” she said. “But I hear that Fourth of July here isn’t so bad. Apparently the local scout troop puts on a pretty great fireworks show on the beach.” According to Denise, it was quite the romantic evening. Asking a girl to the fireworks show was a very common step in the romantic playbook around these parts.

“So I heard! Polly says that the beach is always packed full of people, so I’m going to take my boat out a little ways away and watch there.”

“That sounds really nice.” She said, before chomping on a bite of the blueberry coffee cake he’d made them for dessert.

When she looked back up, he found him looking at her, half trepidation, half excitement in his face.

Percy took in a breath, and licked his lips. “Would you want to… come with me?”

His eyes reflected the color of the water outside her home, the sea where he lived, this town where they had come together by some twist of fate.

And she nodded.

They were both grinning as she showed him out that night, a sort of youthful giddiness bubbling up inside her when she looked at him.

She shut the door behind him, and as soon as he was out of sight, she felt the bubble pop.

The enormity of what had happened sinking in.

And the absolute imperative she not fuck it up.

She didn’t just go dress shopping, she went to Boston, and spoke to a magical tailor and Blizten had to talk her down four times while he fitted her for a dress for her… date… with Percy Jackson.

Because Percy Jackson had asked her out.

On a date. On his boat. To see the fireworks.

Even thinking about it like that sent a weird shock through her. It made her feel like she was sixteen, instead of pushing thirty. What kind of woman, on the eve of her twenty-eighth birthday, would feel butterflies in her stomach as she thought about going to see some fireworks?

Well, sure, when she’d been sixteen, she hadn’t even thought she’d make it to twenty-eight. But still.

And with Percy Jackson of all people.

Yeah, they’d kissed the night before the battle of Manhattan, and yeah they’d been on Olympus together and saved each other’s lives, and yeah Percy had turned down immortality for… for his mom.

But then he’d walked away. From all of it. From her.

Did he regret it?

Her dress ended up being a light blue with white pinstripes, with a wide collar and a cinched, belted waist, coming down right to the tops of her knees.

She stood in Blitzen’s shop, in front of the three way mirror, while he worked on accessorizing it on July third, and wondered how she was supposed to make it until tomorrow without throwing up from nerves.

But make it she did, and at 8:30 in the evening, she met Percy at the east dockyard, in her blue dress and brown sandals. She had spent upwards of three hours on her hair, teasing and curling and spraying until her hair was as poofy as it could possibly be. The humid ocean air still managed to penetrate the layer of hairspray, however, stray curls escaping at her temples.

“Annabeth, hey!” Percy waved at her from the deck of the Little Star. In the evening light, she could see that he had dressed up for the occasion too, trading in his t-shirt for a white button down and a pair of dark jeans. “Did you get some wine?”

She held it aloft. “Last bottle they had!” The grocery store wine selection had been nearly cleared out by the time she got there, but luckily she had managed to snag the last good red left. It was odd, though–she could have sworn she had walked past that shelf about four times before spotting the bottle. Maybe she had just missed it.

“Great,” he grinned. “Come aboard!”

In short order, she had boarded the Star, Percy had set off from the docks, and they were anchored a little ways away from shore, sharing the bottle of wine over a Greek pasta salad. They were sitting together on a bench at the stern, a blanket thrown over their legs. “This might be the best feta I have ever had,” she said. “Where the hell did you get this? Did you fly it over from the motherland?”

Percy laughed. “No, my mom brought it up from New York last time I saw her. There’s this little grocery in Astoria run by this old yiayia, Sophia, she’s got all the best stuff.”

“And the olives?”

“Same place.”

“Damn.” She picked off another olive, popping it in her mouth, savoring the deep, salty flavor. “If we ever go back to New York, you’ll have to take me there.”

A strange silence fell between them after that.

“Would you… ever go back?” he asked her, quietly.

“To New York?”

He nodded.

Annabeth rolled another olive between her fingers, frowning. “I… I don’t know.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. It wasn’t like she’d been thinking about going back–not permanently anyway. She liked Helena. She liked Brenda, and the little restaurants, and the pattern of people who waved to her during her morning walks on the beach. She liked the quiet, the peace, the space she had to relax and breathe and be, without the threat of monsters or gods. She liked not having to look up at the Empire State Building and be reminded of all her failures.

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, my whole family is there, you know? My mom comes up every so often but…” He sighed. “It’s hard, being so far away from them.”

Her heart panged.

She liked having him here. She didn’t want him to go.

His eyes flicked up to hers, softening as soon as they met. “But it’s been easier, recently.”

“Yeah?” she breathed.

“Yeah.” He smiled back at her, gentle as a sea breeze. “It’s… I’m really glad I ran into you.”

“Even though I pulled my knife on you.”

“Especially because you pulled your knife on me.”

In the back of her mind, she wondered if her mother would be mad at her. And then she remembered that she didn’t care anymore. “Me, too.”

They sat in companionable silence, drinking wine, watching as the stars came out over the water. Eventually Annabeth dropped her head on his shoulder, scooching closer.

“Are you cold?” he chuckled.

“A little,” she lied.

A pause, and then she felt him rest his head on hers.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

She felt the muscles of his chest shift as he checked his watch. “Almost ten.”

Then, a clap of thunder. Beneath her, Percy jolted. She sat up. “Percy? What is it–”

But out of the corner of her eye, there was a brilliant flash of light, a little yellow star exploding into showers of red and green and blue.

Percy relaxed. “Oh thank the gods,” he sighed, sagging back against the boat. “I thought Zeus was coming to kill me.”

It wasn’t funny, but she started giggling. “For what?”

“Does he need a reason?”

“I’m sure you’ve given him plenty.”

“Hey!” he pouted. “It’s not like you haven’t done plenty to piss off the gods, too.”

“Oh yeah? Who mailed Medusa’s head to Olympus?”

“And who turned her back on Hera?”

“Well, who turned down Zeus’ gift?” she shot back, kicking his shin.

He stilled, shifting closer to her. And he didn’t reply.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, turning from the fireworks to face him.

“Hm?”

“Turning him down.” In all of mythology, there was no greater boon from the gods than immortality. It was the ultimate reward for any demigod. After all that Percy had done–defeating Kronos, saving Olympus–she had been sure he would have taken it. And why shouldn’t he have? Demigods were scattered across the United States. Most of them never even knew that they were special, and how. She could count the number of times she had met her own mother on one hand. Percy had had the chance to live among the gods, with his immortal family, for eternity.

And he had turned it down.

He bit his lip. “Not really.” He looked off, not towards the shore and the fireworks, but out over the ocean, “I remember being just sixteen, and thinking when he made the offer, that I could stay in my prime.” he shook his head, “I don’t know what my prime is, or was, or might be. But I am so sure it wasn’t being sixteen. I… there might be a time I want forever, sometimes having that kind of power… it does have its appeal. But I realized that I didn’t want that.” Then he looked at her. “What about you?”

She almost laughed, “It didn’t occur to me that it would be on the table until they offered it to you.” She shook her head. “I’d have taken it if they’d offered it to me first. I know that. I’m certain of it.” She smiled. “But I am so, so glad they didn’t. You’re right. Sixteen forever isn’t what I should have wanted.”

She saw him open his mouth, and then snap it shut.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly, with too much force.

“No, really, Seaweed Brain, what?” Between the boom of fireworks, all she could hear was her own heartbeat. They were already so close, but she leaned closer, like they were going to share a confession around a fire while they were camping out during the war. She wished she could roast a marshmallow. “You can tell me.”

“If they’d offered it to you first, and you’d taken it, I wouldn’t have…” She could feel his breath on her face. “I would have…”

Well, fuck. What else was she supposed to do, but close that centimeter gap and kiss him?

The fireworks exploded behind her closed eyelids, but that didn’t matter.

She could feel the sparks on her lips, and smell the sea air all around her.

She kissed Percy Jackson, and it was everything.

#my fic #darkmagyk #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #pjo hoo bigbang #au #the rivalry ends here #new au woo!!!

291 notes · View notes

solardrake · 5 months

Text

a few nights ago i went to have drinks with an acquaintance and we went to this really loud bar. My bf went to go scout out the bathrooms and while we talked a bit on the drive over this was my first time meeting her and i'm a shy little freak

She had pinned me as a gamer (ouch) and asks me what games i've been playing recently. I say baldurs gate which is a very normal and well-adjusted answer. She nods in agreement and responds thats she's been playing some fighting game, and that I should try it because, and i am slightly paraphrasing here, "there's girls in it".

This reasoning shocked me. Even IF i heard the name of the game over the bar music it wouldn't have mattered because all of my neural processes were fixed on this completely left field reasoning and trying to understand what she meant by that???

But she (and HER boyfriend who is also here) is now looking at me, expecting a response. Buckling under social pressure I blurt out

"Sorry, I'm not into women"

See, what I MEANT TO SAY was "Oh sorry, Im not really a fan of anime girls or fighting games" (because I assumed it was like skullgirls or something) but in the stress of the moment my brain boiled down all of the nuance of my reply into something so damning that i could feel the flames of hell start to lick at my ankles.

"How can you NOT be into women?!" they cry out in unison. panicked, I backtrack: "I-I mean I DO like women but it's not like that.. I RESPECT women!" I have not even clarified that i'm talking about ANIME women, and that i really feel no which way about them. but at this point i've fallen into a social chasm so deep that my reasoning does little to cushion my night's descent into complete catastrophe. "I would let a woman hit me with her car"

Then, newly found acquaintance puts the final nail in my coffin with a final, interrogative fall of the conversational hammer: "Are you a SIMP?"

I felt like my life was ending. The blaring saxophone playing over the bar speakers faded into high-pitched ringing. I could feel my soul being tugged into oblivion as my name gets scrawled on an ill-fated list in the black book of Alleged Simps, a public record psionically beamed into every queer person in the tri-state area so that they may forever know of my shame

It was all good btw. I was invited to her house and was delighted to know that her bedroom was painted to look like an inside of a mouth, she had a lamp you can jack off to turn on, and that her ceilings were adorned with a modest 4 ornate boob lights (which does not beat the record of most boob lights in a house i've seen, being my own with a triumphant 13)

#i will delete this if it gets too spicy but i just felt the need to publically document this insane interaction i had #also why do bars think that the best volume to play their music at is all of it #mutuals i wanna hear your thoughts: am i now branded as a simp forever? is there an appeal process #terminal talks

33 notes · View notes

seeingteacupsindragons · 5 months

Text

New Chapter Time! Mari Go Away!

Have I mentioned recently that I adore Herder? I adore Herder.

Herder has a thing here that makes me think of translation because what he says is like, "Ethic-less" but I think it would translate better as "anything goes"

WHY ARE THERE NORMIES HERE

Is that supposed to be Moran next to Jack? Dude your hair--But this is a nice shot of all their heights.

Herder's discussion of the weather is probably the most practical Japanese I have gathered from this series, but I'm probably going to forget this vocabulary shortly

Also Herder talking about the weather in terms of shooting people is just very. Him.

It is indeed Moran

None of the normies want to play this game. Shocking. Shocking.

Albert: I'm very sorry, Normies, for letting Herder explain this, because. Um.

Interlude: I thought this would be easier to do on two screens, but my zoom and orientation on the magazine keeps changing when I do anything on the other screen, so it is Not.

Bond is not Having it, and tbh, I'm not sure why, except that Albert just lied out his ass, I think.

Do senseis know that "Lord Kruger" being an English anything sounds absurd.

Albert: I am totally hijacking this hunting trip I was invited to for my own purposes so my "servants" could play. This is fine and normal.

!!! Is Liam finally going to shoot a damn gun?

Albert: Also this was my little brother's idea so think twice before insulting it. Thanks.

They're all now on board because William smiled at them. The bastard.

Liam's doing the hand thing again I called out last night. Although he's being kind of duplicitous right now but not straight up lying. He's in peak keigo form today.

Herder: You can have a pistol or a sniper

Moran, probably: THANK you, God.

Herder: Also I have rubber knives

Well there goes Liam shooting anything.

Louis, probably: Can I have a real knife

Herder: The paint looks like clotted blood

Me: Did...Did William ask you do that? How do you even know. You're blind. Who tested this.

Herder: And don't worry, the paint bullets are biodegradable because Fred complained about having to pick up Moran's bullets that one time so I avoided that necessity.

Are they just gonna knock out all the normies b/c tbh this would be more fun with just our murder fam.

Herder: I tagged all the guns MORAN so don't BREAK THE DAMN THING THIS TIME

I'm sorry it's really funny to image all the sniping and personal bickering that would be happening if they weren't being all keigo in front of the guests

I appreciate at least the visual cues that imply the bickering

Herder: For various reasons, I'll be the ref

The normies: Oh, it's because he's blind, poor thing, the Moriartys are so charitable

Louis and Bond: HE JUST WANTS TO WATCH THE GUNS

Normie kids are playing???

HELENA???

WAS THIS A THING IN THE LIGHT NOVELS

I feel like Patterson can't come to this event because it's public and he's a public figure and that would be Weird, but I wonder if this was like "Okay, everyone gets to play a game," because Patterson wanted a vacation.

Helena talking about her extremely sedentary little brother reminds me of Liam and sickly Louis okay

Finally some proper bickering now that teams are selected.

They got split into red and blue. Because.

Liam, however, got blue for once in his life

They have to tell us, because it's black and white. But they are shaded differently.

Moriarty brothers: What if we're all on the SAME TEAM?

Moran: HEY I'M ON THE OTHER TEAM YOU JERKS. THAT IS ABSOLUTELY NOT FAIR.

Bond sounds like city streetlights. That's super cool, actually.

Louis is all "my brothers and I are three hearts beating as one and together in flesh and spirit" and Louis you need to like, tone it down just a lil

Louis: OUR BOND IS SO STRONG NOT EVEN GOD CAN TEAR IT APART

Louis: ...but I'm not on their team in paintball.

Herder: If you lose, you have to go feed pheasants as a punishment

Herder: BUT IF YOU BREAK YOUR GUN, THEN--

This was long, but I just love Mori fam, okay?

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot #YuuMoriLT #YuuMori Spoilers #Heavy YuuMori Spoiilers #live blogging #Moriarty the Patriot spoilers #spoilers

44 notes · View notes

cybrsan · 11 months

Note

Hey cutieeee congrats on ur 100! I hope we can become moots!!

I was wondering if you can do a yunho request :33333

I was thinking of request 125 & 148 fluff

There’s lowkey so many from ur prop I wanna request for but I don’t wanna overwhelm you so I will wait ><

Aw, thank you so much, you're so sweet <3 I am more than happy to write something for Yunho! I've been meaning to for a while, I have been so in his lane recently, omg.

Prompts: 125. “Here, let me help you.” + 148. “I really want to kiss you right now.” “Then do it.” Pairing: Best Friend!Yunho x F!Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: <1k Tags/warnings: Friends to lovers, mutual pining

Requests are currently closed, but my masterlist can be found here.

“Yunho, I don’t know why you are insisting that we do this. You know I’m awful at games.”

Yunho doesn’t take no for an answer and practically forces the VR headset into your hands. You’re surprised by the weight of it; it’s much lighter than you expected. Somewhat intrigued, your fingers trace the smooth edges, following the curves of the device.

“See, isn’t it cool? It’ll be fun,” he promises, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. “Plus, this is different from a normal video game so maybe you’ll be better at it.” When you make no move to put it on, he adds a sickeningly sweet “Please?” with puppy eyes that make it impossible to resist.

“Alright, fine. You’re lucky I like you.”

He beams at you, and you practically melt into a puddle. It’s so hard being friends with someone you can never say no to. How are you supposed to when he looks that happy when you agree? He could outshine the sun with the brightness of his smile. You put the headset on; it’s a bit too loose, and you struggle with the straps as you try to adjust it. Yunho chuckles, watching you endearingly for a moment before moving towards you.

“Here, let me help you,” he says, his slender fingers making quick work of the straps. Once he tightens them, he gently shakes the headset to make sure it stays put. “Feel okay?”

You nod, and after a few bouts of dizziness later, you have managed to adjust to the virtual world and are doing a pretty good job of killing zombies and watching Yunho’s back. You’re in the middle of a particularly chaotic fight, with enemies coming at you from all sides, when you feel a very real pain on the back of your head. You yelp, stumbling over your feet and falling to the ground.

Yunho immediately pauses the game and comes to your aid, kneeling beside you and helping you get your headset off. He inspects the back of your head for any noticeable wound, apologizing non-stop all the while.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing, I didn’t mean—”

You cut him off with a laugh. “Yunho, I’m fine. It hurts a little, but it’s nothing major.”

He looks at you, a twinkle of embarrassment in his eyes. “I promise I’ll stop forcing you to play games with me now.”

“You don’t force me to do anything—I may pretend I don’t want to, but I always will because it’s something you enjoy, and you mean a lot to me.” He seems to blink away tears at your words, and you gape at him. “Jeong Yunho! Tell me you’re not about to cry right now.”

“No, no, I’m not,” he insists, laughing. A beat passes, something changing in the air between you, and you suddenly feel a lot more conscious of his touch. His hands are still lingering, one mindlessly playing with your hair while the other holds one of your own, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of your knuckles.

You look at him, really look at him, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to take in his every detail. While he has always been attractive, it is in these past few years that he has truly flourished. He has managed to find his confidence and now carries himself in such a way that demands the attention of those around him.

His soft, chestnut-brown hair has gotten long, a few loose strands falling across his forehead. His eyes are warm and inviting, and he always looks at you as if he hangs on every word that you say. His lips… as much as you try to avert your gaze, not wanting to give into the thought of what they might feel like on yours out of fear of what that might do to your friendship, you find yourself unable.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can give them a second thought. Yunho’s eyes widen, and he freezes, obviously not having expected things to take this turn. You go to backtrack, to pretend like it was just a joke, when suddenly he’s intertwining his fingers with your own and pulling you closer.

“Then do it,” he murmurs.

And so you do. The second your lips touch, it’s like something within you sparks to life, igniting a fire that has long been smoldering beneath the surface. Time seems to stand still as the world around you fades into oblivion, and all you can focus on is him. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer as if now that he has you, he never plans on letting go. It’s obvious now that this is both something you have been yearning for, something that you have been holding back from. Together, you tumble over the point of no return, willing to deal with whatever the consequences may be.

When you part, breathless and wide-eyed, neither of you seems to know what to say. The air crackles with anticipation and uncertainty. But Yunho, never one for awkward silences, takes it upon himself to be the first to speak.

“Should I be concerned that this stemmed from me hitting you?”

You immediately laugh, flinging yourself at him as the tension in the room dissolves. “Hey, don’t make me sound like a weirdo!”

He laughs too, pulling you close and pressing a kiss on the top of your head. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help it. Now,” he stands, holding out his hand and helping you up, “Why don’t we go get something to eat? Seems like we have quite a bit to talk about. It’ll be my treat to make up for hurting you.”

“Sounds good to me. Don’t complain when I order one of everything!”

He just shakes his head, smiling at you fondly as he follows you out of the door.

121 notes · View notes

mania-sama · 2 months

Note

Random ask, who are your favorite romantic relationship's couples in any media, like anime/manga, tv series, books, etc (can be canon or non-canon)? Feel free if you want to write the reasons or not of why you love them....

Thank you so much for sending in an ask! I would love to answer this question! I didn't go through every fandom I've been in, though I went through quite a few!!! Usually, there is only one ship I really love in a fandom that ends up being my favorite, but I like/love plenty of ships and don't limit myself to just one ship. I will say that when it comes to engaging with fandom and fanfiction, I tend to actually prefer platonic relationships, centered on found family and blood-related family than anything else.

Bungou Stray Dogs -> Shin Soukoku (Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi). I think most of this comes from the way they are quite literally yin and yang (my favorite symbol of all time) in almost every aspect. I firmly believe Asagiri is beating us over the head with a mallet saying "Look! Look what I did! Please look!" I'm under no impression that they will be canon, but BEAST gives me the hope that they can at least become friends, and that's testament enough to the development they go through. There is just so much there. I'm not an enemies to lovers person, but for them, I make the exception. There are so many parallels to draw between them, so much to look at and really dig into. I'm not delusional enough to say they wouldn't be toxic (all of the BSD ships except for, like, RanPoe, are toxic let's be real), but I am lenient enough to say that they can be good to each other in fanfics and decent friends in canon. Also, this applies to their BEAST counterparts, too. BEAST makes them better.

Jujutsu Kaisen -> ItaFushi (Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji). There is a sort of trend I have with shipping, I think. I tend to like the second most popular ship, usually the younger generation of the most popular ship, which is arguably a form of torture in and of itself. JJK is not as bad as the BSD fandom is about the popularity difference, but it's still painful. Anyway, I think my love for this ship stems from the fact that Megumi has a big fat crush on Itadori and I will accept, under no circumstances, any other interpretations of his relationship with Itadori. Everything from the SatoSugu parallels (who are one handhold away from being canon let's be real), to their whole shtick being to save each other (physically and mentally), to Megumi literally describing Itadori as his type of person. Gender neutral. Even though it is so incredibly easy to use gendered terms in Japanese as it is in English. I feel like Gege is doing this on purpose because there is just no way he sees this as normal friend stuff. Recent chapters got me in a chokehold. I am SCARED. Besides all this, I think they just work very well together. They are also horribly tragic. Perfect combination.

Genshin Impact -> Xiaother (Aether/Xiao). I debated pretty heavily with myself here on what my true favorite is. I came to this conclusion mainly for one reason: Xiao. I love Aether, but I love Xiao. He is my favorite character, right next to Razor, so obviously he carries this ship. I also think that, of all of the implied relationships Genshin has supplied in plenty, Xiaother has had the most development. Every scene with them is better than the last, and the way that they make each other better is something I adore. And as for the ship being specifically Aether and not Lumine or nonspecific, it's because I chose Aether, so I'm more accustomed to using him as the traveler vessel rather than Lumine, but I'm honestly fine with either.

Identity V -> Elisop (Aesop Carl | Embalmer/Eli Clark | Seer). I haven't played this game in a hot minute for storage and laptop reasons, and I'm also not updated with the lore (nor was I entirely familiar with it from the beginning, outside of the MAIN main lore). But this ship and game were a huge part of my personal development, I think, and I do want to return to playing it in an honest effort eventually (I WANT MY ROBBIE RANK BACK). I think I perceive it differently than other people do, mainly because people oscillate between two sides of the Aesop Carl characterization spectrum. But there is something really fun in the idea that Eli, with his ability to see the future, thinks that he can somehow "fix" Aesop, under the impression that his and Getrude's relationship will never mend. And Aesop, who sees Eli and feels real love for the first time, finds that he doesn't know if he wants to kill and embalm Eli, or if he wants to indulge in this feeling called love. Toxic, probably. Their color schemes also match very well together (which is actually what led me to ship them in the first place, before fandom influence), and they are extremely compatible gameplay-wise.

Haikyuu -> IwaOi (Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru). If you told me two or so years ago that this was my favorite Haikyuu ship, I would have LAUGHED IN YOUR FACE. I hated Oikawa and didn't care much about Seijou. But then. But then. I went through a like. Month-long Haikyuu revival not too long ago and only read IwaOi fics because I came to this revelation. Oikawa is really goddamn relatable. I think we are all, in a sense, Oikawa, at one point or another. He is THE teenager. He is someone you can project every single one of your problems onto because his struggles with being untalented and unworthy are interchangeable with pretty much any self-worth conflict: internalized homophobia, eating disorders, socializing, etc. Iwaizumi can also provide these internal debates, but in a context with Oikawa makes it even better. Does Oikawa carry this ship for me? Yes. I don't care what you think I'm not here to defend myself.

Voltron: Legendary Defenders -> Klance (Keith Kogane/Lance McClain). Do NOT talk to me. They have ruined my life in pretty much every aspect. Also an exception to the not shipping thing because they are kinda the whole reason I even watched this show past season... three probably. I don't even wanna talk about them anymore because it'll just upset me. Just know that as far as the Sheith vs Klance debate goes, Sheithers are wrong for that after Keith called Shiro his brother. There. I added my fuel to the ever-burning garbage fire that is Voltron shipping. I may talk about Klance again in the future but for now I wanna leave my thoughts off here.

Merlin BBC -> Merthur (Arthur Pendragon/Merlin). Thank you Merthur fandom for teaching me what a good fic is supposed to taste like. They are kind of the epitome of the ships I tend to gravitate to: TRAGIC. The ending of Merlin is traumatizing and the fact that all of the cast pretty shipped it (as well as you can see the faint mouthing of the words "I love you" in the final death scene) is like. The first true healthy immersion into a ship I've ever had. I never obsessed over them too hard, I think, but Merlin is still my favorite live-action show, and Merthur is always well and true to my heart. They also got me introduced to the master/servant trope in terms of medieval times, and I had a very long affinity for it in fanfiction. I don't like it as much anymore, but I look upon that time with happiness rather than the usual slight embarrassment.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power -> Catradora (Adora/Catra). I also make an exception for enemies to lovers for them because they even added that extra-friendly step of friends to enemies to lovers. Genuinely, no show surprised me as much as She-Ra did. Shout out She-Ra for giving me the worst envy I've ever felt in my life. I want to rock a suit as well as Catra did in that one scene. Anyway, I loved their development. I know some people criticize it for being rushed towards the end, but I like the way they were able to forgive Catra so easily. They understood what it meant to be used and manipulated, what it meant to be unable to fight against oppressive forces. People are mad at compassion, even though that's the literal whole point of She-Ra. Whatever. They could never make me hate you Catradora.

Percy Jackson (all book series) -> Percabeth (Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson). The blueprint. That's it. That's all you gotta know. I don't read fics about them because there is nothing to improve upon. One of the best written series and best written romances of all time. It was basically everything Avatar: The Last Airbender failed to do with Kataang (sorry for ragging on them for a second but that's the only thing I didn't like about ATLA; the romances) failed to accomplish, with all the same in-depth and wonderful characters. Like, they are everything I aspire to have in a relationship. The way they are simply meant for each other and aren't rushed, but are always implied to have that cutesy young crushes until they finally got together. I love them. Ugh. Uncle Rick you win again.

Anyway, these were some of my favorite ships of all time!! Sorry, I blabbered a lot. Probably listed more ships than you meant to but I take whatever opportunity I can to talk about things I enjoy IN DEPTH. There were also a lot of M/M romances, which, I swear to God, just happened out that way. I love plenty of F/F and F/M relationships, they just rarely end up as my top favorite. DO NOT accuse me of anything because I WILL NOT hear it.

16 notes · View notes

4ragon · 1 year

Text

Can I convince you to play Octopath Traveler 2?

Hello my lovely followers! I have recently run into a problem where I have fallen in love with another video game and do not have enough people to talk about it with. I have therefore decided I’m going to do what I do best and talk WAY too much about the subject for an unreasonable amount of time.

So! Why should you, dear followers of mine, play this hip new rpg called Octopath Traveler 2?

Well, to put it simply, this game was the most genuine fun I’ve had playing a video game in a very long time!

What is Octopath Traveler 2?

Octopath Traveler 2 is a new turn based action rpg by Square Enix, combining the charm of old school pixel art with modern graphical capabilities to create one of the most beautiful-looking 2D games out there. Like. It’s so pretty! Look at this shit!

It’s so good! Look at that presentation! Great graphics, full voice acting, orchestrated music, just. The presentation, guys!

The Gameplay

Now. Here’s the deal. I am not the most crazy about turn-based rpgs. I like them fine, but they can get very repetitive! Pokemon is a prime example. Rival sends out a Charizard? Well, better go get my Vaporeon and wreck his shit! And yes, I know there’s more strategy behind it, but like. I have never once bothered. At a certain point, the game is just “water beats fire, grind levels until you win” and that’s kind of as much as you need to bother with.

BUT

BUT BUT BUT

Here’s the deal. Octopath (both 1 and 2) is SO much fun. It is the greatest turn based rpg I have ever played. Because it’s no longer about elemental damage and sending out the right Pokemon that a lot of other turn based games use.

In each fight, the enemy has an unknown list of weaknesses, which you can discover as you fight. Each successful attack chips away at their “shield points,” until you can knock the enemy out for one round, weakening their defenses and stopping them from mercilessly beating your ass. (At least until they wake up in the next round and get to attack first.)

There are also boost points which build up each turn, just as long as you don’t use them up. Those either boost the damage on your single attack OR, and here’s the kicker, allows you do use a regular melee attack up to four times.

These two things in tandem open up a HUGE amount of strategizing! Suddenly, it’s not “will my Vaporeon be able to use hydro pump before Charizard uses fly,” it’s “do I use my turn to heal, or do I boost my attacks so I can knock this boss out before he kills me? Do I knock him out now, or do I save my boost points to do one massive attack once he’s weaker? Do I knock all of the enemies out at the same time, or should I stagger it so they don’t all Kick My Teeth In next round?”

It’s about timing! It’s about strategy! It’s like one huge puzzle combined with all of the terror of a normal action rpg! And it’s!!! So fucking fun!!!!

Just. I know most of the people following me are following me for my love of murder mystery visual novels like Ace Attorney, so this may be a bit of a harder sell than if I was trying to convince you all to play Murder By Numbers or Return of the Obra Dinn, but still! It’s not too terribly difficult to get into the game, and hey, it’s turn based! Reaction speed not required.

(Important note: Octopath Traveler OG is also just as fun to play. They added some cool mechanics in 2, and tweaked certain characters’ movesets, but overall, both are just as much fun. Try 8path 1 too! I highly recommend it.)

The Music

I have a running list of games with the greatest soundtracks of all time. We got Zelda of course, we got Kingdom Hearts, Ace Attorney, but Octopath is quickly clobbering its way into my favorites. Every single track in both games slaps so hard. Boss fights? Town music? CHARACTER MUSIC? I mean. Come on.

youtube

Come on.

Every song is gorgeous. Fully orchestrated, incredibly well done. I don't know shit about music theory, but 8-Bit Music Theory did a cool video on game one that I think holds up pretty well.

AND, because this game added a Day/Night cycle, most of the songs have multiple arrangements. Even the character themes have multiple arrangements. And I won’t spoil any of them here, but I swear, when Agnea’s final battle track started playing, I had the biggest, goofiest grin on my face. It’s just. It’s so good you guys.

The Story and Characters

Okay. Alright. Here’s where Octopath Traveler 2 goes from good to great. And here’s also where Octopath 2 edges out the first Octopath game. Now, this is not a dig at the original game. Play the original game! I love it so much! The characters are so much fun! The story is wonderful! But Octopath Traveler 2 does everything I wanted the original Octopath to do and more! More character interactions! More story! An endgame that isn’t deeply anticlimactic and actually involves the characters I care about! It’s so good.

Octopath Traveler 2, of course, stars 8 wildly different characters, each with completely different motivations and completely different skillsets, both in and out of battles. Different weapons, different spells, and different ways to interact with the NPCs around you.

And man, I love every single one of these characters so much. I feel like there’s a character for everybody, I’ve seen so much art of basically all of the main cast because every one of them is so different and interesting.

There's a favorite for everyone! We’ve got the dark, broody character, the pure-of-heart character, the character struggling with a dark curse. We’ve got revenge, chosen ones, amnesia, cowboys, one asshole detective who I am a little bit in love with. (Murder mysteries, guys! Come on! That’s my jam!) Often times, there’s usually one character that falls a little flat to me, but I just find all of them so much fun, even the ones with less going on in their backstories. They're fun! They're charming! I love it!

None of these stories are particularly complicated, of course. It’s no Tales game, where the stories twist and turn and build on each other constantly. In fact, by the very nature of this conceit, where no player character is the true main character, they can’t really build the sort of story other RPGs would usually have. Each character’s story is simple, even if they branch into different routes and do slowly start to tie into each other in subtle ways. Sure, there were surprises (and like holy shit to a few of these surprises) but overall, the stories are simple and straightforward.

And yet, even with 8 relatively simple stories, the characters absolutely shine. Sure, I took one look at the character who secretly did that murder in chapter one and went, “Ah. It was absolutely you.” And sure, we had an evil king who was so cartoonishly evil to the point of becoming farcical. But still, these stories didn’t have to be these huge, sprawling, mindblowing paths. They’re about the leads growing and meeting new people and bettering themselves. Each route has its own eclectic bunch of NPCs that bring so much life and color to the world, from the put-upon knight being dragged around by the world’s shittiest cleric to the happy-go-lucky scrivener looking for her big scoop to whatever the FUCK is happening with the Blacksnakes holy shit jesus christ what the actual fu

These stories made me laugh. They’ve made me cheer. They made me sob like a baby. They made me rage so fucking hard that I had to put down the computer for several hours and lay on the ground, which to be fair was absolutely the intended effect but I’m also still so fucking mad about it I swear to god.

PLUS

PLUS PLUS PLUS

Okay, I always say a jrpg with a huge cast rides or dies on their character interaction. Love is found in the found family y’all. And, again, it’s certainly no Tales game, in part because the game isn’t quite as scripted, but there’s still so much. Each chapter has a set number of side conversations between whoever is in your party (which if you miss them you can go back to that chapter in your menu and watch them anyway thank god). Several pairs of characters get to go on fun little side quests together throughout the story. Characters talk to each other during battles, which doesn’t feel like a ton but it really does add so much charm. They feel like friends, and even if they don’t tend to interact during story cutscenes, it feels like their relationships grow and develop over the course of oh holy shit I played 90 hours? Oops. Well. Whatever. That’s fine.

Anyway. That’s my pitch. Play this game. Join me in hell. Come on. You know you want to.

#octopath #octopath traveler #octopath traveler 2 #whoops why did i spend an hour writing this

64 notes · View notes

miraswebpage · 3 months

Text

CHIC POSTING here's a doodle and some fun facts about the guy and the place he works at! :3

not too happy with my emerson design didn't make him tired enough will be fixed ^_^💧

this is not a FAQ I just thought of some questions some might ask! Nobody said anything featured in any quotes!

"How does he hide his cat tail?" Very short tail! There isn't much to hide at all!

"What about his ears?" Little pockets in the hood of his uniform! It works them into the little pockets and the sheer size of the thing and the dark inner lining make it seem like it's just a normal robloxian in a suit!

"Are all of the workers in this place cats?" Could be.... But not all of them. Supprisngly common though!

"What's the place even called?" GreasyGames! Because they sell junk food and they are a game shop! Two birds with one stone y'know. Buy some fries and a copy of nintendogs.

"Wasn't it originally a arcade?" Yep! But red ball diner is already a thing and I've been very nostalgic of shops like GameStop of recent!

"Any specific characters Chic enjoys to be around?" Gregoriah and him are pals, Emerson and Chic get along but they aren't too close. Infected and Chic kinda have a frenemies thing going on. Chic enjoys watching splitsvile and would be happy to see Split while on the elevator. It likes Poob as a person but Poobs parties sometimes overwhelm him. It enjoys being around Spud + Dr Retro.

"What about other, not exactly negative but neutral stances on other characters" He is a bit weary of Bive after Bive claimed that GreasyGames had used silica gel packets as pretzel salt in order to? Well not exactly sure, but what I am sure of is that Bive would find a reason.It has given Lampert some cleaning supplies that went unused before. Pest is a frequent customer and supposedly uses the various game cartridges and systems sold for there parts, sometimes being given broken systems so Chic and Pest have probably talked before. He has never seen Wallter before ever (scared of tall people). Mark did the flooring for GreasyGames and sometimes reluctantly works on repairing drywall

"Who does he have beef chicken with?!?!?!?" Gnarpy has probably abducted a few people in the establishment Chic has yet to catch xem. Fleshcousin scares him in a way cats are scared of cucumbers. Reddy scares it in a way I was scared of the chuck e cheese jumbo operation game that made a loud beep noise as a kid. Miche put ball pit balls in the water system. Nobody likes MR. Infected because HE BEAT IT IN THE VERY GAME IT HAS MASTERED then had the AUDACITY to get his SCENE GUY LOSER GERMS on the cabinet IT SPENT TONS OF MONEY ON and... and honestly he isn't that bad of a guy to Chic and if anything Chic looks up to him and reluctantly enjoys spending time with the guy!

And that's all for right now! Feel free to ask me more questions yourself!

#regretevator #regretevator infected #regretevator oc #regretevator emerson #other characters mentioned

17 notes · View notes

tobitofunction · 2 years

Text

Losing Game Link x female!reader

Set before the calamity

Sorry for taking so long, my mental health was kicking my butt recently

The cold wind was hitting your face, perfectly cooling you as Hyrule summer was cruelling. You were sitting on top of your Divine Beast which overlooked Kakariko Village. You were the chosen champion for the Sheikah, as both Impa and Purah (mostly Impa) were favoured to pilot the beast but their lack of fighting knowledge was the reason you were chosen, your family were close to the royal family for generations due to natural talent of fighting.

You were protecting the Princess of Hyrule before the boy who was chosen by sword came along and basically took your job, much to the Princess’s distaste, when you heard the news that you would be replaced as the Princess's protector you were mad, it didn't madder that the sword chose him, no one could protect the Princess better than you. Zelda still had you come with her on her adventure both of you ignoring the knight who just stood in silence even if spoken to. Link was the name of the boy, you had to admit he was very attractive, with his brilliant blue eyes with thick lashes, and golden hair which glittered in the sun pulled back in a low ponytail, he had muscular physic which is normal for someone who is in his profession, his height was nothing special, he was just a bit taller than you but really just by a bit. It took time for the both of you to warm up to each other, Link just stared whenever you tried to talk to him something which Zelda gave up on. The first time Link talked to you is when you finally had enough of his silence and snapped at him,” DO YOU EVER TALK OR JUST STARE LIKE A CREEP” you yelled stomping past him towards the stables wanting to make your way back to Kakariko as Zelda was busy with writing about her research, suddenly you felt a hand wrap around you bicep making you stumble back a bit,” Hey!” you said looking at him,” I don't talk because... I don't want to be a burden to people” he said softly, his blue eyes staring into yours,” Who told you that?”,” Told me what?”,” That you are a burden?”,” Me... everybody is worried enough about Calamity Ganon and Zelda not unlocking her powers, so I don't want to burden people with my problems” he said letting go off you,” Bottling your feelings up isn't good though, you can tell me... if you want” you said rubbing the back of your neck,” I... don't want to burden-”,” You won't be” you smiled making Link smile as well. While ridding your horses back to Kakariko Link told you about how he feels the pressure of being chosen by the sword, how everyone expects him to be perfect, to defeat everything which dares to come his way,” I am strong but mortal, there are times I’m scared to lose not only the battle but also my life, Lyne attacked me once and... and I ran away after a while, I was too scared and I was also worried that you and the Princess might be in danger as you snuck off without telling anything about where you would be going,” Was it the time where Zelda told you to stop following her?” Link nodded,” It’s completely normal to feel that way Link, it’s human. Even the strongest can't win everything, one day you can defeat a Lyne, I know you will,” you said grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. Link looked at you,” you know there was another reason why I didn't talk... I... find you really pretty Y/N, like extremely... more even than the Princess, every time you talked or yelled at me my brain kinda went blank” he scratched the back of his head, his cheeks and the tip his ears went red at the confession,” I found you pretty as well but I kinda overlooked as I was to busy being mad at you for taking my job as Zelda protector away and you not talking didn't help” he sighed, his cheeks becoming even redder than before,” How do you feel now?” he asked quietly, you looked ahead of you, noticing the entrance of Kakariko in the far distance,” I’m thinking if you beat me to Karakriko I will consider going on a date with you but if you will lose, I still might considering it after you win in a fight against a Cucco” you smiled at him,” Challenge accepted, on 3. 1,2-” but before he could finish he kicked Epona making her speed off,”3″ he shouted making you gasp,”Cheater” you said galloping after him, trying to catch up to him but Link’s horse Epona was just to fast for your horse. Link stopped Epona right in front of Impa’s house, a chuckle erupted in him as he saw your displeased face, the people around you looking at Link with wonder as it’s the first time Link showed any type of emotion,” You cheated, so no date for you” you stuck your tongue out at him,” Sorry but there is no way I’m fighting those demons” he said nodding towards the Cucco’s who was walking around the village,” Do I still get that date?” he asked getting off Epona and tying her on the post before Impa’s house,” Sure” you smiled.

Your thoughts of the past were interrupted by feeling a pair of arms wrap around you,” Hey” Link whispered into your ear, you were now sitting between his legs,” Hey, you took your time” you smiled grabbing his hand,” Sorry, but I can't stay long either. I’m taking Zelda to the spring of wisdom in hopes to unlocking her power” he said kissing your cheek,” Should I join?”,” We are fine, the view on top of this is always amazing” he said,” Yeah, it is” you said not taking your eyes off him,” Are you scared?” you said randomly,” For what?” Link said lifting a brow,” That Zelda won't be able to unlock her powers in time” you said playing with Link’s blue tunic,” To be fair, I am. Since I have things... or someone to lose now” he said cupping your jaw, his thump caressing your cheek gently, he then gently placed his lips on yours, you hummed into the kiss as Link pulled you closer to his warm body, even though his lips where chapped they still had a sense of softness to them,” I love you y/n, don't forget that okay. No matter the outcome of this trip I will always come back to you, not even Ganon can stop me from seeing you again” he said after pulling away, you don't reply instead you pushed Link onto his back and straddled his waist and pressed your lips back to his. Link was surprised at the action but quickly recovered from it and kissed you back, one of his hands was holding your thigh while the other cupped the back of your head,” Kinky” a voice said making you tumble backwards nearly off the divine beast if wasn't for Link quick reaction time,” Purah! You scared me” you scolded the Sheikah scientist,” Sorry y/n but Linky has a commitment to attend to which isn't happening under our wonderful Sheikah champion but with Princess Zelda” Purah said with an amused smile,” Oh crap” Link said scrambling up,” Don’t worry Linky, I get it. We Sheikah are unresistable and quickly make you forget time. Once you go Sheikah you can't go back” she said making Link and you exchange looks,” I need to go” Link said with a red face.

Once Link left Purah turned to you,” Is he a good kisser?”,” Purah?!!” you gasped,” Did you sleep with each other yet?”,”PURAH?!!” you yelled walking into the beast,” What I’m just wondering, never in a million years I thought Link and you.... or Link with anyone in general” she shrugged,” I always thought you and the Princess actually” you lifted a brow,” What?”,” Yeah, a lot of people thought that... I mean a lot, we had beats going on” she said,” Beats? On me and Zelda becoming a couple?”,” Yep and other potential ships between the champions” she said,” Who was Link shipped with?”,” Well, most people thought he will die alone but other people thought either Mipha or Zelda, some even shipped him with Rivali, you know the whole enemy to lovers thing” Purah said with a smile,” But the top ship was you and Zelda” she said,” That’s...I don't even know what to say” you said honestly,” Purah, don't tell anyone about me and Link... at least not for now” you said grabbing her hand and giving her a pleading look,” Sure, no problem. I need to go, Impa told me to check on the shrine of resurrection, want to join?”, you sighed and then gave her a nod.

Meanwhile, Zelda and Link made their way toward the spring of wisdom,” So why were you late? It’s not like you being late and you seemed quite flustered as well” Zelda said after a while of silence,” Where you with y/n? I know you must be as people saw you going towards Kakariko” Link’s ears began turning red again but he stayed silent,” You don't have to say anything but just to be clear hurt her and I make sure you rot in a jail cell for the rest of your life” Zelda said with a smile but Link could sense she was being serious,” I will never hurt her” Link said,” I know you won't but just need to make sure about the consequences if you” Zelda said,” We haven't been together for long but I already see a future with her, y/n is perfect in every way, her laugh, her soft skin, her eyes in which I can get lost in and her kisses which can make forget time and space” Link said while looking at the clear sky in front of him, Zelda smiled at him,” It’s good, I was worried that you will die alone surrounded by destruction cause of your recklessness” she said making Link smile awkwardly,” I will unlock my powers and then we can seal ganon away, afterwards you and y/n can have hero’s of your own and I will spoil them like there is no tomorrow” Zelda added making Link blush just stronger.

You returned to your Divine Beast after Purah finished whatever had to be done by the shrine of resurrection. From what you heard Zelda and Link arrived at the spring, you sat done near the main terminal of the beast, your mind filling with things you and Link could do once Ganon is defeated for the time being. Travelling Hyrule would be first on your list, being a champion means only being able to attend the places from where the other champions come from and not being able to explore more as training took most of the time at these places. Maybe even getting married at one of these places could be nice, Link already has promised you forever, marriage just would make it official. Your thought however was interrupted by rumbling of the beast and pink, purple and black smoke showing up from behind you, quickly got up and pulled out your weapon as malice laced beast formed in front of you, he looked like parts of his body were mixed with Sheikah technology, a loud screech erupted from it before he began his attack.

Meanwhile, Link struggled to keep the guardians at bay, his body burned from the injuries given from the guardians, blood was trickling down his mouth, and his broken ribs ached with every breath he took which already was beating irregularly,” Link, I’m sorry, I have failed you. I have failed everyone, the champions... they-”,” Don't finish that sentence, they are strong, they will make it. I know she will” rapid beating from the guardian make Link focus back on it, he was prepared to shoot a laster towards the two hylians and Link was prepared to reflect when he felt Zelda push herself in front of him making tumble on the ground which knocked him out.

Link felt a soft hand caress his face, soft kisses being planted on his jaw,” Link wake up” you said softly with a small giggle. Link did as he was told, finding himself in the field in front of his house, he quickly sat up,” You are alive? I knew you would be... I’m so glad, we made it Ganon is sealed right?” Link asked hopefully grabbing your hand,” Link, I’m here to say goodbye and thank you for everything” you said with a sad smile replacing your smile,” I don't understand?” he said,” Ganon took over the divine beast and placed creations of his to take us out in them. I did my best to return to you but I failed, it was too strong for me... for all of us. I will always look over you Link” you said snuggling into his neck,” Your dead? Nononono, you can't be. How am I alive but you aren't” he said pulling you away from him so he can look into your eyes,” You are the hero chosen by the sword, and I’m just a girl who is good with a sword. You need to live Link, I don’t” you said sadly,” You deserve to live as well”,” The shrine of resurrection only has a spot for one person and it will take years for one person to heal from the wounds you suffered. It is fine Link, you have your duty to Hyrule you need to finish” you smiled tracing his lips,” I miss you so much” he whispered, not wanting to accept your fate but he knows he doesn't have a choice in it,” I love you forever” he added,” Fall in love again once you wake up, maybe even with Zelda, people had bets that the two of you will end up together” you joked,” Me and her where the bigger ship though, so don't get cocky” you joked as a tear slipped from your eye,” I will never love someone more than I love you though” Link said,” You don't have too, just love someone, don't want you to die alone” you said hugging him closer,” Goodbye Link” you said before kissing his lips as you slowly glowed in blue and green light before vanishing.

Zelda held Link’s body against hers, he was barely breathing. Tears were streaming down her dirty cheeks. “ I’m sorry, I ruined everything,” she said burying her into his tarted tunic. “He still can be saved Princess, bring his body to the shrine of Resurrection and then the sword where it first pulled” Zelda shot up at the voice, it was robotic but clearly female,” What?” she softly,” But the hero to sleep in the shrine of Resurrection and then face your destiny Princess,” the voice said, the master sword was glowing,” The voice inside the sword” she smiled softly,” PRINCESS!” a Sheikah soldier screamed,” Bring Link to the Shrine of Resurrection,” Zelda said handing Link of the soldiers,” What about you Princess?”,” I will be facing my destiny but before hand, I need to return this to its place of origin,” she said picking up the master sword.

#legend of zelda #legend of Zelda breath of the wild #Legend of Zelda Link #loz botw #loz breath of the wild #loz link #loz link x reader #botw link x reader #link x reader #breath of the wild #link x female!reader #botw x reader

156 notes · View notes

flame-shadow · 1 year

Note

I'm playing through Ender Lilies (very slowly lol) and I recently defeated Ulv, Julius, and found the ending A and just. I am utterly not normal about these spirits. About this entire game. It's now in my brain thanks to you (genuinely positive) (they are just consuming my thoughts A Lot) <3

Also Ulv was sooo frustrating to fight but 1) music slaps hmggrhhghbbb violin pretty 2) I am not immune to barely-vocal awkward and hardened soldier finding kinship with someone kind (and then failing to protect her I am so. So normal (<-a lie))

okokok so i was very happy to read this ask and i almost responded incoherently right when i woke up and first saw this, but then i was like, 'okay but i kinda wanna draw ulv for you now' and then couldn't because i could only focus on the background paintings

BUT IM FREE NOW

so first of all, thank you for the update! i am thrilled. im glad you've joined me in being consumed by this beautiful game.

second, it's probably no surprise but im shaking your hand. ULV OUR BELOVED. his fight is Rough, especially if you do them out of the vaguely intentional order like i did (first time i played through, i tackled ulv before either julius or hoenir.. it took me three days to beat him). but yeah! the music is so good and his story and all that aaaa

finally:

im a little rusty but here's the guy we are so normal about

#flame answers #ender lilies #ulv the mad knight #flameshadowart #id in alt #thank you for the ask and sorry it took me a little bit to get to hahahha #this makes me want to play the game again

30 notes · View notes

delta-orionis · 26 days

Text

Tuesday Again No Problem 4/2/24

I feel like this is one of those weeks where I was extremely busy but accomplished very little...

Listening

Earlier this week I felt compelled to go back and listen to some of the songs by AURORA that were featured in that Sky: Children of the Light concert from a while ago.

youtube

This song in particular is one that I'd love to create a music video for if I had the skill or patience.

Because I have Rain World on the brain, it brings to mind a slugcat (Survivor and Monk in particular) who are just focused on survival but slowly start to become aware of exactly why the world around them functions the way it does.

Watching

My Well There's Your Problem marathon continues. The most recent episode I listened to was this one about the Y2K Bug:

youtube

(Again, it's kind of cheating for me to put a podcast with slides in the watching section, but I haven't really been watching anything else...)

Reading

Fallow this week.

Playing

I'm back to playing Rain World.

I was putting off beating the Artificer campaign, so I finally said "fuck it", and killed the Scavenger king in a very anticlimactic way by just chucking a singularity bomb at them.

In other news, I started a Hunter playthrough. I'm going to admit up front that I cheated in extra cycles for myself because I know for sure I will not be able to beat the game in under 25. To be honest I kind of wanted to do a relatively normal run where I can take my time and also be a carnivore.

Oh, and I have slugpups unlocked, so I keep finding the little guys everywhere. (They're hard to keep alive, unfortunately...)

My adventures have so far included...

Getting bullied by squidcadas,

Watching vultures beat the shit out of each other,

And witnessing one of the strongest enemies in the game get electrocuted to death right in front of me.

I finally reached Five Pebbles today. I got to him by climbing The Wall by way of Chimney Canopy, which isn't the route I usually take. I also made the (probably foolish) decision to take the long way out and go through his interior to access the Underhang. That might have been a bad idea, but Five Pebbles is one of my favorite areas in the game and I didn't want to miss an opportunity to pass through it. The Underhang sucks, though. If I get too frustrated I might just go back up through the inside (since fast travel isn't available for Hunter).

Making

I haven't made much progress on my crochet projects this week. I am getting close to finishing that granny square tote bag, though. I started the tedious process of weaving in all the loose ends.

I've also been revising that post I mentioned last week about trying to estimate how big Rain World's iterators are. My initial estimate was WAY too big, I think, and I've been debating even keeping it in the post at all. For the sake of clarity it might be best to delete it, even though I went through the trouble of making some diagrams for it... I'll think about it some more.

In addition, I’m continuing to worldbuild for my iterator OC. I made a rough layout of their facility grounds:

The idea is that they sit on top of a mountain, where their rain freezes into several glaciers which flow down to the base. At the base are twelve dams which collect the water, arranged like a big clock.

This “clock” is broken up into six sectors which serve different functions, and have analogues to the regions from the game (noted above in parentheses). I’d like to make a more polished map, maybe some time in the future.

I also posted some doodles the other day (featuring the same OC being smacked in the face)

This coming week, I'm traveling to the path of totality for the April 8th solar eclipse. Because I'll be traveling, I can't imagine I'll have much to report in terms of the Tuesdaypost, but I guess we'll see.

#tuesdayposting

6 notes · View notes

lifewithdavefarts · 2 years

Text

DaveFarts - Episode 21 “No Fart Run”[Episode List]

After having a couple of beers, Tim challenges Dave to do a “no death” run on a particularly hard and fast-paced game. He gladly accepts the challenge, on the condition that Tim has to watch the entire run… while having his head dangerously close to Dave’s denim ass.

POV: Tim

No Fart Run

“…and the last one of our so-called friends just ditched us for, I quote, Leopardy!” I said, reading a message on my phone, commenting our bud Adam’s excuse for not wanting do anything tonight, Friday night, of all days.

Since the original plan was going out, Dave was wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, whereas I had a white t-shirt and some sweatpants on, ‘cause I knew our buds were gonna ditch us at the last second so I didn’t even bother to change into something more appropriate for going out.

Truth to be told, there was a shitty weather outside and we all didn’t have anything big planned anyway, just a beer together at the usual place, as a way to wash the busy week away with some alcohol. To be honest, I don’t mind being at home, but I’m still going to make fun of everyone for being this lazy (though Leopardy! is that good, yes, I said it), despite being the king of lazy people myself.

My friend and roommate Dave wasn’t any less lazy than me, so yes we were both not-so-secretly relieved that we were going to spend the night at home just chillin’ and resting, so much so that as I read Adam’s message to my roomie, he immediately threw a can of beer at me. We had a good laugh about our “synchronized laziness” (in the form of mild alcoholism apparently), and we just headed for our beloved couch in the living room, discussing on what trashy movie we could watch together.

“Maybe Dana can join us.” I suggested.

“Oh. Am I not enough for you?” Dave said, jokingly offended.

“Sadly, no. Daddy’s hungry…” I replied, sounding as dumb as him.

He looked at me unimpressed. “Dana’s not in town anyway. That means you’re all mine.”

We both took a sip of beer and sat on the couch, Dave putting his feet on the coffee table in front of us. The TV was ON so we just mindlessly watched it while commenting the images on the screen, with my roomie sometimes replying with a very mature belch. We were just chillin’, we didn’t even need to put a trashy move on since almost all TV was trash anyway (except for Leopardy!, I must agree).

“By the way.” I said, changing the subject of our symposium. “I almost finished RunGun without dying.”

Calm down, ladies and gentlemen.

Both me and Dave are avid gamers, each of us having a particular set of skills. Maybe I shouldn’t even brag about this but we are pretty good, the bro sitting next to me especially.

RunGun is a deceptively simple game running on the fairly recent Play 4 (my main gaming console, which I brought here from my previous apartment), and it’s one of those “hard to master”, addicting, fast-paced platformers, you know the ones, with some shoot’em up elements thrown into it. It’s retro but also modern and we both enjoy it a lot, unsurprisingly. It’s not long, but it provides a tense challenge (just like my dick -this was a joke, laugh).

While we did beat the game and got an ending, we’ve both been trying to finish it as fast and as flawlessly as possible. However, being busy with our respective lives and jobs makes it hard to practice as much as we would have normally done with games like these.

“I’m impressed!” Dave replied, taking a big sip of beer, his way to propose a toast I guess. “Me too, actually. There’s a tricky saw cutter section in the final level that always gets me. And the boss is pretty tough too.”

Of course that implies that Dave only died in the final level, whereas I died a couple of times through the game, AND in the final level. As I said, he’s often a bit better than me.

“Well, I’m the one who’s impressed.” it was my turn to drink some beer in honour of someone’s skills.

“I think I can beat it with just a bit more practice. It’s doable.” he then said, reaching for the white gamepad on the coffee table, turning the console ON.

Looks like we were going to have a good old gaming night just the two of us, as it’s not like we had anything better to do, despite drinking. My mind went to the night Dave found out about my fart kink, in the worst (or best?) possible way. A night that was actually similar to this one, as it all happened while we were gaming.

It was almost one year ago and we weren’t even roommates back then; time sure flies!

“You go first, handsome.” he said, handing the gamepad to me. “Let’s see those skills in action.”

As good as I am, I do tend to get a bit nervous when I do something while someone watches, even gaming sadly, but it’s all good. It’s just Dave, and RunGun, with all of its difficulty spikes (and, often, literally spikes), was all about memory so I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself too much.

I breezed through the first few levels, easily defeating the mobs and the main bosses, even achieving some new personal records in the process; Dave occasionally complimented my skills and, while still making fun of me, was genuinely interested in seeing me pulling off the infamous “no death” run we were both trying to achieve.

“I swear if you dodge that giant hammer I’m gonna suck you off.” he joked.

Indeed, I dodged that and the rest of the level’s hazards quite easily, which prompted Dave to leap towards me to reach for my crotch (without actually touching it), his very mature way to root for me. He quickly resumed his previous position on the couch and kept watching.

For the last couple of levels I played much more carefully, occasionally getting hit (you have a couple of HPs luckily).

“Here come the fuckin’ saws…” I said, referring to the hazards my bro mentioned earlier.

I was sweating. Those circular blades were pretty common obstacles in the game, but in the final level they moved in different, disorienting patterns which would easily confuse anyone, kind of unfair game design we’re sure.

“You gotta jump over that one!”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!”

Things got unsurprisingly tense indeed.

But despite doing my best… the game made the “DEAD :(” screen flash on the screen, before quickly re-loading to the last checkpoint. The saw cutter right before the final boss got me. Jumping over that is NOT the solution…

“Fuck!” I said, frustrated but oddly relieved that it was over.

It’s a short game if you speedrun through it as I said, but ~20 minutes felt like hours.

“I need another beer. Want some?” I said, standing up and heading to the kitchen, before waiting for the obvious answer, which came in the form of a “Yes.” said through a loud belch.

“That was a good run, man.” I heard Dave normally say from the other room. “Well, up until you failed miserably.”

I laughed. “Only one death, bro.”

I came back with alcohol; sat next to him and handed him a can of beer. We both took a sip.

“Impressive! But shouldn’t the death counter say zero?” he mocked me.

“Oh you wanna compare our death counters?” I played along, navigating the game menu.

Indeed, the counter had Dave at 3 deaths while I only had 1.

“Ohhh you actually went there. You grew a pair. In your 20s!” he said, laughing. “Congratulations, such a late-bloomer.”

“Shut up and swallow the truth.” I flexed.

“Shut up and pull my finger.”

Why do I even flex when I’m a guy who’s getting farted on by my bro… and enjoys it?!

Dave extended his arm to me so I could pull his index finger, knowing exactly that it was a low blow, as I went silent immediately, a reaction that made him laugh.

“Ohhh you’re done talking now?” he mocked me, with a smirk. He wasn’t being malicious of course. “I’ll just pull it myself…”

And he did. Dave was sitting on the other side of the couch with his legs resting on the coffe table (his feet sporting a pair of surprisingly colorful socks), one stretched, one bent, so I could see a good portion of his loose denim ass, which I actually managed to ignore until now. Indeed a fart came out the moment he pulled his own finger, and it was as loud as they come, not very long though. It did sound (and reek) powered by beer, but my bro is always gassy and I’m sure that the mere act of breathing is fuel for his blasts.

“See? That’s the one thing you’re good at!” I promptly said, commenting the fart, still making fun of his death counter.

“Oh you know what?” that smirk again. “Give me that thing.” he reached for the gamepad and started a new run.

“Challenge accepted?” I remarked.

“Watch and learn.” he then turned to me, before actually starting a new run. “Also…”

Dave adjusted his position on the couch, without taking his feet and legs off the small table. He bent his left leg (the one closer to me) up a bit more and pulled his ass back a few inches.

“You’re getting front row tickets.” he laughed.

To my surprise, he gestured towards his bent leg, literally inviting me to, well, squeeze my head under it so my face would end up in front of his denim ass. What the fuck.

“W-what?” I stuttered. As usual, Dave simply laughed at my awkwardness.

“Come on: it’s a win-win scenario for you.”

I both love and hate how Dave is so chill and comfortable around my kink and I do wonder what he actually meant with that. He lifted his left leg up a bit more, his way to insist with his… peculiar invitation, and to ease my way in.

Speechless, I simply obeyed. I lied down towards my bud, squeezed my head under his leg and as expected I ended up in front of that wall of jeans, directly facing the blue denim fabric around my bro’s powerful ass. The stench from his previous rip was still somewhat there, but I tried not to inhale too much. His ass was overwhelming to me in that pose, but I could still see Dave’s face however, staring down at me, trying his best not to laugh.

How is he letting me do this is beyond me, but I appreciated.

“Bro, the game’s the other way.” he simply said, with a smirk. “Contain your thirst.”

Damn, I felt so stupid, but in my defense… anyone would be awkward around my bro sometimes: he being so chill and open-minded is… disorienting, much like the late-game hazards of RunGun.

Without saying anything to further embarrass myself, I turned around, facing the opposite direction. Despite being with my head under Dave’s leg, I still had a good view of the TV, right beyond my bro’s feet resting on the table, which wasn’t tall enough to block my view. So there I was, lying on the couch, with the back of my head brushing against Dave’s denim ass. I wouldn’t compare this situation to “getting a front-row ticket”, but I guess I deserve this.

If I truly had to watch his entire run like this, that meant that I was gonna have my head dangerously close to his ass for the next 20~ minutes, a treat and threat at the same time!

“By the way, if I get a Game Over, you get blasted.” he stated. I could sense his usual smirk through his words.

I don’t like this gimmick. Dave was good at the game so I couldn’t rule out that he was gonna die on purpose just to mess with me. So here I was in the tense in situation in which, on one hand, I was rooting for him to beat the game flawlessly… on the other, and I know this will make me sound indeed thirsty… I did want him to blast me.

Nonetheless, I watched my friend playing as if that was the most normal situation we both ever experienced. Just like me, he breezed through the first couple of levels, even faster than me, but each 2-3 levels you gotta face a boss: they’re mostly pushovers but when you’re in a rush, they can and will kill you instantly.

Dave was really good at RunGun and this first boss acts as a filter for most gamers. This giant enemy crab (a reference to a certain meme I’m sure) was actually fairly easy once you knew how to face it, but it still could cast one particular attack that was almost impossible to dodge… and indeed it was gonna do it, charging his laser beam.

“Get on the right side of the arena, quick!” I suggested, ‘cause I knew there was a safe spot there.

Dave laughed. “Sorry dude, from my point of view it looked like the voice came straight out of my ass.”

I mean… he’s not wrong. Either way, my bro followed his butt’s suggestion and indeed he ended up winning the fight fast, easily and unscratched. A portal for the next world appeared, but before Dave could step into it I noticed him lifting his left leg in real life.

I braced for impact. He didn’t die but of course he was still gonna blast me one way or another. I even closed my eyes, but the sound I heard were not the ones of a fart being ripped… but rather one being sucked in.

He could fart on command, something that he doesn’t do often but I guess he wanted to showoff so, still facing away from his denim ass, I once again expected my entire head to be blasted by one of my bro’s farts.

But once again, after a couple of seconds of air being sucked in, nothing came out. The leg went down as it was before, and Dave resumed playing as if nothing happened.

What kind of mind tricks was he playing?! He sucked air in, so I knew there was a fart brewing right behind me. I felt like there was some wild, dangerous beast waiting to land a surprise attack on me, but I tried to focus on the game and, truth to be told, Dave’s skills were a sight to behold.

He was fast, he had great reflexes, he practiced a lot but he was so good I couldn’t help to compliment the way he was speedrunning through the game, while occasionally making fun of how lucky he was being, something that he reluctantly admitted.

Boss #2, some kind of giant evil butterfly, but honestly a cakewalk for both of us.

“World 3 already, no deaths. Scared, Tim?” he jokingly asked.

I turned around to face him… well, in theory, as I was facing his denim ass instead, but before I could properly respond, he lifted his leg again. I ended up with my nose being tickled by the fabric of his denim as more air was being sucked in: a weird sensation, but I was surprised. Dave looked down at me with a silly smile, as if he too had no idea what was gonna happen next. I wanted to ask, but again, his leg went down. He then pointed at the TV, so I faced the other way, my eyes once again glued on RunGun.

But I wasn’t very focused this time.

I could sense his ass behind me being, well, charged. I swear I could hear the gas he sucked in trying to come out, like a dormant volcano reaching its breaking point; and after Boss #3 went down, I heard more air being swallowed by my friend’s ass, thus confirming the pattern I was suspecting: Dave was gonna suck more and more air in each time he’d beat a boss… and there are 8 of them.

Dave was playing RunGun… but he was also playing a mind game with me I swear. For me this was like an endurance test of some sorts: I really wanted him to win the game without dying but at the same I couldn’t help but to be eager to hear what the fart he was charging up sounded like.

My heart started racing fasted as he defeated yet another boss… while having only 1HP left!

“Oof. That was close, ammirite?” he said, laughing. What a teasing bastard (but I cannot complain)!

He moved a bit, just to nudge the back of my head with his ass.

“What’s the matter, Tim? Is something bothering you? Why don’t you turn around and tell me ahah?”

Again, my roommate wasn’t being malicious in any way, but at this point he was clearly amused by the whole situation: I knew that he was brewing a big one, just like he knew that I wanted him to blast me with that. I guess that teasing me was something that he found hilarious, and given my awkwardness and how admittedly weird my kink is, I couldn’t blame him.

More bosses went down, and more and more air got sucked in by the ass behind me. How Dave managed to store all of that gas was beyond me. He didn’t even flinch, he was holding it in like a pro. And a pro indeed he was at RunGun as well, as he finally reached the final world.

He adjusted his position a bit, as if I wasn’t even there, because shit got serious.

“Alright, if you got any suggestion I’m willing to listen.” he said, while sprinting through the level.

I fully paid attention to the game this time, the scar of my previous defeat still hurting. Dave dodged a dozen of saw blades but he was clearly having a hard time now: that final series of hazards would make anyone sweat.

“Listen to me, listen to your ass!” I joked, referencing what he said before. “If you want to dodge that fucking final blade, don’t jump above it: run under it as it falls.”

“That’s crazy…” he paused for a moment, his character on the screen doing the same. “I’m gonna do it. If I lose it’s your fault.”

“You’re not going to, trust me!”

This was one of the most tense moments in our lives (yes, sad lives). My bro displayed once again an impressive set of skills but he did follow my suggestion… and he beat the level. I was kind of mad that I didn’t think of doing that during my run, but I was happy that he reached the final boss. It was hard, but nothing compared to the level before it.

“FUCK YEEEEES” we both yelled as the boss went down, because we’re very mature adult men.

The arena was empty and one last, bigger, more eventful portal appeared. We… well, he did it, he successfully finished a “no death” run of RunGun, something that we tried to do for weeks. I was smiling like an idiot.

And respecting the established pattern, Dave sucked more air in, this time for dozens of seconds.

I actually tried to move my head away but his leg held me in position.

I didn’t understand, so I turned around to face him and his ass, after he finished charging up.

“Dude. You didn’t die once!” I said. “You don’t have to do it.”

He just laughed. “Who said anything about dying?”

I faced the TV again and… “Game Over” was written on the screen. And then I remembered: that text would appear even if you successfully finish game. Bunch of bastards, both Dave and the game.

I slowly turned around, as if I was heading for a death sentence… and given what that ass had in store for me, what my bro was capable of when it came to farting… that would very well be the case. My entire face was again overwhelmed by that wall of denim, the dark blue fabric tickling my nose. Dave had that silly smirk drawn on his face, staring down at me: this was both a treat and a revenge.

“Looks like I’m good at both, dude.” he stated, holding his gamepad up so I could see it. “So…” he then said, while extending his arm to me. “Are you gonna pull my finger now?” he laughed.

I wasn’t really in the position to do that, as I was lying down with my face planted in his ass.

“You know what? I’ll just do it myself again, tsk.”

And then I felt him push, his denim ass in front of me getting even closer. This time I didn’t have to brace for the impact, because the beast did land its surprise attack in the end.

A thunder, a sudden thunder, that’s how I can describe it. Imagine a deep-sounding fart stock sound, only louder, manlier, prouder. I’m surprised his jeans could withstand such force of nature. My head was shaking and the blast almost forced me to close my eyes, but I didn’t want to, I wanted to see that beautiful sight of my friend’s denim ass. Dave’s facial expression was the one of someone visibly ripping a powerful, hard-to-tame fart, because that’s what it was: my bro was the fart master but this time even he had a hard time containing such an enormous blast in; after all, he sucked so much air that I’m surprised his ass didn’t explode before.

And speaking of hard, I too had a hard time containing something in: unlike Dave’s ass, my dick was gonna explode for sure. I instinctively rubbed the tent I pitched in my sweatpants against on the couch, effectively having a sexual intercourse with Dave’s fart.

I didn’t know how much time passed: 10 seconds? 20 seconds? The fart was still going strong and the more it kept going, the more I planted my face into my friend’s ass, fully embracing the literal vibrations through the denim. The stench was there, I’m sure it was a mixture of natural beer farts and on-command ones, and the sound reflected that mixture, as the impressive display of flatulence sounded both “meat-y” and “air-y”. With Dave around you have no choice but to get good at distinguishing what kind of farts he’s ripping, regardless of the kink.

The fart was deep-sounding but for a couple of seconds it went higher-pitched and even louder, to which Dave reacted with a genuinely surprised look, while still trying hard not to laugh like an idiot.

40 seconds perhaps? I swear this was Dave’s longest fart since he found out about my fetish. I felt completely overwhelmed as my sweaty face was basically now almost under that roaring ass, the fart messing with my eardrums and making my entire head shake due to its sheer power.

I’ll never be thankful enough to our buds for ditching us at the last second, considering this was the direct result of a lazy Friday night, turned into a beer-fueled gaming night. But I guess Dave didn’t mind either, as this was amusing to him. I was so thankful to him for accepting me but I would have never thought that he’d be this chill, and go this far to just, well, destroy my face with his well-known farts.

Probably one minute passed and, once again proving how far my friend would go, he lifted his ass, without interrupting the continuous long fart, and simply sat on my entire head, all while the blast kept going.

His ass was basically smothering me now, but dear God this was an incredible experience. I was sweating and the hot fart coming from Dave’s ass didn’t help at all, not counting how the fabric of his jeans was warm and rough. I just let my bro fully crush me, as my face was becoming one with the couch under Dave’s weight.

After 20 more seconds, the fart seemingly started to lose some power, but it wasn’t over yet: it wasn’t as loud as before but I felt Dave pushing harder, as if he wanted to make sure he ripped every particle of gas he sucked in, making the fart as last long as he could in the process.

The smell was almost unbearable now, further proof that whatever was being ripped all over me was a mix of natural gas and on command. I love how this started as a chill, deathless speedrun of RunGun, and now here I mean, technically trying not to die in real life under my friend’s denim ass, getting blasted by the longest fart I ever heard. And I also heard Dave laugh as he leaned a bit, amused by how much he was farting himself.

“Almost done man…” he muttered, but I could barely hear him over the sounds his ass was making.

He pushed more and more, slowly leaning to ease the remaining gas out. I was covered in sweat and my nostrils were burning. Saying “this is hot” is an understatement: I felt lucky, really lucky, to have my bro do this to me. I stared at that jeans ass still erupting the fart out, closely inspecting the seams and textures of the fabric: how much time, in the last year, I spent my time here, under or in front of Dave’s ass? We definitely need a fart counter more than a death one.

Dave finally resumed his previous pose, stretching his legs on the table, not sitting directly on my head anymore, and lifted his left leg to finally let me go, but not before pushing hard one last time, ending his impressive fart with a loud, long toot.

Finally, silence.

“…wait!”

Incredibly enough, Dave managed to rip yet another, one last loud fart, but at this point my ears were so used to that sound that it felt like the natural continuation of the previous one, which probably was anyway. 7 more seconds and finally, at long last, that impressive display of manly gas ended. I swear it probably lasted around 3 minutes, it’s incredible.

I carefully moved my head away now, with my friend letting me go, no legs holding me down this time. I could catch a glimpse of Dave’s usual smirk: he was just proud of his own skills, both at the game and as a farter. I guess he wanted to teach me a lesson after I made fun of him, like a real bro would do after all.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or not at this point.” I sincerely said, smiling, as I sat on my side of the couch.

Dave carried on as if nothing weird happened between us. “You should be thankful I let you survive that.” he joked, rightfully bragging about his fart skills. “And that I’m not making fun of your death count of course.”

“Yeah… I think I completely lost any bragging rights tonight.” we both had a good laugh.

“Well, you’re still the gayest person in the room.”

“Says the guy who lets plant my face in his ass.” I sounded snarky, but it’s a miracle I wasn’t a stuttering mess saying this.

“Another thing you should be thankful for!” he laughed at my comment, throwing his empty can of beer at me.

“I’m gonna get some more.”

I didn’t even try to hide my boner this time. I was indeed simply thankful that Dave was so chill, maybe too much, if that’s even possible. As I opened the fridge to get more beers, enjoying the cold breeze, I heard my bro talking from the other room.

“Well, would you look at that…” he said, probably checking something on his phone. “They’re gonna make RunGun 2!”

His comment was followed by a quick, short and loud fart which, given what I just experienced, definitely sounded like a treat.

And I couldn’t be more thankful indeed.

End of Episode 21

#fart story #eproctophilia #fartkink #davefarts2 #malefarts #gayfart

103 notes · View notes