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blueberrypancakesworld · 5 months

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Elijah Kamski x fem!reader - I want your soul

warning : minors don't interact/read, smut, p in v , mirror sex, some oral (f receiving), bondage, fluff/comfort, obsession

Summary : Elijah Kamski the genius behind the androids and their accessories. He was the genius of the most important man. Who was looking for someone to work with him on something. But did a genius like him really need help or was it something else he wanted, sought and needed to create something that would give him something in the end.

Info : Okay I've finally finished writing it I'm not completely satisfied for one thing because I've had this floating around for months and haven't finished it, I'm going to write an extra one with a few more themes that I hadn't done here. I hope the smut is good and the story is not too ripped out as always it should be as realistic as possible. Have fun reading :)

Ps : @thatsthewrongwallcraig I finally did it I hope you are still in your Elijah obsession have fun reading :)

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Detroid had changed since she was born in 2013, it seemed the whole world had changed. Everything had become more modern, more technological and more efficient.

The whole world wasn't just getting closer to the old movies about the future, it had already overtaken them.

It opened up new paths, more possibilities and development was at a level that made them all but immortal. Until the androids came.

Developed by one man, a genius with an IQ of 171, Elijah Kamski. The young genius who developed the androids became a kind of god to some and the devil to others.

The devil for the people whose jobs he had taken away with the androids. He had everything, at least if you could believe the press and the news.

With the invention of thirium and biocomponent technology, he was also the founder of Cyber Life and the richest man on the planet.

He was the incarnate one. The incarnate one who one day launched a public appeal. Not something for a new project since his retirement in 2028 or an assistant or perhaps a successor.

It was rumors that went around the world but especially in Detroid made waves. Until the announcement came from Elijah himself and it was weirder than they had imagined.

Elijah wasn't looking for a successor, he was looking for a maid to inspire his new projects. It was a headline that the magazines ran with and something that caused a boom, suddenly the whole world seemed to be standing in front of the entrance to Cyber-Life's main building.

No one knew what was waiting for them inside, but they all hoped to work for Kamski. It seemed that only one thing mattered to them all. To see Elija Kamski and his money. Because they all knew he would pay well, or so they said.

The kilometer-long queue that stretched out in front had all kinds of people. Everyone who wanted the job would fight for a place. All except for one person, a young woman who was standing in the queue like everyone else.

She wouldn't necessarily walk over dead bodies and would rather take good advice from him that she needed for her studies or a tip for finances because she didn't have any.

To be honest, she was only here to take advantage of this small, minimal opportunity to get the money to pay for her studies and to pay back her parents who had taken on extra debt. A fact that weighed heavily on her heart.

Which is why she could use the money and paying a publisher to turn her script into a book wasn't cheap either and realizing a dream like that would be nice too. But as much as she wanted to, she had to survive the queue first.

I certainly wouldn't be the first to die because of all this standing, she thought, remembering all the people she had seen with tents and chairs. How they came out of the building with their heads hanging or cursing. They had missed their chance.

But she also felt how her feet had been hurting for hours, she had run out of the university as early as she could and yet she was one of the last. But after hours in which the sun would set again in a few hours anyway, it was finally her turn.

Saw how the entrance gradually came closer and closer. She finally had the chance to get to it. Will he notice? the question popped into her head and she became all the more aware of the notebook in her bag.

She didn't know how she should feel about it. Meeting the man who had fascinated her for as long as she could remember.

Meeting the man who was the lover in her book, everything was exactly the same except for the name. Initially in her late teens it was just a model she had used but now. It was more.

More than she perhaps wanted to admit to herself. ,,Miss, it's your turn," a voice snapped her out of her thoughts and her hand slipped into her pocket. Past her notebook and to her wallet and pulled it out.

She thanked the security guard after he had looked at her ID. Before she went into the building with a pounding heart.

She knew it from videos and pictures she had seen in her primary school days. Vague memories went through her mind as she saw an android approaching her.

It seemed as if they wanted to hold back the free spirit and not let people walk around here freely. Like a fake bird in a real cage. ,,Good afternoon, Miss, would you please follow me," he said and she saw the Led flicker briefly from blue to a brief yellow.

He must be announcing me she thought to herself and followed the android with a smile knowing that many others were hostile towards the machines.

Some even went so far as to beat up and kill the androids that didn't fight back. There were unpleasant headlines about severed body parts belonging to several missing androids. Headlines that sent shivers down her spine.

After all, who said that all the androids wouldn't be dead soon? ,,What is it that Mr. Kamski wants from me?" she asked as they walked through the foyer and stood in an elevator. The android stood in front of her and turned his head slightly towards her.

She saw exactly how his eyes avoided hers for a second before he said, ,,A test to see if you are suitable for the job you are looking for," and turned forward again. The quiet hum of the elevator was between them again and her purse had disappeared back into her pocket.

Her heart seemed to compete with her nervousness as the elevator arrived at the top floor of the building. The floor she had never been on before, at least not then.

It seemed almost unbelievable to be back here now. ,,Please, you have to go through this door, good luck," the android said, pointing to what appeared to be a door in the large white hallway with a few modern paintings, plants and bright lights.

,,Thank you," she mumbled and gave the android a small smile before stepping out of the elevator and walking towards the door.

She heard exactly how the android got back in and she was alone in the hallway. She knew she had to go forward. She finally had to go to the door and felt how each step seemed to get heavier and heavier.

But after a few seconds the moment was over and she put her hand on the handle. Opened the door and stepped into the room where she found the man who would give her a job.

The light in the room was dimmer, not so bright that it stung her eyes, it was most like a foggy afternoon with dark clouds hanging in the sky and the threat of thunderstorms. Her eyes fell on the occupied armchair that stood behind a glass table.

The light illuminated the figure slightly and she saw him. ,,Good afternoon, Mr. Kamski," she said, surprised that her voice had held and that she hadn't thrown up from nervousness.

She saw how he leaned forward slightly, the dark strands of his hair framing his face. His bright blue eyes watching her closely as if she were the machine to him and the androids were the humans.

As he briefly pointed to the chair she should sit down on, she obeyed his silent command, her slightly trembling fingers pulling the chair back and sitting down. The slight clatter of her bag seemed to be too loud in the room before she turned her gaze forward.

His eyes met hers and she almost forgot to breathe for a moment. He was everything. He seemed like it came from her imagination, the pictures, videos and articles. ,,Do you think an android can get nervous?" his voice suddenly rang out, so engaging that it seemed to drown out her heartbeat.

The question echoed in her head over and over again. ,,N-no I mean yes" she began to stammer and felt the warmth jump to her ears and cheeks.

Oh god pull yourself together! she screamed at herself in her head, swallowing the lump in her throat and digging her fingers into her jeans. ,,Yes... I do think that androids can get nervous. There are... deviants who show emotions, they are human too," she replied and looked up from her lap to the older one again.

Saw how he had tilted his head slightly. His gaze looked as if he was considering whether he should throw her out or do it himself.

,,So you're implying that androids are human? Are you questioning my work?" he asked, smirking as he could practically see the gears turning in her head. She was apparently trying to guess which answer was the right one.

After a few more seconds of silence, he saw in her gaze that she had found her answer. ,,No, I don't question it, I would say that it shows that the relationship between humans and androids is maybe doing something... maybe human," she dared to put up her tese and saw first to her fear how the small smile on his lips disappeared.

His bright eyes looked at her almost incredulously as if she had deeply offended him. I'll never get a job, she thought to herself and was about to reach for her bag when she heard the sound of paper.

,,Come to this address next week and have your tessellation completed Miss," he said and felt him put a card in her hand. She had it. She had the job.

She had finally got it. ,,Thank you! I mean thank you very much Mr. Kamski, I'll come," she said and grabbed her bags before walking out of the room. The big smile on her lips spoke for itself as the android seemed to rejoice with her on her way out.

But in that time, she hadn't even thought about what it meant to be with him. To move in with him, to be with him for more than just minutes or hours. Forever.

Because a mind infused with devotion and emotion overlooks the obvious. Overlooks the gaze of obsession.

The gaze of possession. The gaze of the rich and their greed for everything. Oh, he would do so much more with her than just have her around.

But she did what he said and came to the address on Monday of the next week. His house was out of town, secluded by roads, woods and rocks.

But when she parked her small car in front of the house, armed only with a bag, she realized once again what this meant. I feel like a little kid at Christmas, she thought as she walked up the stairs to his door. It was the season of winter, snow was slowly falling from the sky and looking behind her she saw the landscape slowly turning white.

Her coat kept her warm and the hat on her head kept her ears from freezing. Ringing the bell, she tried to concentrate on the time in front of her, not the cold.

A smile on her lips turned into a surprised look when a blonde woman opened the door for her. ,,Hello, you're Miss Sun right?" she asked the blonde woman who seemed as perfect as only an angel could be.

An android. ,,Yes, I am Mr. Kamski had given me his address for the job," she replied and saw that the blonde woman stepped aside to let her in. ,,Mr. Kamski is expecting you, please take a seat in the living room," she said, a small smile playing around her lips before she gestured towards the room.

The house was too big for one man to live in. But as she walked through the hallways and doors, the dark walls, saw the colorful paintings and the markings, she realized how different they were.

She was nothing compared to him and yet he had chosen her. He had seen something in her, something that set her apart from the others.

But what? What was it? Putting the bag down next to the table, she found herself in the living room. Didn't know whether she should sit down or not. Instead, she stood next to the table and looked around the room.

Only heard muffled footsteps coming towards her, the door opened and he came out. He came out of another part of the house. A black bathrobe on his body, she saw that his hair was still slightly wet, she could see a little of his upper body.

But his gaze, his bright eyes seemed to focus only on her, despite his appearance, he had lost none of his look. ,,Good afternoon, Mr. Kamski, your housekeeper said I should come here...I can wait too," she said and was about to reach for her bag when she heard his grin.

A smirk that led to an amused smile. ,,No, I wanted you to be here and that's why you're here. I suppose you found your way here all right?" he asked, but his interest was clear. She sensed that it wasn't about her life. It should be about her.

It was supposed to be about her work and what was going on inside her. ,,Yes, I did, I also revised my thesis again... Mr. Kamski could you tell me what the job is about now?" she asked as she watched him make himself a green protein shake, mixing the powder with the vegetables, the blender surprisingly quiet.

But he remained silent as he calmly made his drink before walking past her, gesturing for her to follow him. Grabbing her handbag, she followed him, not knowing whether she should walk beside him or behind him.

But she opted for the latter, not wanting to push her luck too far. She didn't want to compete with him. But why? Do I even have a chance? she asked herself and almost walked into him when he stopped.

,,Your room is all yours, I know it might be unpleasant but I would ask you to stay here. As far as my work is concerned, quick communication is essential," he said, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her. She watched as she looked around the room a little.

The room was three times the size of her own small room. Cave it could probably even fit her entire apartment in here. Staying here? For how long? the question popped up in her head and she looked at him slightly questioningly.

She saw that he knew what she was getting at and took a sip of his drink. ,,I don't think for a few more weeks...it depends on how good you are...oh and please just call me Elijah," he dismissed her with those words, closing the door behind him and taking her nervousness with him.

Her glance at her bag let her know that she had to go back to her apartment to pick up her things, but that she had still taken her book with her.

The words she had written about him, being in his house, working for him. ,,I really did it," she muttered and proudly began to unpack her things, set up her room and took her things with her. She tried to find Elijah only to run into Chloe who let her know that Elijah was at work.

Letting her know when he needed her to get her things. Which is why she found herself back in her apartment less than an hour later. Had walked back to the exit, past the pictures and cameras, past the Chloes and past his gaze without realizing it.

She didn't see what he was doing, she just knew she had to do something to formulate her thesis. And when she came back, she saw him again eating a salad at the table in the living room, but this time he wasn't wearing a coat.

He was wearing normal jeans, a dark shirt and glasses. ,,I see you're back, I'd like to read your thesis the day after tomorrow. To understand what's going on inside you," he said and gave her a slight smile. She felt her heart beat faster again, she agreed and went back to her room with her things. The smile on her lips was unmistakable.

Just as unmistakable as his approval. She did as he said as she joined him in his office, his workroom full of various technical things. ,,Elijah, I have my thesis," she said as she stepped inside after knocking and the door opened, she saw him working on an android model.

It was a construct of wires, metal and the pump that symbolized the heart, yet human features were recognizable.

He looked up from his work and something like surprise flashed in his gaze as if he was realizing something before he gave her a satisfied look and motioned her to his desk.

She handed him her tese and he grinned as he felt the paper in his hands. ,,Old-fashioned and yet not corruptibly good," he said as he took the paper properly before he began to read it. she remained standing next to him, watching his eyes run over the sentences.

He became more and more lost in her work, absorbing her words and becoming more and more absorbed in them. ,,Perfection, your idea of something non-living... very good, I'm proud. I would like you to design a model of it for me more deep thought" he baht she had turned towards her his hand had placed itself on her shoulder.

She felt his warmth, although she had always thought of him as cold, he was warm. He was welcoming and he made her heart beat faster, leaving her proud as he held her tese before giving her a smile and watching her walk out of the room.

Not knowing what his thoughts turned to as he went back to his latest project. Her thesis would help him. Everything would be perfect.

But she did what he said, worked on her work, didn't question him, wouldn't and shouldn't. Ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with him. Caught herself listening in the house to see if he was awake to go to the kitchen and make breakfast.

Usually did it with Chloe, who didn't need any sleep. The two of them talked and laughed and she forgot that the blonde was an android.

Forgetting what was happening around her, what was happening out in the world, what had ever happened. Because what she had was here. A job, a friend and a man who admired her and gave her support.

Or did she? Could she describe her life like this? How long had she been with him - days, weeks or even months? How often had she sat with him, revised her work and written down her inner life? What had happened?

,,My dear I will invite you to dinner and would like you to carry this here" she mumbled the words on the small card that lay on the gift wrapping paper that held something with fabric inside.

Unwrapping the gift, she saw the dark fabric of the dress and held it in front of her body. She could feel how expensive it must be, it was perfectly tailored to her body.

It was perfect in every way. As she stood in front of the mirror, she looked at herself in it and for a moment felt like she was on the same level as him. Was with him to the point that she meant something to him.

And she caught herself thinking that the only thing missing was the gold ring on her hand. But had she turned like this or had he made her like this? Did he want to make her like this? Or was everything bigger than he thought in the end? Was she programmed from the beginning to react like this, was it her feelings?

Was it his creation? She didn't let her thoughts get in the way and continued by putting red lipstick on her lips. She took one last look in the mirror before leaving her room. Hearing the clack of her shoes in the hallway, she walked into the dining room, finding no Chloe or any of her friends on her way.

She found only the silence of the house and heard the classical music coming from one of the rooms like a rhythm, the sounds played over and over again as she arrived in the candlelit room. ,,You look beautiful, I'm glad you put it on," he said, giving her the appearance of a choice she didn't have.

After all, what kind of woman would she be if she didn't comply with his request. ,,Thank you for the dress and the invitation," she replied, her gaze dropping for a moment before she saw him step into her field of vision, taking her hand and feeling his warmth as he led her to the table.

,,It's a multi-course meal to thank you for your work," he began, placing the first course of food, a simple soup, before reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring them both a glass.

She saw him sit down opposite her and they both ate in silence. But it wasn't unpleasant, on the contrary, the food, the sound of the cutlery and the music in the background created an atmosphere of comfort.

She couldn't see what was hiding behind his gaze as he concentrated on her. ,,Sorry I haven't had so much time for you in the last few days and weeks," he said, almost too suddenly, as he put down the spoon, his look apologetic but his voice seeming out of place. He was inappropriate.

A man who had spent time under machines could show emotion. ,,It's perfectly all right... I'm very glad we have this," she replied and finished her soup, not wanting to break the atmosphere.

She did as she was told before they got to the end of the meal and she didn't know what to do. She didn't have to because Elijah got up from his seat and walked over to her, offering her his hand before she walked next to him for the first time. His hand was on hers as they both walked towards his office.

His gaze was on her, watching her, looking for anything wrong. ,,I've taken the liberty of creating a new prototype...your notes and work helped" he began and walked over to the machine knowing she was listening to him, knowing she would do anything for him from this point on. He handed her the table with the data and watched as she looked over it, fascination in her eyes for his work.

He knew that she would always admire him, it didn't take much but he had read it. He had read her book and knew that she was truly the right person for his purpose.

That his inner self was right, his genius was right, his obsession was right. She let the shapes and processes on the table before she suddenly felt his hand on her shoulder.

He touched her in all the time she had been with him, he had never fully touched her now only when she had done something well. ,,What did I do well?" she asked, turning to him, the device with the thin screen still in her hand.

She kept still wanting more from him, the bond between them still far too strong. He saw her as his and she saw herself as his wife. It was and would be between them. It was her devotion in her brain for him, and it was his desire for her as his wife. For someone perfect.

,,Everything my love...you have no idea...what you've done to me," he murmured and she felt his other hand on her shoulder as he continued to touch her, praising her for something she couldn't do.

,,Can I do something for my existence?" she asked her inner question out to him, hearing his smirk, smelling the metal, the aftershave, snow and wine. Smelled him. Felt him so close to her and yet she didn't move. Stood still like someone waiting for an order.

Something he liked to have her the way he wanted her. Like an android. ,,You can help what you do... tell me, do you want to be free for a moment?" he asked, his hand moving over her shoulder and down to her hand. He gripped the tray and gave her the freedom to decide for a moment.

She could walk away or she could stay and give it to him. And she did. She gave it to him. ,,Free? But we're free, aren't we?" she asked, not knowing what he meant as he took the tray from her. Leaving the first kiss on her neck before he slowly moved her past the.

The office, like everything else, was just a pretext which she seemed to realize but it made no sense, it didn't matter, there was just the two of them and that should be enough. She hadn't been what she used to be for a long time.

But it didn't matter, it was about him and her, not about what had happened. She felt him leave more kisses on her skin as the doors opened in front of them and she felt the warmth on her cheeks, a natural reaction when she saw his bedroom. Dark walls reddish abstract paintings on the walls.

One might have thought that the pictures hid the portrait of a woman, but what did she know. At most, he saw her in the colors. Because he wanted to. Because understanding told him so. She felt him next to her, his hands gripped hers, her shy gaze found his.

Her uncertain, his almost demanding, the glasses helped him to see her better, even if he didn't need them. He would have her anyway. He slowly placed his hand on her side and pulled her close.

On the contrary, the closer he touched her, the more intimate she became. The more she wanted him. ,,That's it," he said with a murmur, apparently listening to her thoughts before she felt his lips on hers, kissing his warmth over her as she clung to him, almost searching.

He wanted the kiss more knew he was getting it. But she gladly gave herself to him. She felt safe. He had given her a job, given her a dress, given her everything.

Now it was only fair that she gave him something back, wasn't it? It was always like that. She only felt a dull sensation as he moved to her back and unzipped the expensive fabric flowing from her body. She stepped out of her shoes as if automatically, not wanting it to be over like this.

She wanted to please him without realizing that she was doing just that. ,,I've liked you ever since I saw you... like a perfection for me," he said, taking away her fear as he went to the bed, leaving her standing there, almost confused and full of shame.

The warmth on her cheeks increased as she felt flattered and crawled towards him on the bed, knowing that he was watching her, not hiding the fact that he found her attractive.

That he saw exactly how her nipples had hardened slightly from the cold. That his hands lay on the fabric and her shaky exhale. He had her body to himself, had her to himself. ,,Elijah you-me...you are everything," she murmured, knowing it was her mind veiled in lust.

The spirit that longed for Elijah wanted more. Wanted more of his touch. ,,I know that... I know everything, my love," he whispered to her, pulling her into another kiss before he let his hand wander over her breast again. He felt her shudder. ,,Poor girl...all these months without touch or pleasure...without me," he said, watching her.

Watched her through his Chloe's or had to know. Had given him lust without her knowing who his cameras were. She had shown him everything he needed to know. Always in the quiet of the night, he had touched himself to see what she had done.

He pulled her onto his lap, feeling her quick pulse as he kissed her neck, beginning to leave colorful marks on it, her warmth mingling with his as she held onto the cover in the dark bed.#

His hand that was not on her breast moved to her thigh. She felt her hips thrust out towards him, full of devotion, needing him. ,,I'm going to make you feel good look" he whispered to her biting lightly into her lobe hearing her shaky exhale feeling her lust could feel the tingling in her body as his rough fingers slipped under her bra.

Moaning his name, she pressed herself against him, feeling his own arousal against her back, yet he focused on her. Wanted to see her fall apart when he actually touched her.

She opened her half-closed eyes and looked at herself and Elijah out loud in surprise. Her own reflection in the mirror built into the closet. ,,Beautiful forever," he whispered to her and she moaned as she let his fingers wander over her center.

It was different where her fingers weren't even close enough, his seemed so much better. He felt her wetness through the fabric of her underwear, took his hand from her breast and let it wander over her body. Leaving red scratches, small bites, marks and kisses.

Driving her on as he repeatedly focused his attention on the little bundle of nerves. As her voice filled the room, the classical music drowning in it, he was also completely hard but with each of her shaky movements his hardness got some relief.

He rubbed himself lightly against her his breathing was slightly shaky and yet it made no difference. Because he dealt with her. Giving her more of what she wanted while his blue eyes were on her. Her gaze on the mirror. The trembling spread to her legs as she begged him for more.

But he knew he had watched her closely and knew when she was slowly coming to the end. ,,Look at you, darling... everything just for me," he continued to murmur, finally wanting to show her. His finger moved out of her only to add another one, keeping her better than her own, her hips in rhythm with him. His praise took her mind away.

His pace increased, her trembling increased and when he heard her murmur he knew she was nearing climax. ,,El-Elijah please," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, finally wanting to let go, her fingers digging into the dark bed. He gave her body more kisses before he gave her the okay.

He took his hand from her breast and gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. She fell apart around him with a throaty moan.

He pulled out of her, her heavy-breathing form relaxing to just a sporadic twitch of her legs as she came down from her high. Closing her eyes, he withdrew from her. Licked his hand clean and slowly pushed her away. Watched as she still wasn't completely back, but she didn't have to be. ,,Thank you for your time, my dear," he said, hearing only a murmur, but his gaze went to the mirror.

A flicker caused the android behind it to take away the image of the mirror, the projection disappeared and her image emerged in the form of the android.

,,I have recorded all the data, sir," said the android's voice, turning her gaze away from her human image. ,,Very well, interpret the data I want perfection darling," he said and his hand passed over hers but warmth met cold. The coldness of a machine before it went out. He was left alone with his muse, his darling.

Saw that she was asleep saw that she was unaware. Didn't know what his search for her had driven her to. ,,Sleep well my love," he said and withdrew from her, opening and closing the door. Left her alone.

Until he wanted her again, knowing that she would give him everything. That he had rebuilt her so that when her human shell died, he had her eternally living one. She was his, right down to her soul, she belonged to him and always had.

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#detroid become human #dbh #elijah kamski #dbh elijah kamski #dbh elijah kamski x reader #elijah kamski x reader #neil newbon

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soullessjack · 8 months

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need to know your jack autism headcanons (:

OOOOHHHHH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS IVE BEEN WAIITYJNNGGG OKAY!!!!! I will preface this by saying a lot of it is 100% projection from myself and how my personal machinery operated

︎✩ his sensory issues have just as much an effect on his powers as his emotional state, if not more since they’re constant and subconscious and practically elevated by his archangelic DNA. if something is the wrong temperature or the wrong level of severity or he touches something with a bad texture he either makes the bunker’s wiring fritz or causes cracks to go up glass objects. and since there aren’t many noise cancelling headphones that can tune out the celestial frequency of angel radio (the one thats canonically said to make his brain feel “like it’s been set on fire”), he’s decided to study celestial frequencies with Cas’ help to make one himself :)

︎✩ despite being very strongly emotional to an overwhelming unbearable extent, Jack also has a tendency to have bouts of severe low empathy/alexythimia, probably made worse by his soulless state and the “newness” of his current soul. whenever he gets like this he boards up in the room and hangs a “DONT DEAD OPEN INSIDE” TWD poster outside his room door just to be safe. while he’s isolating he mostly reads or listens to music to take his mind off of it

︎✩ this isn’t really a headcanon more so than an observation of canon, but he has one of the worst cases of rejection sensitive dysphoria I’ve ever seen. viewing every mistake and screwup as a reflection of some inherent evil within him, refusing comfort or acceptance of his own flaws, going into total shutdowns and meltdowns when he’s upset and overloaded with a sense of guilt and perceived disappointment. also, this particular scene in JITB —

— tracks right after he feels both betrayed and rejected by the Winchesters. a literal warping of his appearance rooted in the pain of rejection and internal guilt for why we [think we] might be rejected.

︎✩ this is another observation of canon but Jack stims!!!!!!!! mostly when he’s anxious, but he’ll pace around, clasp his hands, pick at his palm (13x23/14x18) and fidget with/adjust his clothes (14x14/14x17). I actually think these are natural habits of Alex that he decided to put into Jack on purpose and I adore it so much.

︎✩ he’s hypo-sensitive to certain things, like physical pain or loud sounds (all canon traits attributed to being half archangel but the coding is still there), and has a weak sense of danger that often comes across as courage and leads to making impulsive decisions.

︎✩ one of his most specific oral fixations is jamming his fingernails and toothpicks between his tooth gap (self projection), and he loves crunchy textured foods the most (also self projection)

︎✩ claire tried to paint his fingernails once at Jody’s house but the cold was too initially shocking and he accidentally blew a lamp up, so Dean doesn’t allow makeup nights unless they’re in the bunker

I think that’s all I have for now but TYSM!!!!!!

#my autism king of all time I absolutely LOVE him #I genuinely believe Alex should’ve gotten some sort of award or something bc this is the most perfectly autistic character I’ve ever seen #holdthypeace.txt #spn #supernatural headcanon #jack kline #autistic jack kline #autism headcanon

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dykepuffs · 4 months

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Every now and then I am so angry at the loss of my local community centre.

Up until my early 20s, the local community centre was in an old secondary school - It had been replaced by two others after a new estate had been built, then turned into an Approved School, then finally closed - but still belonging to the local authority, so they turned this 1000-pupil school, with an assembly hall with a stage, two gymnasiums, a dance studio, dozens of classrooms and a canteen, into a massive community centre. This wasn't unique either, there was another one similar to it on the other end of the estate, also in an old school (this time, a Victorian one with no field but a big yard), and one in a purpose-built community centre building, of comparable size, about a mile away, and one in an old drill hall maybe two miles away. But, this one was "ours".

And pretty much everything happened there. Every member of my extended family had *something* that they did there, so there was always a chance of running into some auntie or second-cousin and a bunch of their friends too, so a two-hour evening class might end with us all walking up the road to the workingmen's club for a few pints after.

And it wasn’t just sports clubs either (Though, there were sports clubs, both leagues where you could compete and classes where you could learn), there were things like mother and baby groups, support and befriending groups for various people, amateur dramatics (both to play and regular shows for the public to attend), a pictures club that showed classic films on a huge projector screen, loads of language learning ranging from "Spanish for holidays" via "Hindi for your british-born grandkids to get some immersion" and "German for (Local German tech firm)'s employees who intend to work abroad" to "Classical Kurmanji for poets", straightforward further education and night classes where you could learn typing or carpentry or study for your A-Levels... Basically, because the building was vast and already owned by the council for the good of the people living on the estate, it didn't cost much to rent a room for an hour a week and run a club, so all sorts of people would do it. There were the stalwarts that always ran (Children's tap dancing, football, karate, photography, knitting circle) but effectively anyone with £12 per week to spare could hire a room for an hour, run off some posters on the photocopier (2p per page, 5p colour) and have a club - And since it was all in one place, people would read the poster on the signboard and already know where the club was and how to get there - In fact, if they were already here at 5 for Watercolour For Beginners, there was no real reason NOT to hang around for half an hour afterwards, get a coffee in the cafe, then try out Labyrinthine Meditation at 7. All the classes were cheap (the most shocking expensive one was black-and-white photography, at £3.50 a session, because you had to chip in for the chemicals to develop your films and print your prints, and they had sole use of a store cupboard as a darkroom) and so was the cafe and the very small lounge bar.

I moved away pushing 20 years ago and I miss it to pieces, and now it's closed down and the land has been sold off to develop into flats. And the people living there won't have it, and the town I live in now doesn't have anything like it, our village hall is a single room and it sold its cricket pitch decades ago. And with just one room there is a lot more pressure on only having the most popular clubs run, the ones guaranteed to run for 12-week terms with at least 15 participants per session, with "broad appeal".

I just wish there were still more of these in the UK. We have lost a whole lot in losing it, and it remained popular right up to closure... But local authorities are skint and land isn't cheap and maintaining these mid-century buildings that are either falling apart or full of asbestos is expensive.

But think how different our queer culture could be, if this kind of place still existed commonly and universally all over the country!

#community centre

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saint-starflicker · 9 months

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what did you think of the secret history? (Also all the things tagged tsh are so not tsh related it’s so sad)

Despite being upheld as a sort of Dark Academia media originator, I did not get as keen a sense of a sort of "aha, so THAT's where everybody else got that from" in the same way that sword-and-sorcery fantasy can't escape The Lord of the Rings, or Regency romances can't escape Jane Austen.

This is a good thing, though, that TSH...hasn't really been imitated? This despite all the—what I think is—false advertising associated with its successors. TSH can't be mistaken for a clichéd form of something that it was the earliest example of...unless I've been reading the wrong books this whole time 😂

It's definitely the most aesthetic in that there is so much more care and dawdling over the descriptions than I usually find, and it meanders around the narrator's memories. Reading TSH was really an immersive experience on a sensory level alone, and for that I kept thinking they don't make literature like they used to.

I also gave up on trying to hang on to every line as though it's a clue to something I had to put together before the end because of that. While I have looked up reader theories about which character was most likely to be misrepresenting what because of so-and-so motives that the narrator wouldn't consider, or the theories of what really happened that the characters misunderstood, and all of that adds to how many layers of meaning and analysis this text had, but what I was more into was the general mood of a slow creeping something through all the coziness of finding new friends and visiting their fancy houses (which was probably on purpose on the author's side of things.)

When it comes to an exercise of reading between the lines, TSH gives ample opportunities to do that, while at the same time the parts of my brain that turns a fiction novel into a movie did not have to work as hard because this book was telling it what to imagine more clearly than most others.

I think I could pick up on some gallows humor, and I get why some lines become fandom in-jokes, but for me it wasn't laugh-out-loud then-instantly-feel-bad-for-laughing sort of dark humor.

Finally I might regret admitting that I didn't love the characters or plot/pacing. I understand that the central cast are human train-wrecks-can't-look-away messed-up, and there are so many well-thought-through fan interpretations about why they are like that, and there's so many details that make them ordinary people that are also living train wrecks and I don't read that often either. The way these characters are constructed, detailed, set into motion and development is a master study. The characters themselves, though, I sense that I won't be rotating them in my mind for the next several years. (Sometimes that doesn't happen, I don't really know why.) Around the funeral scene, I didn't exactly get bored but I started to wonder if there was a point to all this.

I find it recommended as "a whydunnit not a whodunnit" mystery but I think it's neither. Its character-driven thematic layers keep me categorizing TSH as literary fiction (that just so happens to take place at a college and involve murders.)

#dark academia #The Secret History #ask box

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wihome · 8 months

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I swore to myself that I will not journal multiple times or as frequently as I did the past few months. Although therapeutic, journaling has solidified some memories for me that I shouod be forgetting and they push me further into the loop of overthinking. Moreover, I've journaled as if I was venting out my anger in the past few months. So now, I'm trying to redeem.

But I cant stop myself from journaling one time on tumblr. Cause it's been so long.

Firstly, I've moved on from my first crush. (Or atleast, I'm beginning to move on from him)

This is a milestone in itself because I realised that I do not want to be a secret admirer for someone I talk to very frequently that too,in a filter-free manner.

Although pretty late to join the other end of the sea called "first crushes and hormonal rushes", I've realised that it's either -

You stay a secret admirer while keeping your interactions minimal

You let them know how you feel a little early in the relationship

So that you don't let the guilt of becoming a delusional take over whatever friendship you've really established enroute that's actually needed for the 2 of you but, you're too guilty when he needs you as a friend.

Learnt the lesson a really tough way, but we both have our lives moving in different paces in our unis so "it is what it is"

(I really wish we could hang out sometime soon. But I swore to not get ahead anytime soon, so)

Secondly, I began coloring in the penup app of my new tab and doodling a little albeit rarely. This got me into training my mind into being a little patient. Maybe right now I'm patient by 4% more than I was before on an average

Thirdly, I'm chronically having headaches.

It could be me stressing out or overthinking subtle things when I let my emotions and silliness take over the rationale. Also because although im not entirely a people pleaser, i have a hard time saying no and even taking it (should seriously work on better communication)

Or inadequate sleep mostly due to my inefficiency in planning things for the day or night if I'm being specific.

I should be sleeping now so I get sufficient rest for tomorrow, but I'm typing away anyways :p

Or me studying under stress! Panicking. Worrying about my future.

Or missing home and worrying about family

Or under-hydration

Or micro nutrition deficiency cause I get fatigued after I'm out in the sun, pretty easily.

So to sum everything up, my health is getting fucked up. Mental health and physical one too.

Hence the pms and pcos.

Fourthly, I read a lot than I studied in the past few months.

Be it solo leveling to begin with.

Or subtle art of not giving a fuck.

Then recently I've read It ends with us and It starts with us.

While rn I'm binging on Omniscient reader and Eaternal Nocturnal.

Even anime wise

I've watched too many it seems

Kaguya Sama

Suzume (in theatres ✨️)

Your name (rewatch, in theatres 💫, and re-rewatch in my new tab)

Your lie in april

Garden of words

Horimiya (S1)

Demon slayer (rehabilitation arc and mugen train)

I've watched many movies too

Jailer (in theatres)

Happy days

Anand

Gharshana

Good night

(Okay not too many but yeah more than my average in the recent times)

Now it makes sense why I get all panicky before exams. I almost never touched my books because I know, I know how the next 3 and the next 3 years of my life are gonna be like, academically

Lastly, yoongi's lines from magic shop are making so much sense to me right now that I want to turn back time and just live happily with my family but this time around - Imma take care of my parents more and show my brother I love him more and not think about growing up or idolize growing up. Cause adulting is so damn not easy! And I'm not even 21 yet (will be in a few months though)

It's tiring

Taxing

Exhausting

Exasperating

You can't even blame your parents anymore (that feels morally wrong!)

#blog #life #medschool #bts army #first love #life is strange #keep swimming

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

Note

Excuse me! it’s just me, this blog’s stalker because your works amazing. I kinda am in love with your demon’s nature series. I if I could request something. Could you possible do MC seeing the brothers do something that is “demonic”. Similar to what happens in the series. Thank you!!!!

Hello!! Haha, thank you -- we’re so glad you like our content! ;u;

And I’m glad that you enjoy the Demon’s Nature series! It’s been a lot of fun to write.

Sorry this took a bit! I wasn’t sure if you wanted this to be something with one of the brothers or all of them, so I ended up doing little short blurbs for each of the brothers and MC accidentally catching them doing something demonic/violent. Tried to keep them all pretty short, which was hard.

[Mod Cosmos]

MC accidentally catching the Demon Brothers being Demonic/Violent

content warning: blood/gore, body horror (especially in Beel’s), and general violence

Note: This is through the perspective of an MC that knows that the demons do their thing, but perhaps doesn't want to see it happening in front of them.

LUCIFER

You were supposed to go shopping together after meetings for the day were finished, and he had told you to just wait an additional thirty minutes so that he could finish up some business. Thirty minutes passed, but there was still no word from him, so you decide you’ll go and see what was holding that workaholic up. You soon realize that was a mistake.

You hear muffled cries, and a familiar deep voice. Cautiously, you approach the source of these sounds -- a room located off a dark corridor. You didn’t think there were any classrooms here, and your curiosity got the better of you -- so you approach the door, peeking through the crack. You recognize the intimidating silhouette and --- there’s blood. There was another figure in the room, their body limp on the ground in a puddle of red, the mighty first-born’s claws tearing through flesh. A loss of balance in your surprise results in you tumbling into the room, earning a sharp turn from Lucifer, whose crimson eyes were wide in surprise. His wings spread out to try and shield the unsavory scene from you.

“MC, you were supposed to wait for me.” His voice is stern, but there’s a gentleness to it. He sees the queasy look on your face, and decides he can put this torment to an end. With a swift motion, he fully blocks your line of sight before slitting the lesser demon’s throat. He then turns back to you, lightly embracing your body with black feathers. His voice is soft as he did not want to frighten you. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that. Let’s get you home, shall we? I’ll make you some tea.”

MAMMON

It had just been a scratch. A low-level demon had taken a swipe at you in passing, but hadn’t been able to cut too deep. Mammon insisted he was just running off to get a bandaid after you insisted he didn’t need to go after the other demon. He said that he’d be right back--”I’m just gettin’ a bandage, I swear!”-- and told you not to move an inch. But this bandage quest was taking longer than it should have, so you go after him, pressing a loose cloth against your wound. And there he was, having cornered the offending demon. He seems to be staking the demon in the arm with a sharp metal object, speaking in a tongue you couldn’t understand.

You hadn’t even realized you had dropped the Majolish bag from your hand, not until it hit the ground with a thud and Mammon whipped around to see you there. A flash of guilt appears on his features, his eyes going between you and the lowly demon. He drops them, though he can’t resist one more swift kick to their chest before running back to you.

“I told ya I’d be right back!” He’s about to cup your face in his hands, but retracts them as he realizes they’re covered in blood. “Uh, okay, let’s go get that,” he motions to your injury, “...taken care of, yeah?” He mumbles a sorry as he picks up the bag you dropped before ushering you away from the scene, promising he’d do whatever he needed to do to make up for having to witness it.

LEVIATHAN

You’re browsing games at a shop, having tagged along with Leviathan who had been raving about a new release. At one point, however, Leviathan had vanished from your side. You now realize it’s been … quite some time, actually. You wander about the store, unable to find him anywhere. Did he step outside? You decide to check, missing the anxious glance from the clerk behind the counter.

You hear some sounds from the alley by the shop. Is that … someone choking? Worried, you round the corner to make sure whoever it was is okay -- only to see the one doing the strangling was Leviathan himself. He had his tail tightly wrapped around the other demon’s throat, and … what, what was that inky substance leaking from their eyes? Leviathan caught your shadow against the alley wall, turning to you with a slightly panicked look.

“M-MC!” His tail quickly slithered off and away from the demon’s throat, leaving them to collapse to the ground. He’s suddenly at your side, hands on your shoulders as he turns you around and makes you walk out of the alley with him, murmuring something about how the venom will take care of the rest. “S-sorry about that, MC. You look a little sick … let’s get that game and go home and play, okay?”

SATAN

You had been ambling through an aisle in the grand Royal Library, wondering what random book you should pick up next to flip through idly. Satan had wanted to spend a quiet day reading and studying together, to which you readily obliged. But it was easy to forget just how large the Royal Library was -- what floor were you on again? -- and you wonder if you should head back to where the two of you had set up. Then you suddenly hear a distant crash. It seemed to be coming from one of the meeting rooms at the back, and you couldn’t help but want to take a peek to see what had happened.

“Fuck you!” You knew that voice, and you knew that anger. There was a muffled yell, and what sounded like shattering glass. Then there’s a chilling, mocking laughter, and you can feel the goosebumps starting to cover your skin. You nervously approach the slightly ajar door, and there he is, his tail impaling another demon with its sharp ridges. Oh, there is fury burning in those eyes -- ones that shift to land on you, and that glowing fury is replaced with exasperation.

“MC!” Your name comes out as a hiss, but he quickly tosses the other demon, slamming them into the wall. “You…” He’s unsure what to say, his wrath calming at the sight of you, especially with that look on your face. “I … I’m sorry, I just had to take care of something. Please, let’s go. We can talk about this later.”

ASMODEUS

The music is loud, the drinks are pouring, and you’re having an absolutely wonderful night out clubbing with Asmodeus. You were returning from the bar with two drinks in hand for the both of you, thanking one of the security guards on your way for managing the crowd of fans that had now dispersed, only to find that Asmodeus was not to be found at your table. He had left a note-- “BRB! ♡”--with lipstick on a napkin. You waited, sipping your drink as you demon watched from your seat. Some time passes, and you realize you’ve finished your drink a bit more quickly than intended. There’s still no sign of him, so you might as well go get another.

On the way to the bar, however, you pass by what you assumed was the hall to the restrooms, and you hear a desperate “I’m sorry!” cutting through the heavy bass. Should you be concerned? Well, you decide to at least be nosy, so you slip into the hall to see what was going on -- and are met with the sight of Asmodeus holding a heart he had carved out of some poor demon’s chest. In your shock, your empty glass slips through your fingers and crashes to the floor, earning your demon’s attention.

“Oh, MC!” Despite his surprise to see you, he gives you a smile -- one that gives you chills as you see blood spattered on his face. “Ah, what a mess…” He lets the lesser demon slide to the floor, debating on what to do with the organ in hand, but hides it behind his back for now, coming over to place a quick kiss on your cheek. “Sorry about that, darling. I’m just going to go clean up, so wait for me at the table, ‘kay?”

BEELZEBUB

You had agreed to go with him to Madame Scream’s after finishing up classes for the day, but he was running late. He’s not picking up any calls, either, so you decide to go to where his last class would have been -- maybe they were just running way over, and he hadn’t realized the time? The hall is quiet, and you end up reaching an empty classroom. Walking back out, you decide to try calling him again. Ring, ring. After a moment, you realize you can hear Beelzebub’s ringtone in the distance, and you follow your ears to where his D.D.D. and ultimately he himself must be.

You weren’t prepared for what you saw next. A head of bright orange hair buried in a lesser demon’s abdomen, the sound of squelching and slurping from his feasting sounding so much more insidious than usual.

“Beel!” You can’t help but cry out his name in shock, which causes him to jolt upright -- with intestines still hanging from his mouth. Oh, you were going to be sick …

“MC … sorry, Lucifer always says I need to work on my table manners … “ He gulps down what was left hanging, but his eyes widen when it registers just who caught him in the act. “Oh, uh, guess that’s not the point, huh … “ He sheepishly wipes at his mouth with some torn cloth that you can only assume came from his victim, standing up and walking around to block your view of the mangled body. “I’ll clean this up, and then … well, we can do whatever you want to do. Sorry, MC …”

BELPHEGOR

You’re looking around for where Belphegor could possibly be napping. Beelzebub had to go to Fangol practice and asked that you make sure his twin got home, as he had seemed even more tired today than usual. He’s not in the Western Courtyard, so you head to the Southern Courtyard next. You think you remember him saying that was one of his favorite spots…

You perk up as you spot the ever-familiar cow patterned pillow, but you fail to see the demon that was usually attached to it. Peering around the area, worry starts to set in -- and then you hear a scream. It certainly didn’t belong to Belphegor, but the gears in your mind start turning and you run to where the scream came from. Of course, no one else was around here -- it wasn’t the busiest area on campus in the first place. Turning a corner, you see just what you feared -- Belphegor had his claws at another demon’s throat, his barbed tail wrapped around their body and squeezing them tight. You feel weak, the scenario a bit too close for comfort as you recall what he had done to you in the past.

“MC?” Belphegor turned to see you, his eyes wide. He must have sensed your presence at some point, or maybe your heart was pounding much louder than you realized. He drops the other demon, growling something you can’t make out to them, and then slowly approaches you. He sees you tense up, causing him to stop in his tracks. He averts his gaze, not wanting to meet your eyes as he tries to figure out what to say. “I just … had to deal with something. You … you can head on home first, if you want. I understand.”

#obey-mes-treasure #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #gn!reader #gn!mc #demons being demons #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos #ask and ye shall be answered

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phykios · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?”

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

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

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

The baby says nothing.

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

Junie blinks at him.

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

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

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might be in over his head a little.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

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

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

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

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

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

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

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

And he closes his computer.

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

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

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

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

***

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

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

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

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

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

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

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

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

He starts. “What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

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

Annabeth gapes.

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

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

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

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

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

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

“No, why do you ask?”

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

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

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

“Can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

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

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

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

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

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

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

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

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

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

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

“Then let’s make it happen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

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

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

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

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

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

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

Junie beams at her.

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

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

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

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vampiregirl1797 · 3 years

Text

The Starlight Stone

GIF not mine.

Rhysand x Reader

Word Count: 4,898

Summary: Y/N comes from a different reality, where the characters and world she’s now living in, exist in a series of books. Rhysand takes her in, and she learns how to do something she’s never managed before… live.

Warnings: Can’t think of any? If I’ve missed anything, let me know.

Masterlist Here :)

Falling in love with new characters was as easy as breathing for me. In fact it was so easy, that before I realised it, I was only falling for them. Reading became an escape for me, a teenage girl without a shred of self-confidence, used to being the overlooked one in a group of friends, used to not attracting any kind of male attention. It was perfect, because the men I fell in love with always loved me back, never hurt me with the crushing pain of rejection, never thought I wasn’t pretty enough, or skinny enough. They loved me for me.

I just never imagined I’d wake up in one of the fictional world’s I’d read about, and come face to face with the High Lord I’d most recently falling for. I’d arrived several months ago, and of course hadn’t been able to keep a thing from the High Lord of the Night Court who’d found me trespassing on his lands. He’d gone into my head, not too far, but far enough to assess whether I was a threat to him or his people. He discovered pretty quickly that I had absolutely no skill set to be a threat, and that I absolutely was not from his world.

He’d found the concept of Prynthian being presented in a series of books both interesting and amusing, as well as him and his friends existing as characters within the novels. I was just glad he hadn’t gone far enough to find how invested I got in each of the books I read, and those who existed within them, him being one of those people. It would have been mortifying and I had wondered on more than one occasion what his reaction would be. But coming face to face with a man who had been fictional to me, and then become real overnight… it had thrown me into my insecurities. Into taking my feelings for the High Lord and shoving them down as far as I could.

‘Y/N?’ I was snapped out of my thoughts by Cassian popping his head into my room. Rhys had offered me a room at his town house when I first got here, and I’d never left. He’d offered the money to buy my own place, but I hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of that at the time, and now I had a place on his court, along with a wage of my own, but this had become my home.

‘Hey Cass, what’s up?’ I smiled, patting the empty space beside me on the enormous bed; in my world I’d never had bigger than a single, and this was about three singles put together.

‘Not much, I was gonna go into town for a little while, do you want to come with?’ His hazel eyes studied me with warmth and kindness, which was probably what had made me comfortable around him so quickly. He’d never looked at me with the disinterest I was used to being on the receiving end of from men; he saw me as a person and I appreciated him for it.

‘Sure. Anything in particular you’re after?’ I wondered letting my hair down from the messy bun I’d pulled it up onto when I’d come to relax in my room.

He shrugged, trying and failing to be nonchalant, ‘not really. Just felt like getting out.’

I sighed, shuffling to the edge of the bed to slip on my boots, ‘Rhys sent you to check up on me didn’t he? Let me guess, he thinks I’m becoming a depressed recluse?’

Cass gave me a look that was a mixture of concern and exasperation, ‘Rhys worries about you because you never leave the house. He doesn’t think you’re depressed, but he worries you’re not living either. You lose yourself in books, and you barely speak to anyone, even me.’

I turned away, pretending to busy myself with lacing up my shoes to hide the tear that slid down my cheek. Rhys was more observant than I gave him credit for. The truth was, since I’d gotten here, I’d basically been living the same as I had before; reading, sleeping, eating and more reading. I ate meals with everyone sometimes, but more often than not, I allowed the new fictional worlds offered to me here to consume me. I’d never been called out on it before. No one had ever cared enough to notice that I wasn’t just reading because I loved it, I was reading to escape the life I didn’t know how to live.

‘I-I’ I stuttered, forcing myself to stop and take a breath.

‘Hey,’ Cassian’s voice softened and he shuffled beside me on the bed to sling a muscular arm over my shoulder. My head went to his chest, not even trying to hold back my tears anymore, it seemed pointless when he could probably scent them anyway, ‘I didn’t say this to upset you, just to let you know that you’re family to us now, Y/N, and we care about you. We want you to live and enjoy life, not to fall solely in love with fictional places.’

‘This place was just a fictional place to me once.’ I murmured quietly.

‘And now you get to be here, and still choose to read yourself to death.’ He teased, chuckling softly.

I smiled, wiping away the moisture from my cheeks, because he was right. Rhys was right. I had been blessed with the opportunity to live in a reality I’d once yearned for with all my heart, and I’d been wasting it. Why? Because I was afraid to face the feelings I had for a certain High Lord, feelings that had only blossomed since coming here, despite my best efforts to avoid him. I’d been throwing myself into reading because I wanted to live in the fantasy that he would return my feelings for a little longer. But that had to stop. I wasn’t immortal here—at least I didn’t think so, I didn’t have Fae characteristics and I didn’t have any powers—and it was time to stop squandering my life being a scaredy cat.

‘You’re right. Rhys is right.’ I moved away from Cassian’s chest, wiping all evidence of my tears away, ‘lets go into Velaris. I’ve always wanted to stroll through the City and take everything in. It looks so beautiful from up here.’

Cassian grinned, and allowed me to pull him from the bed, and just like that we left the town house and were swallowed by the life of Velaris.

Six Months Later

‘I don’t think so.’ I shook my head, levelling the Shadowsinger with a no-nonsense glare, ‘it’s the Winter Solstice, which is the first one I’m spending here, it’s basically Christmas, and it’s a family holiday. You’re not flying off to wherever the heck you’re planning to go, with only your shadows for company.’

His hazel eyes were blank but he visibly stiffened. I sighed, realising that telling Azriel what he could and couldn’t do was not my place, and it definitely wasn’t the best approach.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to act like I’m your keeper or anything.’ I stood from the couch where I’d been sitting, to move to where he stood in front of the fire. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and relaxed a little when he didn’t shrug me off, ‘it’s just… this means something to me. Back in my old reality, we had Christmas, which was something similar. We’d all gather, exchange presents, decorate a tree, hang decorations… but what made it special to me was the time spent with the people I loved. With the people I considered family. You’re my family now, Azriel. You, Cass, Ameren, Mor… and Rhys. Obviously it’s your choice, but if you could afford to, please don’t leave until after the holiday.’

I thought his eyes had softened at my words, but honestly it was hard to tell with the Shadowsinger. I left him alone to think over my words, kissing his cheek as I made my way outside; I still had some things left to buy for everyone. I’d gone a little overboard, but I couldn’t help it. I’d pretty much finished Mor and Ameren, I had a few last things to pick up for Cassian and Azriel, and the majority I’d left to buy were for Rhys. I already knew what I was going to get him, and most were already purchased and wrapped at each store, I’d just waited until now to get them, because while Rhys was trusted with everyone else’s presents… well giving him his own gifts just didn’t seem right. It might just have been me, but I felt like it took away the surprise, at least a little bit.

I smiled as I walked through the city, nodding in greeting to a few friendly people. Since that talk Cassian had with me six months ago, I’d started venturing out of the townhouse more and more. I still read, but it was for the fun of it now, rather than the escape from reality. I’d fallen in love with Velaris. The city was beautiful, and teeming with life and acceptance and peace… seeing it first hand really made me appreciate the efforts Rhys and everyone had gone through to protect this place, to make it a home.

‘Hey girl!’ Ameren’s voice had me looking to my right, to see her running across the cobblestone street to catch up to me, ‘you wouldn’t be out to purchase my Winter Solstice presents now would you?’ she grinned, her silver eyes sparkling with more life than usual.

I playfully rolled my eyes, ‘even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you. Your otherworld intimidation doesn’t work on me, Ren.’

She huffed, but I could see the amusement swirling in her silver irises, ‘fine. It amazes me sometimes though,’ she mused, going on to explain, ‘Cassian cracked like an egg in two seconds, told me what he’d got me straight away. But you’re immune to what makes me scary to people around here.’

I chuckled, being able to picture Cassian folding perfectly, ‘I wouldn’t say I’m the only one. And Cassian doesn’t prove anything, he’s like a big kid with this stuff. I’ve had to actually shush him to keep him from telling me about my presents, I think the excitement just gets to him. Now if you told me you’d broken Azriel, I’d be impressed.’

She huffed a laugh and tilted her head in acknowledgement of my words, ‘yeah, you might be right. He didn’t only tell me what he’d gotten me, he told me about everyone else’s too.’

I rolled my eyes affectionately, ‘that boy.’

‘Indeed.’ She shook her head, but when she met my eyes again the wicked glint in them made me brace myself slightly, ‘so what are you getting our High Lord?’

‘I’m on my way to pick up Rhys’ presents now. You can come with me if you want, so long as you don’t spoil anything.’ I gave her a pointed look and grinned at her offended look.

‘I’m not the gossip Cassian is, thank you very much, girl,’ she waved her hand dismissively, ‘anyway, I was just wondering if you were finally going to gift him with the truth.’

‘Who?’ I frowned, pulling open the door to the blacksmith’s—I’d requested a few specific weapons for Azriel, Cassian and Rhys, each custom made and fit to them specifically, ‘what truth?’

She opened her mouth to reply, but was had to wait until the blacksmith had handed over the three weapons he’d perfectly made for me. Azriel and Cassian had plenty of swords and knives and daggers, but their abundance in bows and arrows was clear. I’d seen them practice with the same one, and I doubted they had any specific for battle, which seemed a waste when they could both fly. So I’d asked the blacksmith to create some custom for them, and both now had their own bow, plenty of arrows and a quiver. Their names were engraved inside the buttery leather of their quivers, and each were made to be lightweight and able to be worn whilst flying without losing any arrows.

For Rhys I’d asked for a pair of daggers to be crafted. I’d seen him with a couple of swords, and I was sure he already had daggers too, but picking this particular weapon had just felt right, even if I knew it was likely he possessed some already. Each was pure silver, one held an amethyst stone at the hilt, while the other held an onyx stone. One for his eyes, the other for his court.

It was when we exited the shop that Ameren decided to resume her train of thought that I’d almost forgotten about, ‘the truth that you are in love with Rhys.’

It took a lot of effort not to stumble from shock, ‘what?’

‘Don’t play dumb. It’s obvious. Has been for months,’ she smirked, ‘we have bets on when you’re going to tell him. I have over the Solstice, so if you could do a girl a favour and tell him already, the winnings will be mine.’

‘Not to put a damper on your betting habits,’ I pulled her hand towards another shop I needed to go into, ‘but I’ve not got any “truth” to reveal to Rhys.’

She swore under her breath, ‘I knew I should have had spring, but there’s me being the optimist thinking you would have grown some balls and realised what we’ve all already seen by now.’

I frowned, ‘what the hell are you talking about Ameren?’

‘Rhys loves you just as much as you love him. Actually knowing him, he probably loves you even more, but he’s as much of a coward as you.’ She rolled her eyes, tucking her onyx hair behind her ear as I accepted another bag full of pre-wrapped presents for Rhys.

‘You can’t be serious.’ I didn’t know what else to say… the idea of him feeling a fraction of the love I had for him made my heart pound in my chest. I couldn’t fathom it.

‘Honestly, you’re both blind.’ She shook her head, but let the subject drop, and I was glad. Talking any more might have launched me into a full-blown panic attack.

I’d admitted to myself that fallen in love with the High Lord three months ago—for a long time I’d fought it, convincing myself I was just in love with the fictional version of him. But that theory had gone down the toilet when he’d laughed—really laughed—at a joke Cassian made, and I’d been powerless to stop myself from being overwhelmed with happiness at his happiness. It was then I accepted I was an idiot in love with a man I’d never have. But Ameren saying he did feel the same, well it made me panic because I’d never considered it a possibility before—I’d never had a man interested in me before, and the idea of it, the unfamiliarity, made me panic. So I forced it down and made myself focus on collecting the rest of my gifts.

The morning of Winter Solstice saw me rising bright and early, eager as a kid on Christmas morning. I realised that we wouldn’t be exchanging presents until the evening, after we’d all eaten, but I couldn’t tamper my excitement. So after I’d showered and dressed in leggings and a white woolly jumper, I headed to the living room to put the finishing touches on the decorations. Everything was basically done, but Rhys had found an eight-foot pine tree; I’d been telling him about the traditions of Christmas in my old reality, and he’d surprised me yesterday with a real tree. I’d hugged him tightly for it, unable to hold back my tears of gratitude at his thoughtfulness, and declared we’d have to decorate it tomorrow, after it had time to settle in the room overnight. A part of me wondered if he’d remember, but my doubt floated away upon the sight of him standing in the living room, observing the tree like he was sizing up an opponent on the battlefield. The thought made me chuckle, and he looked up to me with a smile.

‘Good morning.’ I murmured, coming over to join him, ‘is there a reason you seem to be sizing up this poor, defenceless tree?’

He grinned, his violet eyes sparkling with mirth, ‘well, other than the fact that it’s bigger than me and has an unfair advantage size-wise,’ I missed his soft smile as I laughed again, ‘I was simply wondering exactly how we’re going to decorate it.’

I softened with understanding, ‘well, lucky for you, I’m ridiculously prepared.’ I moved to pull out the box I’d stored behind the tree last night, after retrieving it from one of the shops in the art district. Magic was such a blessing here, and after I’d explained what I’d needed, and demonstrated with some awful drawings, they’d had everything made within a few hours. I pulled a few ornaments out, marvelling at the craftsmen’s ship for a moment before hanging them on the tree; there was a mixture of circular shapes and stars, in amethyst, silver, blue and black. They’d also crafted a silver star to go on top of the tree, fashioned after the star that always shone the brightest in the night sky of Velaris on the first night of Winter Solstice. It was so well made, I’d been struck speechless by how realistic it looked; as if they had plucked the star straight from the sky.

I nudged the box closer to Rhys with my foot, ‘just hang them however you want, like this.’ I gestured to the few I’d put on and smiled when he reached in and immediately followed instructions.

‘You know, if I used my magic I could have this done in under a minute.’ He commented, looking at me from the corner of his eye as if he knew my reaction before I voiced it.

‘Absolutely not! Decorating by hand is part of the fun, and the tradition.’ I protested, flicking his shoulder when I noticed his smirk, ‘if you use a flicker of magic, then there will be no presents for you.’

I frowned at the look of surprise in his eyes and he must have noticed my confusion because he said, his voice soft, ‘I didn’t think you’d gotten me anything. I didn’t mind, of course, I’m just surprised.’

‘Why would you think that?’ I turned to face him fully, ignoring the task of decorating for the moment.

‘Because you didn’t give them to me to hide.’ He shrugged, carefully placing another ornament onto the tree, ‘and I never expect gifts, from anyone regardless. I went a long time being consumed by disappointment after my mother and sister died, because my father never cared for the holiday before. But after their deaths, it bore a reminder of another year of them being gone. Then he and I enacted our revenge, and it was a while before Morrigan, Cassian and I were able to spend the Solstice together.’

I pulled him into a hug, winding my arms around his neck and not flinching at the appearance of his wings. They didn’t often appear without purpose unless he was feeling a strong emotion, but I didn’t question it when they cocooned us, his warmth radiating all around me.

‘I didn’t give you any to hide because I felt like it took away from the surprise of the holiday if I was asking you to keep your own presents.’ I murmured into his neck, missing the small shiver that passed through him, ‘I’m sorry, that you had to spend so many Solstice’s alone, Rhys. But you have a family now, one that would sooner die than leave you.’

He held me a little tighter, and I returned the gesture, burrowing further into his neck and wondering if I was imagining the increased heartbeat I could feel against my chest, or if I were perhaps mistaking it for my own.

I smiled from my seat in the armchair, enjoying the warmth emanating from the fire, and from the mug of hot chocolate I held in my hands. We had just had Winter Solstice dinner, and were taking it in turns to open our presents.

Ameren had gone first, and was grinning so wide it was almost scary at all of the jewels everyone had bought for her. Cassian had mostly been gifted weapons from everyone but Mor and me—she’d given him a sweater in the brightest green I’d ever seen, and I’d also gifted him some of his favourite liquor, a box of chocolates that Rhys had mentioned his mother got the General every year for solstice, some new books on war strategy, a new set of Illyrian leathers, and the bow and arrows I’d gotten him.

Azriel had also gained an abundance of weapons, along with a startlingly bright pair of purple socks from Mor, and some of his favourite liquor, a series of books on adventure and war I had a feeling he would enjoy, and a new set of Illyrian leathers and his new bow and arrows, from me. Mor had been given high quality clothing from everyone, and some of her favourite chocolates, wine, bath foams and salts from me. Rhys had been given a set of old leather bound books from Ameren, a Hawaiian themed shirt from Mor—mother knew where she found that—, what looked like a six-pack of beer from Cassian that had Rhys shaking his head with a reluctant smile, and a new set of Illyrian leathers from Azriel. I’d given him his new set of daggers, some of the chocolates Cassian had mentioned his mother and sister gifted him every Solstice, a painting that captured the beauty of Velaris perfectly, and something else I hadn’t yet presented to him.

I’d actually left the other gift in his room, on his pillow; it was a pendant that had caught my eye when I was buying Ameren’s Solstice gifts. The shop attendant had noticed my stare and pulled it out from beneath the glass—it wasn’t overly huge; about the size of a bottle cap. It was antique silver, with a stone at the centre that was so beautiful I’d been unable to look away from it. It reminded me of the night sky, to put it plainly. It was so blue I thought it was sapphire, but the flashes of pure light that I saw when I turned it reminded me of shooting stars. The attendant had explained it was a pendant often presented to a perspective partner as a way of showing your intentions—as a way of showing your love for them. It was often the step before the mating bond sparked, to acknowledge what you already felt for them. She mentioned that it was an out dated tradition, and many only bought the Starlight stone now purely because it was beautiful.

I didn’t know what possessed me to buy it. Maybe it was the possibility that he wouldn’t even know what it meant, maybe it was because a part of me wanted to tell him, and this was the only way I could muster the courage to do it. Either way, I’d left the small wrapped present on his black silk pillow before I’d joined the party tonight. And I’d had knots in my stomach about it since. A part of me wanted to excuse myself and take it back, but I forced that anxious part of my brain to shut up, because as much as it terrified me… I had to tell Rhys how I felt somehow, even if it meant that he didn’t feel the same way.

After the events of the evening, I decided to have a bath before I went to bed; Cassian and Azriel had passed out in the living room, one on the floor, the other on the sofa, but both were snoring loudly. Mor had made it to her room on the first floor, and Ameren had returned to her apartment. Rhys had said something about flying over the city before he turned in, and I was too awake with nerves to just slip straight into bed. So I ran some warm water into the gigantic tub that looked as if it would overflow onto the mountain below, and added some of my favourite bath foams that scented of lavender and honey—a gift from Az. I forced myself to breathe and just not think, and when my eyes started to droop I climbed out of the cooling water to dry off. I changed into the new silk gown Mor had gifted me for Solstice, and entered my bedroom only to stop short.

My heart stopped at the sight of Rhys sitting on the edge of my bed… and then picked up triple speed. He was wearing loose pyjama pants, and no shirt… and he was holding the gift box I’d left on his pillow. The lid was missing and he was staring at the pendant inside. I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest to hide how my hands shook.

‘Hey.’ I bit my lip, unsure about what to do. Should I sit next to him? Stay standing in front of the fire about three feet away from him? Ask him if he liked the gift? Ask him if he knew what it meant?

His violet eyes lifted to meet mine, and I felt a wave of uncertainty wash over me at the guarded look in them, ‘do you know what this stone means?’ he asked, his voice quiet as he carefully held up the box, as if its contents were precious to him, ‘are you aware of the tradition that exists in Velaris? About what it means when someone presents this stone to another person?’

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding even faster now, and I was pretty sure I was starting to sweat. I wished I could read him better, wished I could know if he was hoping I knew, or hoping I didn’t. But he was a master of hiding his emotions, so I decided to go with the truth.

‘Yes, I know what it means.’ I admitted quietly, and knew if he didn’t have advanced hearing he wouldn’t have been able to make out the words; I could barely hear myself say them.

‘No, tell me. Tell me why you gave this to me.’ His eyes were still guarded, but his voice held a tinge of desperation, a tone I couldn’t resist from him.

‘I gave you that stone because the attendant at the jewellery store told me that the Starlight stone is what you give to a perspective partner, to acknowledge what you already feel for them, before the mating bond has sparked.’ I could feel the wariness on my face as he stood from the edge of the bed, stopping right in front of me.

He tilted my chin up to meet his eyes with his index finger and whispered, ‘and what is it you feel for me, Y/N?’

‘I love you Rhys.’ I admitted softly, missing the way his eyes softened as my gaze fell to his lips.

His hand caressed my cheek, his thumb moving back and forth across my cheekbone. I was powerless to stop myself melting into his touch, and felt my eyes sheen with tears when I saw the affectionate look in his eyes. I watched as the dark mist of his magic swirled around the pendant, and lifted it from the box to secure it around his neck. My hand went to rest against his chest, where the pendant lay against his skin.

‘I love you too, Y/N darling.’ He murmured, wiping away the tears that fell silently down my cheeks.

I vaguely heard the gift box fall to the floor, his free hand now landing on my hip and pulling me flush against his body. My arms wound around his neck, my fingers going to his silky soft hair as his mouth covered mine.

One Year Later

‘I’m just saying, Cassian is a great name for a tiny warrior.’ Cass grinned from the sofa, across from where Rhys and I sat in the love seat he’d bought for us about a year ago.

‘Absolutely not.’ Rhys drawled, his hand gently moving back and forth across my swollen belly.

‘Do you have names picked out?’ Mor asked, her face holding the beaming expression that was always present when we were talking about the baby.

‘We do,’ I murmured, Rhys and I shared a secret smile at Mor’s squeal of excitement.

‘We’re not revealing anything until the baby is born.’ Rhys grinned at the sounds of disapproval from his cousin and Cassian.

‘You’re boring.’ The war General grumbled.

We all chuckled at his childish behaviour and I felt my expression soften with affection when Rhys leaned over to kiss my baby bump, murmuring words about how his uncle Cassian would always be the biggest baby in the family. Cassian grumbled louder, much to our amusement. My hand fell to Rhys hair, idly playing with the strands. He kissed my forehead and my eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of contentment that washed over me.

Home. This was home.

#ACOTAR #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #ACOSF #Rhysand x Reader

219 notes · View notes

highdramas · 3 years

Text

forever is the sweetest con | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: language and tfatws spoilers? not really but just in case

word count: 2167

summary: bucky makes a friend in his neighbor and her cat.

note: hiiiii so happy that so many people enjoyed the world's a little blurry! i am going to be writing multiple one shots, all connecting and showing little snapshots from the life of bucky and the reader <3 you don't have to read them in order, but reading all of them will help you better understand the relationship!

enjoy! <3

“stupid fucking thing.”

the swearing followed by incoherent irritable grumbling is like a dog whistle to bucky barnes. he’s standing outside of his apartment, lingering in the hallway, waiting to see if the person will speak again. to the surprise of no one, bucky hasn’t put much effort into getting to know his neighbors. he gives curt nods as he passes them in the hallway, tries his best to muster a smile when he gets caught at the mailbox beside someone else. he thinks that it looks more like a grimace than anything, but still-- it’s something.

“son of a bitch.”

the voice is feminine, and it is angry. he’s trying to discern if there is any immediate distress, and if there is-- maybe he can help. he’s pulled from his thoughts quickly as a door swings open and a large box is thrown out onto the doorstep. “fucking hell.”

the door doesn’t close. it stays open, still swinging, as if recoiling from the force in which it was tossed open. bucky could very easily continue on his way to his apartment, put away the few groceries he had purchased-- mostly pasta and cereal-- and spend his evening how he spends most evenings. fighting off sleep, because he knows what comes the moment consciousness fades and the darkness swallows him whole.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he dashes to his door and places the bag at the entryway, turning back on his heel. he fiddles with his gloves as he grows closer and closer to the door. and then, he sees you.

bucky can’t see much-- the door is only cracked. but what he can see almost makes him laugh. you’re huddled over what he assumes is a cat tower. well, a sorry excuse for a cat tower, really-- it’s half put together with miscellaneous pieces strewn all around you. you seem to be studying the instruction manual, flipping through it before you eventually toss it to the side. “kitty, i don’t know about all of this,” he hears you say.

again, there are multiple options here in terms of what bucky can do. he can leave now, pretend he never saw anything. he can check on you, and then… and then what? he doesn’t know.

he knocks.

bucky takes a step back as you scramble to your feet, pushing your hair back. you open the door and up at the stranger. “hi.” the word is short, and he can tell that you are not in a good mood. “if you’re going to bitch me out about the noise, i’m sorry. i bought a new cat tower for my cat, and it’s a bitch to put together. and i hate building anything, so i’m basically useless.” you suck in a breath and muster a smile. “so, like i said. sorry. i’ll be a better neighbor tomorrow.”

you go to close the door, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he blurts-- “wait-- no.” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “no, i wasn’t gonna bitch you out. i was--”

what was he going to say? what was he going to do?

“i was going to say i could help. if you want.” he clears his throat and rubs at his chin with a gloved hand. “i’m alright at putting furniture together.”

you linger in the doorway and look at him. though there are countless people who look at him every day, oftentimes, bucky doesn’t feel like he’s being recognized. sometimes he wonders if he is secretly invisible, drifting through this too-long life as a ghost. but the look you give him is piercing, and the smile that follows makes his heart stop in his chest.

“i’m not gonna turn down someone building this god forsaken thing for me,” you open the door wider. “come on in.”

bucky finishes his handiwork on the cat tower within thirty minutes, but something about you draws him in, and now it has been an hour and a half and he has not tired of your company.

you are very charming. that is the first thing that bucky notices about you. and it’s not just your personality, either. everything in your apartment seems to drip in you. there is no wall that is bare, there are different colored lights twinkling around each window, plants galore. it makes him almost feel embarrassed about the state of his own home. if you can even call it that.

it’s not a home. it’s a place where he fights off his demons and drinks cheap beer and pretends that he is okay, pretends that he is not alone, pretends that he doesn’t need sam or his therapist or anyone else in order to figure out how to live in the present.

but yours. yours is a home.

there’s a pang of jealousy, nestled deep in his heart. he doesn’t care if the thought is unreachable for someone like him, someone who has done the sort of things that he has done-- he wants it.

the thought will never reach the light of day, of course. no, it will stay buried in his belly, churning with the guilt and the anguish and the loneliness, too.

“you good over there?”

“huh?”

bucky looks up to see that you’re looking at him. your head is tilted and your mouth slightly agape, and the look… he can’t quite place it. it’s more confusion and less concern, and in a weird way, he likes that. “yeah. i’m fine.”

he’s confused by the way that the corner of your mouth turns up. “you’re a good liar,” is all that you quip before you push up off the ground, dusting off your leggings. “do you like pizza? i’m starving, and i would cook us something, but i don’t want to subject you to that. my mom says the only thing i should ever make is cereal, and even that’s pushing it. says i use too much milk.”

bucky laughs.

and it shocks him. it takes no thought at all to laugh at your words, your charm, the way that you carry yourself with such easy self deprecating humor. you make him laugh.

you, on the other hand, don’t think anything of it. you raise your eyebrows at him. “well? it’s pizza or we’re eating two big bowls of honey nut cheerios.”

“pizza is good.”

you bite down on your lip and you nod, fishing your phone from your back pocket. “great.”

bucky studies you as you order the food.

he’s learning that there are many things that he envies you for.

every muscle in your body is loose and relaxed. you don’t walk, you seem to float-- drifting in and out of rooms, brushing past him, as if you’re made up of nothing but air and stardust. you joke with the employee on the other line and then you hang up and look back to him. “i said we’d go and pick it up. it’s my favorite place, just down the street.”

“yeah, that sounds nice.”

bucky follows your lead. he’d never taken off his jacket, or his gloves, but you hadn’t made a comment about them. you scramble into clothing suitable for a new york winter and then grin at him, face slightly obscured by the massive scarf. “ready?”

he nods, and then you set out. you’re quiet for a few moments, before you say, “you’re bucky, right?”

there’s a silence that settles between you, as if some jig is now up. you glance over at him. “that’s not a bad thing,” you say softly. “or an insult.”

“yeah, i know.” his elbow knocks against yours lightly. “but, yeah. i am.”

you nod and offer your own name in return, and that is that. you don’t allude to anything else that you might or might not about him, his past, or the fact that he was used as a hydra weapon for a majority of his life, now thrust into a brand new century. no, all you do is say, “bucky’s a nice name.”

“thanks, doll.”

the pet name rolls off of his tongue so easily, like breathing. he stops for a moment, leaning into the urge to be embarrassed, but you don’t let him. “no one’s ever called me that before,” you say, brushing against his arm. “i like it.”

“it’s what all the guys used to call their girls.” he stops. “not that, you know--”

“yeah, i know,” you laugh. “i know what you meant.” you glance up at him again. “like i said, i like it.”

bucky swallows his nervousness and instead comes reassurance at your words. “i can keep callin’ you doll, if you really like it that much.”

playfulness. ease. comfort. things he has not felt in so long-- yori has tried to pull them out of him when it comes to women, but it has always felt forced, too fast, not right. this feels right.

“you make it sound like it’s such a chore!” you gape at him, but your voice is not malicious in the slightest. you are holding james buchanan barnes in the palm of your hand and you do not even know it.

“it’s not a chore,” bucky reassures. “trust me.”

“whatever you say,” you point to a small hole in the wall shop. “this is it.”

bucky holds the door open for you and you smile and wink as a thank you and god it sends his mind spinning, intoxicated by even the look that you give him. your name is performed like a symphony by every employee in the shop-- they all grin and wave, some make small talk. they eye bucky who stands a step behind you. but you turn and you place a hand on his forearm and even through all of the layers he swears that your touch burns. “this is my neighbor--” you look to him.

bucky clears his throats and he musters a smile, somewhere between his normal grimace and the smile that only seems to form in your presence. “james.”

they greet bucky with kindness and send the both of you on your way with the large pizza and a free liter of diet coke. “her favorite,” the owner says pointedly, winking to you. “we’re always trying to tell her to stop. maybe you can get her to knock the habit.”

“i don’t think anyone can get me to stop drinking diet coke,” you joke, looking at bucky with a level of fondness. “but he can certainly try.”

“i’ll give it a valiant effort,” bucky says and he tips his head to everyone before he opens the door for you once more. he holds the pizza and you hold the soda, tucked beneath your arm, and you make the trek back to your apartment in comforting quiet.

bucky learns that you don’t have a dining room table. you call it a waste of space, so you two sit in front of your coffee table on floor pillows, eating off mismatched plates and drinking the diet coke out of mugs from the thrift store you frequent.

the night is growing quieter, and you think that both you and bucky sense that it is coming to an end. you think you might be a bit addicted to being around him. he reminds you of the smell after it rains and black coffee, of laughter under neon lights and gentleness.

bucky is beginning to gather his things to leave when a meow turns both of your heads. your eyes light up. “hi baby,” you coo and the cat goes right to you and you scoop her up in your arms, presenting her to bucky. “this is katherine. or kitty, as i call her. she’s normally pretty scared of people.”

bucky hesitates, looking between you and the cat. finally, his hand reaches out and scratches kitty beneath the chin. she purrs almost instantly, nuzzling her face into his hand. you watch, somewhere in between shocked and amazed, as bucky interacts with her. “no, i swear, she hates people.” you pause. “wanna hold her?”

“oh, i don’t know…”

you raise your eyebrows and then he looks back at the cat, who gives a yap. it seems to say: please? he huffs and it fades into a smile and he holds his arms out. you set kitty into them and watch as she curls into him, rubbing the top of her head against his chin.

a girlish laugh bubbles from the deep pit of you belly and you clasp your hands together in front of you, watching with hearts in your eyes. the corner of his mouth turns up as he continues to pet the cat.

“bucky,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “i hate to inform you, she’s never gonna let you go now.”

bucky looks up at you through his lashes. you, with your easy and calm demeanor, your loud laugh and your inability to build even the simplest of furniture.

“i think i’m okay with that.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #the world's a little blurry #bucky barnes fanfic

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

hi all of your aus are amazing! pls what happens with divorced!obiwan and the twins?

hey!! sorry this took so long i had to think of an appropriate cliffhanger

this is a continuation of this ficlet and this ficlet, where divorced!obi-wan accidentally acquires a partner and a set of twins.

(2k WHOOPS)

The twins are not, and probably have never been described by anyone except their father, angels. They take to Obi-Wan as well as Obi-Wan takes to them, which is to say that all three of them watch each other suspiciously until one day Luke launches himself off the top of the fridge--how the fuck did he manage to get up there--and Obi-Wan drops his morning toast in a frantic bid to catch him.

After that, Leia and Luke apparently decide he is Another Anakin Who Is Just Around A Lot Less But Is Better At Reading Bedtime Stories and deign to treat him as such.

Obi-Wan decides that he’s going to have a heart attack by the age of fifty. Do all children see a childproof house as a challenge?

It somehow takes both a longer and shorter time to win over Anakin’s favor, mostly because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the man’s thinking at any given moment. He seems to blow hot and cold depending on how he woke up or how the work day goes. Some days, Obi-Wan comes home from campus and Anakin and the twins have waited to eat until he’s there. Sometimes they’ve eaten and there’s a meal under foil on the stove just for Obi-Wan.

(“I don’t know how you do it,” Obi-Wan tells him one night after the children are put to bed. “I mean, work from home with your job, mind the children, and cook?”

“They made me head of the R&D department a few months ago,” Anakin admits, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. “So I’m doing a lot more checking through other people’s work instead of making my own. It just means I can do that and make something edible--no, really, you just can’t cook, Obi-Wan, I’m not the best either.”

“Do you miss getting to make something other than food?” Obi-Wan asks eventually, giving himself enough time to recover from the sound of the other’s giggles.

Anakin shrugs languidly. “It’s better salary, and I’m the youngest ever in the company to have the position. Means I’ll pay off my student loans quicker, same with my mom’s hospital bills. Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Obi-Wan’s chest hurts and he wants to lean across the gap between their chairs and place his hand on Anakin’s arm, but they don’t know each other like that. It’s only been a month and a half since they moved in. Still. “It always matters what you want,” he insists. “And I think you’re amazing.”

Anakin blushes bright scarlet and takes a huge gulp of wine, and Obi-Wan wonders if this is a throwing-yourself-off-the-fridge break through.)

(It’s not because the next day, Anakin doesn’t say a single word to him, which bothers him more than he’d like to admit.)

(“Am I in the wrong for wanting to get along with my housemate?” Obi-Wan asks Quinlan despairingly during their office hours that he should be using to grade papers. Instead all he can think about is Anakin Skywalker and the goddamn cold shoulder he’s been getting from the man for the past three days.

“Yeah,” Quin says absentmindedly, marking something with a red pen before looking up at Obi-Wan’s outraged intake of breath. “I mean, no. I mean, sorry, Obi, what are we even talking about now? Is it still your hot new roommate with the two kids? Because that’s what we were talking about an hour and a half ago.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “I’m just not sure I appreciate--”

“And you said he’s not been hanging around in the living room when you get home? But he’s still leaving you meals in the kitchen? And you’re upset about the free food?”

Obi-Wan is upset at the lack of Anakin’s presence, but he thinks that’s probably not the right thing to say here.

“Maybe he’s just tired?” Quinlan puts down his pen and rests his chin on one of his hands as he looks at Obi-Wan. “From the kids and the job and putting up with your moody ass. C’mon, Obi, what’s really getting you worked up?”

Obi-Wan purses his lips and stares at the desk in front of him, but he had come to Quinlan for help. He should at least be honest about what’s eating at him, even though he knows how silly it will sound when given a voice. “...Satine always waited up for me,” he mutters. “Until she didn’t.”

Quinlan’s quiet for a worryingly large amount of seconds, before he reaches out to pat Obi-Wan gently on the arm. “Oh, Obi,” he says pityingly. “Repeat after me. You cannot make your new roommate your rebound from your thirty year marriage.”

Obi-Wan scoffs. That’s not the problem at all. “That’s not the problem at all,” he says, not defensively in the slightest. “I think I’m just worried about the children not having enough structure in their lives.”

“Right,” Quinlan says, not quite managing to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Then you should talk to him. For the sake of the children.”

Obi-Wan will absolutely not be doing that, but it’s a nice thought.)

The real turning point in Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship happens five months after the Skywalkers move in.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are in the living room. Anakin is trying to braid Leia’s hair while Obi-Wan tries to pretend he isn’t watching. From the kitchen, there’s a very, very loud crash and the sound of something shattering.

Both adults leap up from their seats immediately and run to the other room.

Luke is standing in the epi-center of disaster, little face scrunched up like he doesn’t know whether or not to cry. At the sight of his dad and Obi-Wan, he starts to wail, moving forward and reaching for Anakin.

Obi-Wan, who is wearing shoes inside the house (a point of contention between himself and Anakin), grabs Luke roughly and picks him up by the armpits before he can cut his feet on the glass. He hands him over to Anakin to soothe, stepping further into the kitchen to find the dustpan he keeps in one of the pantries.

It’s very obvious what broke, though Obi-Wan can’t for the life of him understand how Luke got ahold of Satine’s heavy cake stand. He can definitely understand how Luke dropped it, as the thing was ridiculously heavy.

It had been one of the only things left in the house that had been Satine’s. She’d left it, and Obi-Wan had been too bitter or petty to point it out to her. Yes, it had been her mother’s. No, keeping it had not made him feel any better. But it’s not like Satine ever baked anything anyway.

Good for Luke, actually, for doing what Obi-Wan never could bring himself to do.

He grabs the broom and dustpan and marches back to the pieces of shattered glass. Anakin has placed Luke on the counter, ostensibly to check to make sure his feet are fine if the boy would ever let go of his father’s neck. Leia is peering around at the mess on the floor.

When Obi-Wan comes back and starts sweeping everything away, she darts forward to pick up a rather sizeable chunk.

“Don’t touch that,” Obi-Wan says sharply, much harsher than he intended. Leia drops it instantly and scurries back to her father, eyes wide and sort of watery. Oh, fuck.

“Hey,” Anakin snaps immediately. “She’s just trying to help and Luke didn’t mean to break--whatever that is.”

Obi-Wan holds up his hand to cut Anakin off. “I’m not mad,” he promises all three of the Skywalkers. And he’s not even lying. He’s really not mad, hasn’t even thought to be mad at this last piece of proof of his relationship with Satine shattering on his kitchen floor. “I just don’t want either of you to cut yourself. Glass like this can be very dangerous and none of you are wearing shoes.”

“Promise?” Luke asks, untucking his red face from Anakin’s neck so he can peer up at Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry I was a bit rough,” Obi-Wan apologizes, coming over and bending down a bit so he’s on the same level as Luke. “I was just worried about you. Promise.”

Luke sniffles but lets go of Anakin to throw himself at Obi-Wan, apologizing all the way.

“Hush,” Obi-Wan says as Leia scrambles up his leg, vying for his attention. With his hands full of children that aren’t his, he raises his head to look at Anakin who’s watching them with a very strange expression on his face. He tilts his head toward the broom and then down to the kids in his arms. “Come along,” he tells them both. “Leia, I’ll finish your braids if you’d like.”

“Braid my hair too!” Luke demands with a pull on Obi-Wan’s shirt.

Luke’s hair is floppy but awfully short. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Obi-Wan says generously, leaving the kitchen.

“I suppose I’ll just clean this up then?” Anakin calls sarcastically behind them.

“Thank you, darling,” Obi-Wan responds.

There’s the sound of something else breaking, but it’s not Obi-Wan’s problem at the moment.

(A year later, Anakin mentions something over morning coffee about looking for a new apartment, now that he’s got everything straightened out. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll look today since it’s my day off.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to examine why that idea makes something curl tightly in his stomach, making him feel vaguely nauseous, but it does. On his way out of the house, he unplugs the router, and then after a second of thought, takes it with him just in case.)

(Quinlan laughs his head off when Obi-Wan sheepishly puts the router down on the desk in front of him. “It’s a bad market right now,” Obi-Wan says defensively. “I’m just looking out for him.”

“Obi, I mean this in the best way possible, but there are at least four professors in the psych department that would probably love to do a case study on you.”)

(Two years after the Skywalkers move in, Obi-Wan is running late for a meeting with the head of his department. The man is stepping down, finally retiring, and Obi-Wan thinks that perhaps he’ll be tapped as the new head. It would mean dropping some of his classes, but it would be worth it.

“I made you a breakfast wrap,” Anakin greets him at the door, holding out a paper bag. “It’s got that salsa you like in it.”

The salsa Obi-Wan likes is the mild version of what Anakin and the kids eat, but Anakin treats it as if it’s from another planet entirely.

“Good luck!” he says with a sweet smile, also passing Obi-Wan a travel mug of what’s hopefully fully caffeinated tea. Obviously Obi-Wan needs it. He got perhaps two full hours of sleep last night, tossing and turning and thinking about this meeting and now he’s running late and his tie is crooked and none of his favorite sweater vests were clean.

“Thank you, dear one,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mind somewhere else. If traffic isn’t too bad, he could still be on time.

“Text me how it goes!” Anakin chirps, following Obi-Wan out the door to stand on the front porch with his arms crossed in an attempt to fight off the early winter chill.

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, turning around to brush an absent-minded kiss to Anakin’s lips before hurrying to his car. It’s a twenty minute commute. If he gets his preferred parking spot and runs to the department building, he won’t be late at all.

Is that too much to hope for?

He starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, looking back in the rearview mirror to see Anakin standing frozen on the porch. That’s strange, usually the other man can’t stand being out in the cold.

Obi-Wan gets to the first stop-sign out of the neighborhood before he realizes what he’s done. It’s lucky that he’s already slowing down, because he slams on the brakes. Did he--

Did he kiss Anakin? Did he really kiss Anakin as if he does it all the time? As if they were in a relationship?

Oh shit.

Frantically, he pulls out his cellphone from his bag and checks to see if he has any new messages. He doesn’t.

Oh. Shit.

#asks #one more ficlet in this universe and i will have No Choice but to piece them together somehow on ao3 #there was supposed to be a bit where one of his students is like 'oh i didnt know you were a father!'#and obi-wan is like 'im not a father'#and then he plugs in his laptop to pull up the powerpoitn for the day #and his background is a picture of luke and leia #not even doing anything theyre just sleeping peacefully in his favorite armchair hugging the same book #anakin had sent it to him #with the text that they were taking turns playing Obi-Wan and Student #but the game was so boring they fell asleep #KUWSK

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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years

Text

what home is

a/n: this is my submission for @antoineroussel 's summer fic exchange 2k21! thank you for organizing this all demi. i recieved @timstuetzle and i am so excited to finally share this! im sorry it's so late but i had a lot of fun writing for Tim and i hope i did him justice! i made this a gender neutral reader again, so please enjoy my take on some friends to enemies to lovers :)

pairing: tim stützle x reader

word count: 18k+ (holey moley)

warnings: some angst, set in no covid-universe, a few swears, an odd timeline

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! the banner is made by me, with photos found from pinterest and the transparent made by @art-and-the-hockeys (thank you!!!)

The start of the season was your favourite. The chill of the rink, the sound of skate edges on the ice, the smell of skate sharpening- it was all so familiar. As an analyst, the start was the best. There were new lineups, new plays, and a chance to try new things. Considering this was your first year as a real analyst, not just checking over others' work, you were excited. You got to actually help to build a Stanley Cup winning team.

What you didn’t love was how everyone seemed to lose their heads and decide to run around the arena. You’d been looking for the coach of the Ottawa Senators for the past twenty minutes. You’d think the man would be in his office the first day back, but no. He decides to take a stroll to who-knows-where and leaves you to follow invisible breadcrumbs.

Eventually, you found yourself on one of the lower levels. You continued down the hallway, entering an open space with concrete floors. The bustle of the new season was in full swing as you swerved between various people working like gears in a machine. You tried to do your best to stay out of other people’s way but you still ended up walking into a hard surface.

“Oof!” Shit. Hard surfaces don’t usually talk. You looked up at what you ran into and saw two men staring at you. Both were wearing Senators hoodies but one was a taller blond and the other a slightly shorter brunet. The brunet has a backwards snapback on but that wasn't what made you stop in your tracks. It was his eyes. They were soft and welcoming, something like a home cooked meal, but they had a glint of adventure in them.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I wasn’t really looking where I was going. I am so sorry.” You apologized to the blond you ran into.

“Hey, all good. I’m-”

“Number 7.” You turned toward the brunet. “And...number 18, right?” When they both gave you a weird look, you shrugged. “I’m an analyst here so, uh, you’re just numbers to me.”

“Okay, ouch but you are the reason we’re going to be winning more games this season, so I'll give it to you. I’m Brady, and this is Jimmy.” The blond gestured to himself first, before gesturing beside him.

“It’s Tim, actually.”

You introduced yourself to the two players, before looking around the hallways. “Um, would either of you happen to know where the coach is? I can’t find him,” You held up the file folders in your hands. “I’ve got new numbers for him.”

“Oh yeah he’s probably close to the ice, we’ll show you.” Brady started down a hallway, both you and Tim falling in stride behind him. “So Numbers-”

“-Y/n-” You glared at Brady for the nickname, rolling your eyes as he continued on. From your peripheral vision, you saw the corners of Tim's mouth turn up.

“-If you don’t mind me saying….either you look really good for your age, or you aren’t old enough to be working here,” He continued, giving a glance your way.

You looked down at your shoes and gave a sigh. “I get that a lot, and I am young-er than my colleagues but I assure you, I am qualified to work for this organization.”

“Wasn’t doubting that, just seeing how much I get to tease ya. Jimmy’s the rookie,” He elbowed him and Tim tried to swerve around it, only to bump into a stack of pylons. Brady and you shared a grin at his expense. “So he gets all the teasing. Same for the numbers people. You’re the rookie.” He shrugged

“Well, I’m not actually a rookie anymore. This is my second year here,” You mentioned, looking towards the two guys. Brady looked impressed whereas Tim’s eyes went large and his jaw slack a little.

“How?” He asked, and you laughed. The three of you turned a corner, and you walked slightly faster to talk.

“I graduated high school pretty early. And then took my statistics undergrad at the University of Ottawa. I minored in sports studies and I met your GM at a conference for the department. When he found out I was in Ottawa alone, he kinda took me under his wing, checked in every now and again. When I graduated two years ago, he offered me an analyst position and I was lucky enough to land it. I love working here, even if I’m way younger than everyone else. Last year, I stayed in my office a lot, double checking people’s work but this year, they gave me more responsibility. I’m excited for the challenge.”

“You are going to be great.” Tim said, meeting your eyes, his gaze showing that his comment was genuine. You ducked away from his gaze but muttered a ‘thanks’. The three of you rounded another corner, Brady ducking out to talk to a reporter, but Tim said he’d help you find the coach.

You settled into a comfortable silence as you walked beside each other through the chilled hallways. He abruptly took a left turn, cutting you off and causing you to bump into him. You immediately apologized, this being the second time today you’d run into a hockey player.

“‘S my fault, I’m still getting used to the new arena,” He said, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. He nodded his head down the hallway, as a silent ‘after you’ and you started walking. As you got further down, you realized Tim walked you out to the bench. The light became brighter, the air a little crisper, and the floor turned from a concrete grey to a bright red. Your eyes wandered up, admiring the view from down here. You’d be truthful earlier, you’d only ever visited your office. But from down here, you could see everything- the thousands of seats, the banners hanging from the ceiling, the crystal white ice. You stood close to the wall, as if to try to intimidate a fly on a wall, seeing everything as if you weren’t there. You could feel Tim could up from behind you, letting you take it all in for the first time.

“That’s Coach,” He leaned closer to you as he pointed across the ice towards someone in a tracksuit. You nodded and although Tim dropped his hand, he stayed close to you. The coach eventually noticed the two of you and started to skate over to the bench. Tim cleared his throat and you looked at him.

“I got to- I have to go now, but, um, I’ll see you around?” You nodded to his question, a soft smile on your lips. He rocked back and forth on his heels, as if he knew he had to leave but he kept getting pulled towards you. “Good luck with the season.”

“Good luck with yours too.” At that he turned away from you, and you turned to the coach, pulling out your file folder to talk with him.

***

A week or two later and the start of the season was upon the Canadian Tire Centre. The home opener was in a few days and your week had been hectic, trying to get notes from practices and implement what you saw into your analysis. After a morning full of spreadsheets, you decided to take your lunch break in your sanctuary. Last year, the arena felt too big to stick around in on your lunch break. So you had headed outside, where you discovered a small hiking trail about a ten minute drive from work. It quickly became a place where you went whenever you needed to clear your head. And after the morning you had, it was the perfect place to go, so you hopped in your car and started towards it.

At the top of the hill, you put the car in park, grabbed your lunch bag and started towards your spot. It was past the picnic tables that had a nice view of the suburbs, but it wasn't secluded. Your spot was off the beaten path, but there was a small ledge with a perfect view of the arena, highway, and surrounding green spaces. You turn the corner, ducking under a tree branch, ready to exhale the heck of the morning you had.

But there was already someone sitting in your spot. Their head was down, but you recognized the logo and number 18 on their hoodie. Cautiously, you approached him.

“18...Is it okay if I sit here?” You asked, and his head shot up. He shot you a small smile and quick nod. You sat down, placing your bag in front of you, taking out a granola bar.

“You can call me Tim, you know. That is my name,” You gave him a shy smile and you could feel your cheeks heat up at his comment.

“I didn’t think anyone knew about this place, Tim,” You mentioned quietly. It felt weird, to be honest, to be sharing your spot with someone, but it didn’t feel like he was intruding.

“My city in Germany has a lot of parks. There’s a forest near my house where I’d go when I needed a break. This is the closest I could find near the rink. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Just don’t go telling the whole team about our place,” you winked at him and took a bite of your snack.

“I can keep a secret, don’t worry.” He laughed lightly and sent you a smile.

“I don’t know if you remember me but-”

“You’re the analyst, you graduated super early right? Y/n, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” You smiled at him. “So, how are you liking Ottawa?”

“It’s alright, I haven’t seen very much of it. The ice is very good. My house is nice.” He shrugged and you gaped at him.

“That’s all you’ve seen? So you haven’t been to Parliament Hill or ByWard market or…?” you trailed off when you saw him biting his bottom lip and slowly shaking his head. “Well, you are missing out, you should go see the city sometime.”

“Do you think you could show me around? You seem to know all the best places,” He offered. You met his eyes and nodded. He dug his phone out of his pocket, passing it over to you. You raised your eyebrows at the gesture but he just pushed his phone closer to you. Silently, you imputed your number, placing a small graph emoji beside your contact name. You handed it back to him and a small smirk graced his face when he saw the emoji, before he pursed his lips at the device. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Sorry, it’s all good. Thank you. It’s- I have to go back now, but I’ll text you, yeah?” You nodded as he handed back your phone. He walked towards the parking lot, but turned around to wave at you before he disappeared around the bend.

Later that day as you sat in the stands, a clipboard and pen in your hands, you got a text from an unknown number.

It's 18 :)

You chuckled at his use of his number and texted him back.

i thought you said i could call you tim? :(

also it’s practice?? how are you on your phone?

It starts in a couple minutes

your teammates are already on the ice

Spying on me already??

it’s literally my job to watch you practice

Guess I'll see you in the stands then :)

Oh and I'm free this weekend for that showing of the city, team bonding’s on friday

i’ll check my schedule and get back to you

now get out on the ice or you’re going to be late :)

***

You had checked your schedule, and agreed to meet that Saturday. You said you’d pick him up since you knew more of the city. You didn't want to be late so you arrived five minutes early in front of Tim's place. He walked out in his signature backwards snapback, some curls poking out the front, and a monochromatic beige outfit. Waving animatedly at you, he jogged to the car, his ever present smile on his face.

The twenty minutes ride into the city was quiet yet comfortable. A few words were exchanged about how each other’s day was so far but nothing groundbreaking. The low hum of the engine filled the silence as you drove into the city.

After parking in a Superstore (‘Free parking in downtown Ottawa is hard to come by, Tim. We’re parking in the grocery store parking lot’) and walking a few blocks, you come to the far end of the market. Lined with local businesses and brick streets, it felt homey. Tim smiled as it reminded him of back home.

“So, what are we going to see first? Your school?” He asked as the two of you walked along the streets. You laughed and shook your head.

“Pfft no. It isn’t all that interesting. I figured we’d see some of my favourite places, if that’s okay?” He assured you it was and the two of you continued through the streets, Tim with his head down as you passed people. He wasn't famous just yet, but in Canada you find hockey fans at every corner. Soon, you arrived in a small plaza with coloured picnic tables and muskoka chairs.

“Ta-da!” You gestured to the large block letters that spelled ‘Ottawa’ in the middle of the space. “It’s not much, but you’ve got to be a tourist in your own city at least once right?” He laughed along with you and you got out your phone, ready to take a picture of him so he could send it to his parents. You thought he would want a picture of him but he was quick to insist you had to be in the picture as well.

“I’m sorry, but would you mind taking a picture of us?” You asked one of the girls who were taking turns with the Ottawa sign.

“Oh sure!” You stood beside him, between the two ‘T’s in Ottawa, his arm slung over your shoulders. You smiled and looked up at Tim to see him smiling as well- and not one of those classic boy coy half smiles, a genuine one. She took a few landscape and a few portrait ones before handing your phone back. “You two are such a cute couple!”

Before you could correct the girl, Tim answered for you. “We’re just friends actually.” She apologized profusely before rejoining her group. You shuffled your feet as an awkward silence overcame you for the first time since you’d met. Your body shivered and you promptly changed the subject.

“Hey, you hungry?” He shrugged and nodded. You nodded and led him away from the sign, through a few back alleys lined with a few merchants, home artists and such. You entered a building, bustling with people. It was long and narrow, with brick flooring and merchants on either side of the middle. There were lots of people, ranging from people doing their weekly grocery shopping to tourists looking for souvenirs. You weaved between strollers and friend groups, Tim grabbing your hand to avoid getting lost. He kept his head low, hoping it would disguise him enough. This day was about you and him, not you, him and the hockey world. Eventually, the two of you exited the indoor market and came to a small opening. Instead of staying in the opening, you turned left, tugging Tim across the street to two small shacks, one red and one blue. The red one had a classic fairytale vibe to it, with beige wainscotting, red painted window frames, and topped with a white and light brown canopy over the window. Underneath the canopy, there was a string of small Canadian flags.

“Do you trust me?” He arched one of his eyebrows but nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Confused, Tim stood there as you walked up the window, spending no time looking at the menu as you ordered. He looked above the shack to see in fancy lettering the word BeaverTails. When you came back, you were holding two paper containers and had a smile on your face. He looked at the sign and then back to the bags in your hands.

“A beaver’s… tail?” You laughed at him and handed him his BeaverTail.

“It’s not actually a beaver’s tail. It’s just a fried pastry that looks like one. They come in lots of flavours but I got you the best one, cinnamon sugar.” You could tell he was hesitant but bit into his and you took a bite of your own.

Almost instantly, he groaned. “Do you take every guy here? Wow. Oh my god,” He got cinnamon smeared over his chin and you laughed as he tried to wipe it off while holding his pastry.

“Hilarious Tim, but I’ll have you know you’re like my only friend here. So… no I don’t take anyone here.” He scoffed and you raised your eyebrows.

“You’re joking. How do you not have other friends? You’re great,”

“I started university as a 16 year math major. It’s not a surprise people didn’t want to talk to me. But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”

“Don’t you have people from home come and visit?”

You scoffed. “I don’t really get along with my mum. We moved around a lot when I was younger and I always sorta resented her for not seeing how it affected me. And then, when I got accepted to school out here, she sold the house and started travelling. Last I talked to her, she was in Tahiti.” He raised his eyebrows.

“What about your dad? Or brothers or sisters?” You swallowed your piece of BeaverTail before answering him.

“I have an older sister, Dani. But she’s eight years older than me, so we're not the closest. She checks in every week or so because she knows my mum doesn't. She’s never come out to visit though, she runs her own business back in Seattle.”

“It must be nice to have someone though. Especially when you were growing up. What about your dad?”

“I don’t- I don’t talk about my dad.” You picked at the pastry before changing the topic. “C’mon, you have to see this place.” You gestured to a side street and the two of you made your way towards your favourite destination. You exited beside a taller building and you pressed the button to allow the two of you to cross the street. As you were waiting for the light to turn, you turned to Tim.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t have any siblings then?”

“No, but the guys at the rink were like my brothers so it wasn’t bad.” The light turned red, and the ‘walk’ light turned on. You made your way across, staying close to each other as people walked both ways.

“Hockey tends to do that,”

“Is that why you picked to work in hockey?”

You glared at him as you made it across the street. “That’s personal.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends share personal stuff.”

“That’s… it’s just different.” You shook your head and lowered the volume of your voice. “Besides, we’re here.” The two of you had stopped in front of some shallow steps that led to a tall archway, with black statues underneath and on top of the arch. It had some engravings on it, both small and large letters. From where they were standing, Tim could make out some numbers, but not well enough to understand the significance. Behind the monument and slightly to the right was the green tipped roof and gothic architecture of the Parliament building.

“What is this place?” He tilted his head as he looked at the arch in the middle of the square. To him, it wasn’t anything special, perhaps another statue of one of the colonizers of the country.

“It’s Canada’s war memorial.” You whispered, and he nodded, clasping his hands in front of his body and lowering his head. “When I was going to school, I’d come here at least once a week.”

His head stayed where it was but he raised his eyes to meet yours. “Why?”

“I know it’s not exactly everyone’s favourite place...because I know so many people died for the country, but for me, it’s a place of silence. Of reflection. It reminds me to be grateful for everything I have. Some days school would be really bad, so this place was perfect to sit and remember that life isn’t bad at all. Not when I was in a safe country, not when I had an education, not when I had a warm house to go back to.”

He nodded. “That seems...perfect. Some days are too loud, there’s too many people saying stuff. I get that.” His voice was quiet as well, as he lifted his head to focus on the stonework and engravings. The two of you stood in silence in front of the memorial for a few minutes more before you tugged on his arm.

“See that building?” You leaned in close to him, your finger extending to point at a building in the distance, a little taller than the ones around it. “That’s the university’s mathematics and physics department. I had most of my classes in that building.” He nodded, leaning in closer to you, your heads almost touching. You lowered your hand and nodded with your head towards the way you came.

“C’mon, we’re not done yet. You’ve got to see the Parliament building.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed left towards it. You quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him right. “I’m the tour guide, remember? Trust me, there’s a better view.” You dropped his hand as he started to walk in time with you but you had to shove it in your pocket to replace the heat his hands gave you.

A quick ten minutes walk later and you stood atop a hill overlooking the river. It was a large park with benches and an eccentric art installation in the corner. You walked close to the peak of the hill and stopped, breathing in the fresh air.

“There is Canada’s capital building. It’s nicer to see it from here than from the front where there’s a bunch of tourists. Besides, from here, you get to see more of the architecture.” The building was across the river, its massiveness more pronounced from your viewpoint. There was a dome nearest the river that was covered in flying buttresses, each support beam having intricate details that stood out. The clock tower and green tinted roof completed the gothic look.

“This view is better. Quieter. It reminds me more of home,” You bump your shoulder against his lightly.

“Glad you like it.” The two of you stood in silence until Tim shivered, at which case you decided you should start heading back. If the hockey player was cold, it was cold enough for you too.

The walk and drive back was uneventful, aside from the two of you passing jokes back and forth. When it came to drop him off, he unbuckled his seatbelt but didn’t make an effort to leave the vehicle.

“How much for our snack? I’ll pay you back,”

You waved him off. “It was my treat, don’t worry about it.” He pursed his lips, then shook it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket. A few seconds later, your phone dinged. You glared at him as you opened the text to see an e-transfer. Before you could protest, he cut you off.

“You never said I couldn’t pay for your gas," He laughed, and despite your annoyance at the loophole, you found yourself laughing along with him. He had that effect on you; he seemed to be able to ease any tension you held. “I had a good time today. Maybe we could meet again sometime?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you at the rink?” He nodded before getting out of your car, waving like he did that morning as you drove off to your place. When you arrived home, you saw a new text from him.

Can you send those pictures you took today?

You tried to suppress a smile, sending them over to which he responded with a ‘Thank youuuu’. You set your phone on your nightstand and turned off the light. Despite your efforts, you fell asleep with a smile on your face from a perfect day with a great person.

***

“Hey, Numbers!” You stopped in your tracks and turned around to see Brady sticking his head out of the dressing room. He had taken a liking to calling you that, especially as you had started hanging around the house more. It was nice, movie nights and sometimes you’d take a pre-game nap with Tim, you had even stayed for lunch at Tim’s request. At this point, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Brady to shout the nickname from anywhere. Practice had ended and you had given your notes to the coach about what to focus on for the Toronto game. “You didn’t happen to see Jimmy, did you?” When you shook your head, his face scrunched into a small frown.

“Where’d he go? Didn’t media like just end?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t even bother to change from media, he just stalked out. He didn’t say anything to any of the guys, so I thought you might’ve seen him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for him,” You told Brady before he returned to finish dressing and you returned to your office. But even after you’d settled back into your work, there was a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t quite place. Sending a quick text off to Tim, asking where he was, you dove back into work. But it only took five minutes before you were checking your phone, seeing if he’d read the text or responded. When neither happened, you gave him a call. It sent you straight to voicemail and you hung up before you could leave a message. The feeling in your stomach grew and you packed up your bag, knowing no more work would get done tonight. It wasn’t like Tim to sulk or get in his head; he was a generally happy guy. Something must have set him off for him to be acting this way -- even with you. And if it was something this big, there was only one spot he would’ve gone.

“Brady said you stalked out of media. Figured I’d find you here.” He turned around at the sound of your voice, his shoulders dropping a little. He shrugged, which you took as your cue to take a seat beside him at your lookout space. The sun was setting, the golden hour light reflecting on his stress lines, and the sky was littered with wispy clouds.

Your hands were in the pockets of your hoodie, your legs tucked together. Despite being here for close to six years, the Canadian chill always surprised you. You sat with your shoulder pressed to his, a silent symbol of you being there for him. With his head down, he mumbled something too quiet for you to hear, so you leaned your head down to hear him better. At your movement, he huffed and lifted his head.

“I’m supposed… They wanted me to come and make a difference and to help win games. But I’m not helping! I’m supposed to be putting up points and helping win games, but we’re still losing! Like, why do I suck?”

Your chest got tight at his words. “Tim…”

“You can’t deny it, the numbers say we’re losing.”

“Losing doesn’t mean you aren’t producing. This is your first year in the NHL, you wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think you were worth it. Hockey is a team sport, it isn’t just your job to win the game.”

“But they wouldn’t have gotten me right out of the World Juniors if they didn’t need me to start making an impact right away! They were counting on me. And I’m not living up to it….”

“You are nineteen years old. Nineteen. The five other rookies ahead of you in points are all at least two years older than you. Let that sink in. You have so many years ahead of you. And secondly, no one here is expecting you to turn this team around. McDavid’s first year he didn’t turn the team around. And sure, yeah, the next year, the Oilers had more success but guess what? They missed the playoffs the next three years. Hockey is a team sport, one person, not even McDavid, can completely turn a team around. No one is expecting you to turn this team around in one season. This isn’t on you.”

“But the numbers…”

“Are you going to trust the analyst on the numbers or the assholes on Twitter?” He glared at you but let you continue on. “If you really want to talk numbers, we aren’t last in the league anymore. We’ve beat the top team in the division a couple times now. You’re putting up points, you’re helping us win. Cut yourself some slack. You’re nineteen and living in a new country. This team isn’t expecting you to be Ottawa’s saviour, okay?”

“There’s pressure to be better though! Everywhere I go, I just see how I should be doing more, how if I don’t produce more, I’m going to be a draft bust. I’m the young guy, I’m supposed to be the new blood and be able to make a difference. I feel like I’m letting everyone down.” His words lingered in the sunset glow, a contrast to the darkness he was feeling. You fell silent at his outburst, the air feeling too quiet, even with his heavy breathing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

You ignored his apology, knowing he would never intentionally hurt you. “I graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I didn’t have enough job experience but my grades were one of the only reasons I was able to get hired so young. My first year, all I did was double check other people’s stats and predictions, and it was okay. No one expected much out of me because I was young and they didn’t really give me any responsibilities. But this year… they’re looking to me more. Teams with more than two analysts are more likely to produce teams that make the playoffs. I’m number three; I should be helping make a better team. But I’m not. I’m not getting the numbers we need or the stats we need. I know more updated methods and technologies but...it’s just not working. I’m not finding solutions to problems that this team has had for years. And the board and my colleagues see that. I know I shouldn’t worry about them firing me, but I still do. I mean, I’m not producing, why would they keep me around? This wasn’t what they wanted when they gave me the job.”

“They won’t fire you, you’re doing your best. And you’re young, you graduated early. They have to give you a chance to prove yourself in the workplace before they fire you.”

“You wanna take your own advice?” He flushed at your words, but you smiled. “Thanks, though.” He nodded and looked out over the suburbs surrounding the arena.

“The pressure in this league sucks.” He said and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. It does. But we’ll get through it right?”

“We’ll figure something out. Together.” He placed his hand on your thigh and the two of you looked out at the sunset, his touch lingering on your body until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Silently, he helped you to your feet, and walked you to your car, making sure you got in okay, before he got into his car. On the drive home, your chest felt lighter from the conversation.

***

The final buzzer rang, signalling a 4-2 win for the Senators. You smiled at the scoreboard and gathered your papers. The game was nothing spectacular, but for you, it was a career defining game. Some of the lines you'd suggested were risky, but you had the numbers to back it up, and it worked. It worked. The conversation with Tim earlier last week helped with your confidence to take risks in terms of your analytic advice.

You went back to your office after the game, wanting to type up a report of how you impacted tonight's outcome. If it worked this time, who's to say it couldn't work again? But in a higher stakes game? You felt like you were finally contributing to the team, and damn, it felt good.

Your office was barely even that. It was small, but you had a desk, a window, and your name on the door. It was enough for your first major gig. You'd made it a little homey-er with a small succulent and some motivational quotes. You opened up your laptop and began to type up a document report. The words flowed from your fingers and you used the numbers you counted from the box to back up your findings. Time seemed to stand still as you typed, the document becoming longer and longer.

A knock broke your train of thought and you looked up to see Tim poking his head through your office door. He had a shy smile on your face and you shook the writing haze out of your eyes.

"Hey! Come on in," He nodded, closing the door behind him before leaning against the wall. "You played a good game." His cheeks flushed and he lifted his hat, running his fingers through his hair.

"Thanks, thank you. Anyway, did you eat yet?"

"I mean, I had an iced coffee before the game and a granola bar during the second period. So yeah?" Immediately he started shaking his head and he pushed himself away from the wall. You open your hands as if to say 'what’?" and he outstretched his hand to you.

"Coffee and a granola bar isn't a meal. Let's go get some real food, I'm hungry." He made a grabby hand with his outstretched hand and you sighed.

"I have to finish my report, I can't." He sighed, pushed your laptop shut, and grabbed your hand.

"That can wait. Besides, the boys went out and I need a ride home." He flashed you a shy smile and you rolled your eyes, before picking up your bag and leaving your office with him. You tried not to notice how Tim was still holding onto your hand, but as he tugged you along to a quiet area of the concourse, it was difficult to do. He stopped at a small table with two bar stools. He let go of your hand, cold enveloping you, and you hung your bag on the back of the chair. As you hopped onto the chair, he stayed standing, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“What do you want to eat?" When you shook your head again, he pulled out his puppy dog eyes. "Tim, seriously, I'm fine."

"I'm getting some fries and you will eat some of them. Deal?" Your face pulled into a frown and he repeated himself. "Deal?"

"Yes, Mom, deal."

He gave himself a self assured smile. "Great. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later he came back with a container of fries and two small containers. He set them down in front of you before he got seated. A closer look at the container showed one was ketchup and the other was…

"Is this mayo?" He picked up a fry, dipped it in the white substance, and popped it into his mouth. With his mouth full, he nodded. "You eat your fries with mayonnaise?"

"You don't?"

"No!" You shook your head. He took another fry, dipped it again, and ate it.

"You have to try it, it's good!"

“No, no thank you. You can keep your weird German eating habits to yourself." You laughed, dipping a fry in ketchup before eating it.

"Nope, you've got to try one. Please?" You scrunched up your nose, and he held out a white coated french fry. You gave in, taking it from his hands and shoving it in your mouth. You chewed it slowly, contemplating the taste.

"It's...not horrible." He raised his eyebrows at you. "Fine, it's alright." He gave you another look, a small smile forming on his face despite his efforts to hide it. "Okay, okay, I like it. Happy?" He let out a loud laugh.

"Yes! I knew you'd like it!" You laughed a little with him, before dipping another fry in the mayo and popped it in your mouth. The two of you ate in silence, the sounds of the zamboni in the background.

"Why didn't you go out with the guys? You had a good game,"

He shrugged. "I wanted something quieter. Besides, I was hungry and the guys wanted to go out to a bar. Bar food isn't exactly a meal."

"Neither is french fries,"

"Well, maybe, you're just better company than the guys."

"Damn right, I am." You smiled, tapped his fry with yours in a makeshift sort of 'cheers' way. When the two of you had finished your snack, you picked up the container and threw it in the compost bin near the table. You grabbed your bag off the chair, holding up your car keys. He got up off the table, joining you in a slow walk towards the parking lot.

You wished the custodians a good night as the two of you left the arena, the street lights in the parking lot illuminating the way to your car. Silently, you unlocked the car and you both got in. You gave him your phone, telling him to pick any playlist he wanted while you started the car. He picked one of your favourite playlists, a mix of relaxing beats and soft music, which was perfect for late night drives.

"You should have some lo-fi on here, it's a lot like this. I think you'd like it," he said, after you had merged onto the highway.

"Yeah?" He only nodded, allowing a comfortable silence to come back to the car. The rest of the drive was easy, the road being mostly empty and the music filling the car. He gave you quiet directions to the house, more points and here's than actual directions but you were able to find it.

"Thank you for the ride," He said, once you’d put the car in park.

"Thanks for sharing your food with me,” He shook his head and smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’ll always share with you.” You caught his gaze, his brown eyes filled with sincerity. You could feel your cheeks flush and you waved him out of your car.

“I gotta get home too, you know.” You joked and he got out, popping his head back into the doorway for a second.

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” You murmured an ‘of course’ and he nodded, closing the car door and making his way to his front door. You waited until he entered the house before you drove away, turning on a lo-fi playlist from Spotify.

***

“Your turn to pick the movie, but no subtitles please, I’m too lazy to read today.” You handed Tim the remote for his TV while you pulled the blanket closer to your chin. The October chill had settled in his apartment and you hadn’t dressed for his room to feel like the arena.

“Jimmy!” Someone called from the kitchen and a loud clang dissolved any annoyance Tim had from his roommate interrupting his time with you. He rushed to the kitchen and you followed behind shyly. There were platters across the kitchen island, each with a different coloured dish. It looked like there was a salad, a couple casserole dishes, and some plates of desserts. A taller brunette was standing in the kitchen, frantically gesturing between Tim and a pot on the stove. There was a lid on the ground, a splatter of pinkish red liquid surrounding it. You entered the kitchen, picked up the lid before placing it in the sink. The other guy was still explaining to Tim what exactly he wanted to do, even though his head was tilted like a confused puppy. You brushing him aside llightly, grabbing the spoon Tim was holding to stir the pinkish red liquid on the stove. You sent him a small smile back over your shoulder and all you could see in his eyes was relief.

“Thank you!” The oven beeped and you noticed an embroidered #9 on the roommate's Senator sweats. You moved to the side to allow him to get another baking dish from the oven. He placed it on the stovetop and took off his oven mitts. “Thank you for doing that. I didn’t think he’d be that helpless in the kitchen.”

“I’m surprised anyone in this house can actually cook,” You laughed. The liquid that smelled of oranges and cranberries started to boil, so you reduced the heat and continued to stir it. You look at the baking dish that he brought out of the oven. “Are those brussel sprouts?”

“Yeah! My mom’s recipe; they’re delicious! Do you like them?”

“They’re one of my favourites! My recipe uses bacon though.”

“Oh nice! You’ll have to share it with me, I’d love to try it. And, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Josh,”

“I know.” He shot you a look and you backtracked. “I-Sorry, it’s just-I actually work with you? I’m in the analytics department, so I know your jersey number and I saw it on your sweats and put two and two together. I’m not being a creep, I’m sorry.” The sound of laughter behind you made you blush.

“Not being a creep my ass. They did the same thing when me and Jimmy ran into them for the first time!” Brady commented, walking into the kitchen. He was wearing a nice pair of dress pants and a button up shirt. You shook your head before nodding towards his attire.

“Going somewhere nice?” He looked down at his outfit and shook his head.

“It’s Thanksgiving? It’s why they gave us the day off?” That...that would explain the amount of food in the kitchen. No matter how many years you lived here, you’d always forgotten that Canadian Thanksgiving was a whole month earlier. You placed the stir spoon on a plate next to the pot and wiped your hands on your pants.

“Oh! Um, right, well, uh in that case, I should be, I should get going. You guys must have plans. Nice to meet you Josh.” You made your way out of the kitchen to the foyer where your coat and shoes were without so much as a goodbye to the guys. You could hear Tim coming after you, his steps lighter and more graceful than Brady or Josh’s. But, he didn’t make a move to do anything except stare at you as you got ready to leave. It wasn’t until you were getting ready to put on your shoes that he spoke.

“You should just stay. We’ve got lots of food.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude…”

“Brady’s bringing his girlfriend and a couple other of the guys are coming over. You wouldn’t be intruding.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You should. Why won’t you stay?”

“I don’t know if you have this holiday in Germany, but Thanksgiving is a family thing, Tim.” You sighed. “Besides, shouldn’t I have brought something? Am I even dressed okay?” You looked down at your outfit - a simple pair of jeans and one of your comfiest graphic tees. He shrugged.

“Don’t worry about that. You look great, just enjoy the night with me. Stay? Please? C’mon schatz, you’re like my family to me.” The two of you maintained eye contact until you broke it and took off your coat. You could see Tim’s smile widen and when it came to walking back into the kitchen, he extended his arm. You took it and the two of you made your way back towards what would end up being a wonderful evening full of laughs and smiles shared between friends.

***

You had come over for a trashy reality TV binge after a particularly hard day at work. None of the numbers were adding up the way you needed them to and your laptop was having a hissy-fit all day. Soon enough, you called it a day and texted Tim, telling him you’d be over in twenty minutes. He greeted you at the door with your favourite chocolate treat, a box of Timbits, and “there’s popcorn in the microwave right now, it’s almost done”. You could’ve melted right on the spot. Instead, you made your way over to the couch where you collapsed and pulled the blanket he had already set out for you up to your chin. You breathed in the smells of pine and sock tape and felt your body relax. HGTV played in the background while you waited for him to bring the popcorn out when his phone dinged.

“Tim, your phone!” You yelled to him from across the living room.

“Who is it?” You sighed and moved from your comfortable spot on the couch to check his messages. You turned on the phone to see a message from Josh, saying he’s five minutes away. You went to lock the phone, seeing the unimportance of the message but something caught your eye. You swiped to clear the notification and his background came into focus. It was the two of you standing in front of the Ottawa sign at ByWard market, his arm around your shoulders and a grin on both your faces.

“Who was it?” He entered the room as he repeated his question.

“Just Josh,” you whispered, turning around to face him holding up his phone. “Am I your lock screen?” He blushes, opening his mouth stammering for words. “I am! I knew I was important to you.” You poked him a couple times for an extra tease when his face settled into a small pout and he retaliated by tickling you. You shrieked and hopped up from the couch, laughing as he chased you around the house.

“Stop doing that!” He laughed as you escaped his clutches once more. Your laugh echoed through the house as he tried again to try to tickle you, but you grabbed Josh and used him as a human shield.

“No fair schatz,” He relented his tickling and sat on the couch. You took a seat beside him, but kept your distance in case he decided to start his torture again.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” You look over to him and he’s already scratching the back of his neck.

“What what means?”

“That thing you keep calling me. Like shats?”

Josh laughed and spoke up. “It means swe-”

“Friend! It means friend!” Tim interrupted loudly, his cheeks rosy. “It means friend.” You raised your eyebrows at his outburst and his explanation.

“You call your friends, ‘friend’?”

He scratched at his jaw and slowly nodded. “In my city, it’s common for friends to just call each other ‘friend’. It’s normal,” You managed out a ‘okay’ between breathy laughs, wondering why he was being so strange about it. It was just a nickname. But the blush in his cheeks didn’t diminish until well after Josh left the room, muttering under his breath about ‘idiots’, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe it meant more than Tim was letting on.

***

“Are you going to be at the gala on Saturday?” Tim asked you as the two of you ate (lunch for you, pre-practice snack for him) on the concourse. It was your first concourse snack since the All-Star break and you had missed him. WhatsApp messages and Instagram messages just weren’t the same as being in his presence. You finished your bite, and shook your head.

“It’s only for players isn’t it?”

“Would you want to come with me?”

“Like...as a date?” You looked up at him, your eyes wide. Maybe this was the clue you were waiting for.

“As friends?” Your eyes darted down onto the counter and Tim took that as a sign you didn’t want to go with him. “There’ll be puppies there.”

“Well,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “If there’s going to be puppies, I need no more convincing.” You forced a smile onto your face and he returned the sentiment, before finishing up the food. You wished him good luck before the game, and left to go the the box.

Soon enough, it was Saturday night and you found yourself in front of the Fairmont Château. You gazed up at the stone walls and admired how the orange glow from the lights gave it such a warm feeling, compared to the shivers that were going up and down your back. You had found time to go and get a fancy outfit for the night, its gold fabric being a perfect fit on your body. Tim had told you he’d meet you inside, so walked upt the steps alone, avoiding the other guests in fancy attire. They looked like they belonged here. You couldn't relate. The front entrance of the hotel was exactly as you expected -- it had marble floors, crown moldings, and a domed ceiling. You followed the chatter to one of the conference rooms, someone offering to check your coat. With just your clutch, you entered the ballroom with the sound of your shoes following you.

You looked around to try to find Tim among the executives, easily spotting him when you heard Brady’s booming laugh in the corner. You made your way over to the group, including Brady, Josh, Drake, Tim and some respective dates. Josh waved at you and Tim turned around to see you walking towards him.

Tim stood there, memorized by the way the Senators gold fabric hugged your figure and the way your eyes had lit up when you saw one of the puppies. You came over to him, brushing his arm before joining the group. Hellos were thrown your way and it wasn’t long before everyone went back to their conversations and you were able to speak with Tim.

“You look handsome." You handed him your clutch, which he held unashamedly, as you adjusted his gold bowtie, letting your hands linger on the front of his chest. You gulped before snapping out of your trance and took your clutch back from him.

“Um, uh, thanks. You look...good too,” His voice was breathy and his cheeks had flushed a little. You smiled at him, before noticing another golden retriever stumbling around next to its trainer and darting off to pet it. Tim watched you go and he stood back, blown away by the way his heart was beating faster and how he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs.

“You finally figured it out, huh?” He turned around at Drake’s voice. He had recognized the look on Tim’s face, it was the same one he had when he looked at his partner. Tim furrowed his eyebrows.

“Figured what out?”

Drake scoffed and took a gulp of his drink. “God, you already know and you’re denying it. You’re in love with them.” Tim shook his head, waving off the thought. You were his best friend, nothing more. “C’mon man, you can keep lying to yourself but it’s obvious to everyone else.” He was then swept away by a reporter, leaving Tim to his thoughts.

He wasn’t in love with you. He was sure of it. You were his best friend, his safe spot. It’s not like when he sees you his heart beats faster or he notices how your eyes crinkle when you laugh or when the sun hits your skin just right, you look like an angel. It’s not like the more he looks at your lips the more he wants to know if they taste like your sweet honey lip chap. It’s not like your smile could cure his darkest days or that he could see himself introducing you to his family as his partner.

Except it was like that.

Tim saw all of that with you. He saw more galas, more late night drives, lazy Sunday mornings. He wanted to see you after his games, not in your office, but in the tunnel where you’d be wearing his jersey and a special jean jacket. He wanted to take you home to meet his family, his hometown friends. He wanted to show you all the places that were special to him, just as you showed his places special to you. He wanted to meet Dani and see if she thought he was good enough to be your partner. As he stared at you petting the small golden pup, he realized Drake was right. He was in love with you.

He was in love with his best friend.

Fuck, what was he supposed to do now?

You didn’t give him too much time to think about that as you came up behind him, telling him everything about the golden retriever you just met. He smiled at you, and motioned with his head to find your seats as dinner was going to be served soon. You sat next to him, your leg brushing against his under the table. Even from that, he got shocks-- tiny lightning bolts trailing up his body. It was like every sense was heightened after he came to the realization that he loved you. How am I supposed to even act around them? He thought.

The meal passed without issue and while Tim went about schmoozing all the executives and donors, you stick with the other halves. You had already met Emma, Brady’s partner, and she introduced you to Dakota, Briar, and Marissa (she had also told you who they came with but that information had not stuck with you).

“Sooo… Emma, how’s the wedding planning going?” Briar asked. She had gotten engaged over the holiday break. She laughed and waved off the question.

“Oh, not at all! We’re just enjoying being engaged, it’s like the honeymoon phase all over again,”

“Just like you and Tim,” Dakota nudged you and wiggled her eyebrows. You coughed on your drink at her statement.

“What?” You managed to sputter. Emma looked uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. “What do you mean, like me and Tim?”

“Oh come on, it’s so obvious the two of you are in your honeymoon phase! Don’t be ashamed of it, you’re such a cute couple!”

“Ooh yes!! How his bowtie matched your outfit is like goals, I wish my boyfriend did that with me,” Marissa mentioned. Your voice felt caught in your throat and you were instantly aware of the breeze in the room and the sweat on the back of your neck.

“We’re just friends,” Your voice was small.

“I’ll believe that when pigs fly, babe. Oh, look, here comes your man.” Dakota winked at you before turning into her own date. You turn around quickly to see him walking over to you, laughing with Brady and Josh. Normally, the sight of him would calm you down. He was such a genuine person and you appreciated how you never had to shrink yourself to fit in with him. But with the girls’ comments, you suddenly couldn’t be around him. When his hand met the small of your back, you flinched before relaxing into his touch. It was just Tim, your Tim. It’s not a big deal unless you make it a big deal.

“Timmy, I was just telling Y/n what a cute couple you two are!”

“Well, what do they say? Oh right, they complete me,” He sent you a wink and pulled you closer to his side. You went stiff in his hold, and he noticed, instantly letting you out of his grip. You muttered out an excuse about work and said quick goodbyes to the group before you were out of the gala as fast as your shoes could allow. Your cheeks were hot with...embarrassment? No, that wasn’t quite it. But they were hot, and the room felt small with Dakota’s teasing so just needed to escape. You needed to have fresh air in your lungs, needed to feel the cool Ottawa air on your arms. Needed to be somewhere other than beside him and his light teasing that left your stomach in knots.

But you hadn't even reached the front door and grabbed your coat from the coat check when Tim caught up to you. He watched you try to put on your coat, as he rocked back and forth on his heels like that first day you met.

“Do you… do you actually have work in the morning or were you just saying that?” You looked up and met his eyes, the orbs holding a certain vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

“I got called at the last minute. I forgot to tell you, Jody’s kid got sick so I’m covering the game on Sunday but I haven’t prepared my notes or anything and you know me, I’ve got to be prepared or I won’t make a coherent analysis and then I’m really in trouble-” Tim cut your rambling off with a murmur of your name and you slowed your frantic movements to look at him.

“We’re okay, right?”

You smiled at him before you walked out the glass door. “Yeah, we’re alright.”

***

Last night was confusing to say the least. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks from...embarrassment? No, it wasn’t that. It was more like you couldn’t stand around to see what he meant by his comment. You couldn’t stand around why everyone else say you as a couple when you knew you weren’t. But you were okay with not being a couple weren’t you?

It’s like not you liked him that way. Yeah, a simple smile from him could turn your day around and your concourse snacks were the highlight of your week. But that’s because he was your best friend. It’s not like you wanted to spend every morning waking up to him or spend your afternoons running your fingers through his hair. It’s not like you wanted to take him back to Seattle to meet Dani or how you wanted to wear his jersey to call him yours. It’s not like you daydreamed about him gently holding your hand as you walked through ByWard market or how soft his lips would be as he leaned in to kiss you or what his abs felt like without a shirt separating your fingers from his skin.

Except it was like that.

And then came the comment at the gala. Did that mean he liked you too? But he said you were just going as friends. Did he mean it platonically? What if you read things wrong? Fuck, why were feelings so complicated?

Dani, you needed to call Dani. She’d know what to make of all this. She picked up on the fourth ring. “Thanks for calling Books By The Ocean, may you please hold?”

“Dani, it’s me.” Hold music filled your ear and you rolled your eyes. A few minutes later, there was almost certainly a hole in your rug from your pacing and she finally picked up.

“Why’d you resort to calling the store? I would’ve answered my phone eventually,”

“Yeah, eventually. I just really need to talk to you now,”

“Okay, so what’s up?”

“There’s this guy…”

“Is it Tim? Please tell me it’s Tim.” When you didn’t answer, she rejoined before reeling it in and telling you to continue.

“Anyways...we’re pretty good friends, I've known him since like the start of the season, and I don’t know, like I think he likes me? And I mean, I like him, he’s really great but, like, I just-”

“Can you get to the point please?”

“I want to take the next step with him. I want to be more than friends with him. I want all those things but… I just seem frozen. Like when I think about telling him, my body feels like it won’t move. It feels like I’m underwater. But I want to do more with him. I want that. Why won’t my brain get that and let me… I don’t know, let me act on my feelings?”

“You’re protecting yourself. You’ve never got hurt before,” You scoffed at her statement.

“What do you mean, of course I have,”

“Okay, sure, when you scraped your knee or when Nancy Peters called you dumb in second grade but you haven’t got hurt before. You haven’t opened yourself up to someone and let someone into your heart and let them see you for who you are.”

“Well, yeah, okay, but that’s because they might not like what they see,”

She sighed. “You can’t go through life with your walls up, kiddo. It’s hard, but you have to trust yourself. You have to let yourself feel. You have to let people in. When we were little and moved around a lot, maybe it was a survival tactic. But you’ve been in Ottawa for close to five years now and have unpacked all your boxes? Have you had any friends over? You’ve put down roots there but you’re still holding onto a survival tactic when you need to be living, not just surviving.

“I let people in--”

“No. You don’t. Has Tim ever been in your apartment? Has he seen that even though you resent Mom, you still have family photos of the four of us in your living room? Does he know about Dad? You might have told him stuff but you’re still living behind walls.” She sighed.

“Look, I don’t mean to be hard on you, but I want to see you thrive kiddo. I want you to experience life, and yeah, hurt is a part of life. You aren’t doing life right if you come out unscathed. And sure, maybe he’s a great friend. But in some instances, that romantic partner can fill a more emotionally secure place. People usually place more trust in their partner than just a friend. You’ve got to open up to him more than you already have if you want more from him.”

“How do I do that?”

“You’ve got to figure that out on your own kiddo, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. Honestly; no hiding behind your friendship.” You nodded to her advice, before realizing she couldn’t see you, and thanked her for her help. She hung up with the promise to chat again on Wednesday like you normally did. You threw your phone beside the sink and leaned your head against the cool counter.

Be honest with him

Okay, you could do that. Easy enough right? You just had to make a plan to tell him. You could do that.

***

You were walking through the halls close to the bench to deliver your latest stats to the coach. It was your job after the other analysts determined you “had the youngest feet” and could go scouring around to find the coach. You didn’t mind. Besides… if you just happened to bump into Tim while you were down here, well then that was a completely unplanned coincidence. Since the gala and your chat with Dani afterwards, you were feeling good about where you stood with Tim. And you’d made your plan. After the game, you’d meet up for after-game snacks like most home games and you had told yourself you’d talk to him then.

You had given the latest report to the coach on the bench, walking past the locker room towards the box when you heard Tim's voice.

“...I don’t know man, I just need a break from Y/n.” You stopped in your tracks. It wasn’t that you meant to be nosy, but at the mention of your name… you wanted to see what else he had to say. You hadn’t meant to smother him but you guess he saw it differently. Your shoulders dropped and you bit your lip.

“I only have a problem around them!” You could feel the breakfast in your stomach start to turn, the feeling of bile starting to rise up. A ringing started to fill your ears, the white static noise only being pieced by his once comforting voice.

“It’s just… We work together, you know? It’s awkward,” Where was this attitude when you were hanging out at the start of the season? Last week? If this is how he felt, why didn’t… what did he mean by his comment to Dakota?

His voice shook you out of your trance. “Like at the end of the day, I’m me… they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re...them.” At that, you rushed away from earshot. If that was how he really felt, then screw him. If he was the hockey star and you were just the analyst, then that’s what role you’d play. Nothing more, nothing less. And he wasn’t brave enough to say that to your face, you’d say it first.

This is why you didn’t open yourself up. If you were going to get hurt either way, it might as well be the least damaging option.

Over the next few games and practices, you kept your distance from the players. You avoided the bench, sending Jody to give reports to the coach. You kept your office door closed, the blinds closed, and you made sure to time your exits of the arena to avoid Tim. If avoiding him meant you avoided the inevitable conversation where he would tell you your flaws and point out every way you misread things, then you would do that.

After you heard that, you stopped going out of your way to pass by the boys in the arena. You went into your office, closed the door, and didn’t leave until you went home. When you had to sit in the stands for practices, you sat higher than you used to and ignored the waves and stared you got from the team. He sent the occasional text but you replied with an im busy too many times that he stopped trying. It was odd to you how he kept reaching out when he was the one who said he needed a break but you ignored that voice in your head.

It was a Friday when he finally confronted you. You had been so close to leaving the arena, just one more hallway, and you would’ve been out the door and into the parking lot. He had called your name and you tried to turn the corner without him but he caught up easily, grabbing your wrist to get you to stay.

“What’s up? It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” He let go of your wrist as you turned to face him.

“Well that’s what happens when you’re a bigshot NHL player and I’m a lowly analyst.” He squinted his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows at your statement.

“What?”

“Look, I don’t-- I don’t think we should be friends anymore,”

He slowly nodded, thinking your words over in his head. “Okay. Um...I think… yeah, that could be good. I don’t think we should be just friends either.” He shot you a shy smile with a spark of hope in his eyes but you frowned.

“Good. It’s settled then.” You turned on your heel and walked away from him, only wiping your teary eye once you had rounded the corner, refusing to let him see you cry. You missed the way he frowned as you retreated.

The weekend was spent in bed, repeat episodes of Loki playing in the background. Loki never hurt you the way Tim had, the way his words dug into your insecurities of being alone creating a wound like no other. You had turned your phone off earlier as it kept buzzing with messages from him. You didn’t want to hear his excuses of why and you didn’t want to explain that you’d overheard his conversation. But the season wasn’t over yet so you gave yourself two days to grieve. When Monday morning came, it was like nothing had ever happened.

Tim caught you in the main entrance way at the rink. It was close to 8am and you knew he didn’t have practice until 11, so it was obvious he was waiting for you. You walk right past him until he softly calls your name and you stop walking, but don’t turn around. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“You know why.” You whipped around and scoffed at him. “And you know what else? If you had a problem with me, you could’ve just said something. You didn’t have to keep hanging out with me.”

“What?”

“I think we should just keep this professional, 18. I’m nothing more than a background analyst to your hockey superstar, so let’s just stick to our jobs, yeah?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We work together, we shouldn’t be friends, you said it yourself. It’ll be better this way. Now, please, just leave me alone.” You brushed by him, bumping your shoulder with his, and you missed the way his jaw fell open at how quickly your relationship seemed to change.

He seemed to leave you alone after that. He didn’t check in and he didn’t send funny memes he found. He didn’t text you to tell you he landed safely on road trips and you didn’t congratulate him on a game well played. You could tell Brady and Josh thought it was weird but didn’t say anything, just gave you pitying looks when you passed by or caught their eye in the halls.

The Senators failed to clinch a playoff spot, thanks to an overtime loss to Winnipeg. The end of the season for you was nice. It meant a shift in your work to more prospects, and thankfully, a more flexible work schedule. You didn’t have to go into the arena and most of the players went back to their hometowns to visit. It was supposed to be a reprieve for you, knowing Tim wasn’t even in the country. It was supposed to be relaxing, going to all the places that had helped you in the past to regroup your thoughts.

But instead, it felt suffocating, strolling through the market. You’d been here thousands of times to clear your head, but this time the deeper you walked, the more the thoughts in your head swirled into a hurricane.

You’d never know what home felt like. You’d had friends tell you it’s having like extended family over around the holidays or it’s the peacefulness they felt at their lake house. You thought you had found it in Ottawa, its quaintness and history bringing you a sense of calm you hadn’t had before. But only with Tim did you feel that inner peace that home felt like. Only with Tim did you feel like you could take on the world. Only with Tim did you feel whole.

And that was scary.

Feeling like one person could complete you, like they had a piece of your heart you didn’t know you gave them, was scary. You were used to being on your own. You’d done it throughout your levels of schooling and throughout the beginnings of your career. And all it took for that strength to come crashing down was a bashfully confident German hockey player.

He couldn’t even tell you why. It would’ve hurt more to hear the exact reasons why you weren’t good enough for him, but it would have quelled your mind from picking on every single insecurity your mind could come up with.

Before you knew it, you were staring at the Ottawa sign. You glanced around to see couples waiting for their turn at the sign. Some of the guys had their arms around the shoulders’ of their girlfriends. Some of the girls had their hands clasped in their girlfriends’. Some people had their arms around the waist of their partner. But they all had a smile on their face, a fondness that was reserved for the love of their life.

Your eye caught the sight of a backwards Senators cap and your head whipped around. The person was tall and was wearing a grey hoodie. The man turned to the side and you caught a glance of the brown tufts of hair that stuck out of the cap. He threw his head back and the corners of your mouth turned up. Tim’s laugh was always infectious, even if you were upset with him.

But it wasn’t him.

He hadn’t reached out since the day in the hallway. As much as you knew you didn’t want to hear him say things more hurtful than what you overheard, you couldn’t help but wonder where you went wrong. The what-ifs tumbled around in your head, the possibilities of why suddenly your friendship was too much for him.

As you stood there in the market, the memories racing through your mind mixed with images of happy couples all around you, you knew you had to get out. You don’t really remember the rush of leaving, all you know is that the city that felt big for so many years now felt too small. You can’t go anywhere without being reminded of him, his smile, his laugh. How his eyes glimmer from the light of a movie. You drove yourself to the airport, knowing there wasn’t going to be a cab this early in the morning.

Before you knew it, you were standing outside of the familiar blue painted bookstore with your duffle bag in your hands. It was raining and overcast in Seattle, which wasn’t unusual, but even the fat teardrops felt melancholic. The sign in the window said closed, but you knew Dani would be in the back, organizing new stock. You knocked on the window, the sound rattling through the worn building. A few seconds later, her head of light pink hair came to the door, opening it. Before she could question your presence, you spoke.

“He didn’t want me,” you cried. “He didn’t even see all of me and he didn’t want me.” You dropped your bag as she pulled you into a hug. One hand cradled the back of your head as she pulled you out of the rain and into the store. You inhaled her scent, a mix of sea salt and the old bookstore, and squeezed her tightly. When she released you from the hug, she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing down your jaw. She gave you a soft smile, before walking to the back of the store, where her apartment was. Your shoes squeaked against the old hardwood floors as you followed her towards the kitchen, where you could smell a pot of tea brewing.

She was silent as she poured you a cup, kissed your head, before whispering everything was going to work out. She slipped out of the room, giving you your space.

You didn’t even have to ask. Dani let you stay with her for the summer, as long as you helped out around the store when you weren’t doing your own work. She didn’t push you for details about Tim, she just let you be. You tried your best to be cheery around the customers but that facade only lasted so long. When you were alone, you didn’t try to hide the emptiness you felt there.

***

Too soon did the days start to get shorter, the nights colder, the pitter-patter of raindrops became more constant which meant fall was coming. The season was starting up again, and you had to head back to Ottawa. This summer at home was a nice break but you knew that running away wasn’t going to solve all your problems. You were packing when a text from Josh came in.

So when are you getting in?

i land at 9pm on the 20th. Why?

Can’t I wonder when my friend gets into the city?

we’re friends?

Of course we are Numbers! I don’t share family recipes with just anyone :)

good to know thanks :)

You continued packing, thinking about what he said. You knew the two of you were friends, but he was Tim’s teammate. His roommate. To hear him say, regardless of where you and Tim stand, that you two were still good was a relief. As much as you’ve enjoyed your time away from the city, you missed work. You missed sitting in the arena, a brisk chill over your shoulder, the sounds of scraping ice and whistles. You missed the quaintness of Ottawa and, as much as he’d never let you forget it, you missed Josh’s cooking. Nights with Dani didn’t compare to nights with Brady (and sometimes Emma) and Josh.

Dani parked in the loading zone of the airport. She got out of the car to help with your bag, even though you had only brought one.

“Hey, listen, um. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Tim but… I think you need to talk to him.”

“Dani...”

“No, listen. I think you need some closure. You ran away from a city you haven’t left in five years, a city you so obviously love, because it hurt to think about him. Maybe closure means you talk to him. Maybe it doesn’t. But you’ve spent this whole summer looking lost, like you’re waiting for something to magically appear and make everything better. You look like you’ve lost a piece of yourself and you don’t know how to get it back. And that’s not you, kiddo. It’s never been you; you’ve always been so straightforward and sure of yourself. I want you to feel like yourself again, that’s all.”

“What if…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What if the piece of me that I lost isn’t something I can get back?”

“Then you fill it. It might not be perfect and maybe you need lots of tape, and maybe you accept that there will be small cracks in it, but those holes make your souls yours. It’s a part of life, and you can’t avoid it no matter how hard you try.” You pulled her in for a hug, some of the tears in your eyes dropping onto her shoulder.

“Thank you Dani. For everything.” She pulled back to wipe the tears from your face, a smile on her face.

“You know I’m always here for you, kiddo. Take care of yourself, okay?” You nodded, knowing if you spoke again, more tears would bubble over. You walked towards the departures gate, walking towards the reality you ran from.

Several hours later, you were happy to be back in Ottawa. You had missed it, as much as it pained you when you were here. Tim Hortons, bilingual signs, friendly smiles, and oh god you could have real poutine again. Yeah, it was nice to be back.

Dani’s words mulled over in your head throughout the flight, and continued to as you made your way through the airport. She was right, maybe you needed closure. Accept what happened and move on. You’d lost friends when you graduated early, you’d lost friends when you moved away. You’d lost friends before and this was no different.

Except you knew deep down it was different. It was Tim; it was always going to be different with him.

You shook your head, as if to physically rid yourself of the thought. If Tim didn’t want to be around you, then you weren’t going to waste your time waiting for him to show up. You’d suck it up everything you had to look at a stat, but other than that you’d focus on work, focus on proving yourself in the company. You started to walk towards where you’d parked your car (without wondering how much the parking was), ignoring the happy reunions of students and families. You had been perfectly fine being in Ottawa on your own until you realized how much better it could be when you had someone.

A hand grasped your wrist and instantly, you turned around and ripped your arm from the stranger. You looked up, first to see a bouquet of flowers made up of peach roses, white tulips, and hydrangeas. Behind the colours of the flowers, you see a familiar face, eyes full of sorrow and hope. Even when you were ignoring him, he was still so easy to read.

“Number 18.” You struggled to keep your voice even, but you lifted your head to appear as if he had no effect on him.

“Hi Y/n,” He met your eyes, which you quickly darted away. “These are for you.” He tried to hand the bouquet to you, but you shook your head.

“How did you know when I got in?” The coldness in your voice surprised Tim, but he didn’t show it, swallowing slowly before answering you.

“Josh told me." You folded your arms, your hands gripping your bag in case you needed to get away from this conversation.

“Josh mentioned it or you asked Josh?” When he didn’t answer, you knew it was the latter and scoffed at his sneaky actions. You quickly turned away from him and moved faster towards the exit. You heard him sigh from behind you and before you could make a sly comment about it beneath your breath, he was ahead of you, blocking your way. You tried to side-step him, but hockey reflexes prevailed. You glared his way and tried again, silently begging him to move.

“C’mon, you have to talk to me sometime, we work together,” He commented.

“That’s exactly it. We work together. You’re the high and mighty NHL superstar and I’m the nerdy analyst. We have our places. They don’t mix, so really I don’t have to work with you at all. So, please, if you could just move, I have nothing else to say to you.” You tried once more to step around him, but he lightly grabbed your forearm to stop you.

“But I have stuff to say to you.”

“You had months to say it, so I’ll say it again, please let me by.” Suddenly, he was on his knees in the airport, the flowers still outstretched in his hands.

“Y/n,”

“What are you doing?” You hiss to him, your face darting around to see people starting to stare at Tim’s grand gesture.

“I need you to talk to me, and you won’t, so I’ll beg until you agree to hear me out,” You could feel more people staring, the shutter of camera phones, the eyes of everyone in the Ottawa airport (or what felt like it) easily making up your mind. There was a reason you were an analyst, away from the spotlight, doing your work behind the scenes.

“Get up,” you started to pull on his arm, but he just stayed anchored to the ground.

“You’ll talk to me?”

“18, I will do anything as long as you stop making a scene,” At this point, your cheeks felt as if you’d stood under the beating sun for an hour. He got up from his knees, the flowers still outstretched in his hands, and you let go of his arm. You grabbed the flowers from his arms, dropping them in a garbage bin as you stalked out of the airport. Tim caught up to you and walked by your side.

You said nothing as you reached your car, unlocking the doors. You didn’t even wait for him to have his seatbelt on before you were backing out of the stall and driving away. Thoughts were running wild in your head; you were angry and embarrassed at the stunt he pulled at the airport, appalled at the audacity he had to show up after what he said, and last of all you were reluctantly happy to be back in his presence again. So you went to the one place you knew you could think.

You put the car in park overlooking the suburbs. You turned it off and rested your arms on the steering wheel. You couldn’t make the effort to get out and walk to the lookout spot, the car creating a safe bubble for your thoughts.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” His soft voice broke the tense silence in the car and you scoffed.

“We’re not friends anymore. You’re the Senators star player and I’m just the nerdy analyst. There’s no reason for me to need to talk to you.”

“See, you keep saying that but I-I don’t get it! What does that even mean?” You furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him, his own face scrunched up and his eyes hard.

“What do you mean you don’t get it? You said that! The last game against Montréal? I was walking past the locker room and… I overheard you talking with the guys.” You looked down to your lap, findling with your hands. You briefly saw Tim’s hand start to move towards you, but you shook your head and it stayed in his lap. “You said you needed a break from me. You said that ‘at the end of the day they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re.. them’. You said you had a problem with me. What was I supposed to take from that except that you didn’t want me to be in your life?”

He stammered for words but you cut him off. “No, I don’t think you understand how much it hurt. Hurt to have the one person who I thought understood me to talk behind my back about how I wasn’t enough for them. It hurt to know that the one person who I always wanted to talk to, didn’t want to talk to me. Hurt to think that you’ve only ever seen me as just some nerdy analyst who has no place in your life. I had been fine before, without you in my life, but then you came in and knocked down every barrier I ever had. And then left as if you didn’t just break my life into pieces!

“I left Ottawa because it hurt too much to go to all my favourite places, because I went there with you. I let you into my safe spaces, and when you left, you shattered that security. You tainted all the good I had there. I thought that Ottawa was home before I met you,” you scoffed. “Not even close. You feel like home to me. And for you to say that I was a problem in your life?” You shook your head at him and looked down at your hands. “I tried to get over it, believe me I did. But every single place I went I was reminded of you… and how everything we had didn’t feel like a big deal to you.”

“I never meant for that to happen.” His voice was quiet and strained, as if he was trying to keep his emotions within him.

“You know the hardest part? I didn’t just have to get over losing my best friend. I had to get over someone I fell in love with! I lost the single most important relationship with one tiny little passing conversation. And you acted like nothing happened! Like we were still friends, like you still cared for me-”

“Ich liebe dich du trottel!” His outburst caught you off guard and you gulped. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the car as you whispered.

“You know I don’t speak German…”

“You don’t need to know German to know what I said,” His eyes were hard, a look you had only seen during games.

“Oh.” You shook your head and looked at him. “Wait what?”

“I didn’t say those things you think I did! You didn’t listen to the whole thing! Brady was teasing me about me saying I don’t have a problem talking to people I like and I don’t normally but you’re the exception! I needed a break from you because everytime I see you, my heart starts beating faster and my hands get sweaty and I don’t know how to act! And the guys said that sounds like I’m in love with you-- and I am! I am! But when I finally started to do something about it, you ran away from me! I didn’t know what to do. Besides, if I fell in love with you...it could mess with our jobs. Because if for any reason, something happens, they’d fire you before they’d ever trade me. And you’ve worked too hard to have an opportunity like this be taken away from you because of me. So... I didn’t know what to do. And then you just kept ignoring me and saying those things about how you’re just a nerdy analyst…. It felt like we weren’t on the same page anymore and I didn’t know where it came from or what to do either so I tried to give you space. But then you shut me out. And you said we shouldn’t be friends. So I thought that meant.... you wanted to be more than friends? And the boys were saying that you being mean to me was just you having a hard time having feelings for me but then you… uh, yelled at me so I left you alone. But that doesn’t mean I stopped thinking about you.” He placed one of his hands on top of your tentatively, giving you the option to shoo his hand away. When you didn’t, he rubbed the skin on top of your hand. “It never meant I stopped caring about you.”

He sighed. “I guess I see now that I should not have given you space. I should’ve been better for you because that’s what you deserve.”

“I could’ve been better too, this isn’t all your fault. I said some mean things.”

“I promise you, that when we’re together I’m not a NHL player. I’m just me… just Tim from Germany who likes hockey. You have always seen me for who I am, and that’s...that’s something I love about you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. Love… was a big word. Love was for confident people. Love was for those who didn’t understand the weight of that four letter word. Love wasn’t a word you threw around. Love was scary. It asked you to place your bandaged heart in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t drop it, shattering the pieces into smithereens. Love meant letting down those walls that time and time again had proved that needed to stay up. To protect you. To avoid the heartache of broken trust.

And here he was, throwing that word around as if the implications didn’t matter. As if he didn’t leave. As if he didn’t call you a problem. As if he didn’t know the months you spent trying to forget him and the fragments he left behind.

As if he still wasn’t understanding.

“I… I can’t do this.” You go to open the car door only for it to lock. You gasp, and you whip your head around, your eyes sharp. “This is my car, you can’t do that!” His eyes went wide and you tried again, only for it to be locked again. You gritted your teeth and he spoke before you could reprimand him again.

“Don’t shut me out again! You say you can’t do this, okay, but tell me why. We’re supposed to-to talk to each other! We would’ve had no mess if you had just talked to me after you heard what I said! So.. talk to me,” You met his soft eyes, your resolve breaking with just one look. “Please, schatz.”

You slowly pulled your hand off the handle, letting it fall into your lap. You picked at your fingernails while trying to compose your thoughts, Tim’s concerned eyes never leaving you. He murmured your name and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“I’m sorry I just- I don’t know if I can jump back into where we were. I know that… it’s different than I thought but I can’t-” you cut yourself off before you said something you regret and a cold chill ran through you. “It still hurts. I can’t just unhear those things you said. Especially when they came from you. So, I’m going to need time to process everything.”

He placed one of his hands over your fidgeting fingers and you lifted your head to meet his soft eyes. “I’ll give you some space. Just let me know when you know, yeah?” Before you could nod your head, he had opened his door and got out of your vehicle. You quickly got out to question him.

“What are you doing?” He turns around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m… I’m giving you space?”

“How are you planning to get home? Uber?” He shrugged before nodding, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Uh, no. No. Get in.” He raised his eyebrows and you sighed. “It’s almost 11pm, we’re in a dark forestry area, and you are the least threatening person I know. I’m not going to let you get stabbed by some murder psycho; you still mean something to me, you know.”

At that he came over to the car, and the two of you got settled back into your seats. After you buckled up and started the engine, Tim broke his silence.

“Did you mean that? That I still mean something to you?”

You swallowed slowly and took a while to answer his question, your hand resting on the gear shift. You put the car in reverse, and looked over at him. “You’re always going to mean something to me. Just what exactly you are changes.” You backed out of the parking lot and started the drive to his place. He was quiet for a few minutes, pondering your answer, but when he spoke his voice had the quiet confidence he always carried around with him.

“Can I ask what I am right now?” Streetlights illuminated his face and out of the corner of your eye you see him slightly turned towards you, his face unsure.

“No. I’ll keep you updated?”

“Good enough.”

The rest of the drive back to his house was quiet, aside from the lo-fi beats you had playing in the background. Despite the tension, the drive felt comfortable. When you parked in front of his house, he cleared his throat.

“Um, thank you for the ride. I’ll see you around I guess,” He unbuckled his seat belt and placed his hand on the handle.

“Goodnight Tim.” Despite your smile, Tim really hoped your goodnight didn’t also mean goodbye. He got out of your car, walked up the steps to his door, unlocked it and gave you a small wave before he went inside.

Tim was true to his word. He gave you space. He didn’t go back to the lookout spot or the war memorial, knowing those were your sanctuaries before they were his. He didn’t ask for updates, he didn’t stop by your office, he didn’t ask Josh how you were doing.

And you appreciated it. The time and space left you alone with your thoughts and you often visited the lookout spot or the war memorial, trying to find some peace, but those spots were now shared with Tim. So, for the first time in a long time, you spent time in your apartment.

When you moved in, you hadn’t done anything to the place. Spaces were temporary in your experience. It was more hassle than it was worth to try to make the space your own if, in a year everything was a clean slate. But Dani was right. It had been close to six years now since you moved in. Six years. You had a stable job, you had friends here, it was time to accept that maybe this was more than temporary.

You started by unpacking the last few boxes that were stacked in the hallway. You replaced the command hooks hanging your picture frames with nails. You got new paint to liven up the living room from the basic beige it was before. You put the work into making your apartment really yours. You had to stop living behind walls and this was a first step.

The next step was to really open up.

***

You were waiting outside the dressing room for Tim to get out. You came down as soon as practice finished so you knew you wouldn’t miss him. You leaned against the cool concrete, trying to control your bouncing leg. He was one of the last out of the dressing room and you shyly smiled at the other players who left. When he came out, you popped off from the wall and stood in front of him.

“Do you still want to know why I picked hockey?” You could tell your question caught him off guard but he nodded nonetheless. “You had asked and I brushed it off...because it hurt to think about. Because it was my dad...He loved hockey. Everywhere we went, there was a team he could cheer for, but he always wished that his hometown team would win, no matter how bad they were. He took me to a game once. I had asked why he liked it so much, it was cold and loud and people were drunk and I’m pretty sure our team was losing. We were down in the crowd and he said to me, ‘Hockey is this great sport. It connects people. It creates families right before your eyes. Enemies can become teammates. This...this sport can be a family for you, anywhere you go. I hope one day you can find something that does the same thing for you.’ Two weeks later, he had a heart attack. So, I held onto the one thing that he found belonging in. I liked my math, it made sense, and I’m good at it. But when it came to doing something with my life, I just- I wanted something to make my dad proud of me, you know? I wanted to feel connected to him.”

Tim was silent but he pulled you into a hug, your head going into the crook of his neck. His arms went around your waist and he held you for a minute. “Your dad would be proud of you. I know he would. Why’d you tell me now though?”

“Well, friends share personal stuff, right?” You pulled away from the hug just enough to catch his eyes. You looked up at him hopefully, and he smiled.

“Yeah, they do.” He broke the hug, but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “C’mon, friends also eat brussel sprouts for each other.” You laughed at his distaste for them and the two of you walked out the parking lot together, his arm still slung around your shoulders.

***

You looked up at the ceiling, your bedsheets twisted beside you. It had been about two weeks since you told Tim about your dad, and since then, the two of you had been exchanging texts daily. It felt familiar, even though both of you knew it was different. Not a bad different, just… different. You’d been over to his place a couple times and he came over for your place for a ‘welcome back’ dinner.

You were nervous to show him your apartment, but you knew you had grown into the space. It was no longer generic beige walls and command strips. The living room had an accent wall and you put nails in the wall to hang your family photos in the hallway. Tim took his time looking around your space, spending extra time in the hallway. He stopped in front of the picture of your family, all four of you, and smiled.

“My parents are coming into town when we play the Caps in December, if you want to meet them?” He had said when you sat down to eat. You sputtered your drink a little and set down the glass.

“Only if...you meet Dani when we go to Seattle in January?” His face broke into a grin and he nodded.

“I’d love that.” The rest of the dinner had no issues, just two friends catching up and getting familiar with each other again.

But he wanted you to meet his parents. He wanted you to meet the people who raised him, his family. And you didn’t have any hesitations. You wanted to meet the people who made Tim who he is.

This past week solidified that you knew what you wanted. You wanted to meet Tim’s family, you wanted to show him around Seattle, you wanted to be with him. If he still wanted to be with you.

If.

He had been pretty clear where he stood on his feelings, but the voice in the back of your mind taunted you with that one tiny two letter word. He might have seen how you reacted, how unstable you were, and how you weren’t ready to jump into things as a sign you didn’t want this. He could’ve taken your steps to being friends again as being just friends again. He could’ve-

You weren’t going to wait around to let what-if’s and might of’s and could’ve’s waft around in your head. You needed to talk to him, needed to see him. So in your pajama pants and a hoodie, you braved the Canadian night and drive to his house. You parked the car, rather haphazardly, but it could wait. You skipped a step walking up to his door and quickly phoned him.

You paced back and forth on the small porch as the phone rang three times before he picked up.

“Hallo?” His accent was thicker in his native language, the harsh constants sounding so soft from his lips.

“Can you come open the door?”

“What?”

“I’m outside. Can you open the door?”

“What? It’s like...early,”

A sigh escapes you. “Tim. I know. I know now.”

“Well if you looked at a clock before you left your place, you would’ve known earlier. That would’ve-”

“Tim.” You gulped and your voice trembled slightly. “I’m ready. I know what I want.” The tone of your voice dropped its lightheartedness and that alone was enough to shake the sleep from his mind. But your words? More than enough to get him out of bed and racing (as quietly as he could in the dark) towards you.

He opened the front door in his sleep joggers to see you pacing and shaking your arms. You hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to admire you. The way your hair fell, your Senator pajama pants that Brady gave you as a gag gift, the way you bit your lip between your teeth.

“Hey.” His voice broke you out of your trance, your head whipping around to see him standing in the doorframe.

“Hi.” Your voice was quiet, the nerves getting the best of you. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His hair was a mess and he was wearing the grey hoodie you knew for a fact was his favourite. “Oh, right, I have to go first. Um...Are- are you still sure about your feelings for me?” He nodded. “And-and they’re for sure, good feelings?”

“… They’re such good feelings.” You nodded and gave your body another shake through, as if to dissipate the nerves racing throughout your veins.

“I know it’s taken me a while to kinda sort everything out but… I like you too. That’s why hearing those things hurt so much. That’s why I had to take some time. I've been alone for most of my life and it was scary to let someone in so easily, unknowingly. You just waltzed in and made yourself at home in my heart and it felt like you belonged so I… I didn’t even realize you could hurt me. And when I heard those things, it hurt more. It just solidified that I should’ve stayed alone. You can’t get hurt if there’s no one to hurt you right? But every talk, every late night drive, everything we had...it was worth all the hurt. So I’m ready. I want to do this with you, even if it hurts. I don’t know if I can do life without you.” He pushed himself off of the doorframe and came to stand in front of you, his hand cupping your cheeks, soothing the skin under your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you and I don’t plan on doing it ever again, Y/n, you have to know that.” You nodded against his hands and you could feel some of his tension fade from his body. “Does this mean… we could be more than friends?”

“I want to be much more than friends with you, Tim.” You bit your lip to try to stop your smile from growing so wide, but it broke through when you saw how wide his smile was and how his eyes crinkled with joy.

“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” He asked softly, already leaning in. He left space between the two of you so you could decide but you easily leaned into him, your lips meeting. It was gentle but it was loving. You moved in sync, Tim’s hand moving to the back of your head to push you closer to him. Eventually, you pulled away for air.

“Schatz…” He breathed and you laughed lightly.

“You know, I don't think you've told me what that really means,” You said with a cheeky smile.

“Would you like me to say it in English, sweetheart?” He brushed his nose with yours.

“Hmm, German is fine,” You tilted your head upwards, almost brushing your lips with his. With your teasing, he let out a groan, bringing you in for another kiss. This time he broke for air, his eyes still slightly closed.

“You know, you cured my homesickness. I never felt like I missed home because I found home in you,” He whispered. Your heart melted and you brought your lips together with a passion he hadn’t seen from you before. Your hands tangled in his hair and he chased your lips as if it was a breakaway. When you broke for air, the two of you were breathless.

“As much as I want to keep doing that, it’s also very early and I am tired. Can we go back to bed please?” His arms were still around your waist, but he leaned back enough that you could see his face, puppy dog eyes and all. You nodded to his request with a soft smile, and went to remove yourself from his arms and go back to your car, but he tightened his grip.

“I got you now, so I’m not letting you go.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck and slowly the two of you made your way into the warm house. He led you through the dark hallways to his bedroom, giggling and sneaking kisses where you could.

You fell asleep so easily, the quickest you have the entire time you had lived in Ottawa. And it wasn’t only Tim’s warmth, or the way his sheets smell like hockey tape and his peppermint shampoo. You had finally opened yourself up. You had found that belonging your dad always wanted you to. And you found that in Tim; whether he knew it or not, he was home.

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minteyeddevil · 3 years

Note

Hii could i request all the bros and the undate-ables characters reacts to FM! MC being afraid of loud voices? Sorry if this is too much! And thank youu!

(Feel this one a deep level, nonny! Lemme see what I can do for you. :))

---

Lucifer:

He picks up on MC’s fear immediately, because of how loud his brothers get around her

Their constant hollering back and forth over the dinner table, and how she sinks into herself, trying to cover her ears

He can lecture his brothers all he wants, but he knows it will take some time before they learn to adjust the volume of their voices around her

And he knows how loudly his voice can get when he is angered and lecturing her amongst them

So he goes to her room and apologizes to her on their behalf, and his own, offering for her to stay in his study when they become too much for her

If she needs a quiet space, he is more than happy to provide one for her

Mammon:

Mammon, being the ever rambunctious and loud demon that he is, needs to be told by MC that his loud voice scares her

It’s not that he is totally oblivious, he just thinks he is fine how he is; but apologizes to her profusely once he knows

Will make sure to use an ‘inside’ voice for her; that’s what humans call it, right? He really does have to watch his volume since he is used to generally being the loud one

He will get on his brothers if they are being too loud; but will be reprimanded in return for also being too loud

He is really trying here, he wants to make sure MC feels comfortable and wants to be around him

Leviathan:

If anyone understands the fear of loud voices, or dealing with the fear of loudness in general, it’s him

He can relate to her on a deep level, and provides her sanctuary in his room whenever she needs it

Another harsh lecture from Lucifer? Levi has some games they can play together to relax

Too many loud voices going on at school? Hang in his room with noise cancelling headphones on and read some new manga together

He even gets her a pair of noise cancelling headphones she can wear when walking around campus so she doesn’t get overstimulated when heading to her classes

Satan:

Phonophobia. He’s read about it before, and realizes that MC is suffering from it

He can see when she covers her ears walking through the halls of RAD, trying to avoid the large groups of people talking so loudly

He searches the school for the best spots that are the quietest, and shows them to her to help her have places to recover and desensitize from all the loud voices

Makes her playlists of calming music that she can listen to as well, something to help her distract her from the loudness around her

Also offers his room for her to hide in if she needs a quiet space when dealing with his loud brothers in the HoL

Asmodeus:

He doesn’t fear loud voices per-se, but he understands how they can make one uncomfortable

He has sat through enough of Lucifer’s booming lectures to know that it’s not a nice feeling having someone’s loud voice ringing in your ears

He will be at her side and help her calm down if things become too much at school especially

He is the king of self-soothing techniques, so he will teach her all he can to help her relax and ground herself when she becomes overwhelmed again

Lots of self-care and shared spa days to help her come down from a bad day or a bad week especially

Beelzebub:

He despised the fear in her eyes and how she curled into herself, covering her ears, when his voice boomed in the kitchen

He hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that; he was just angry that Mammon was stealing his snacks again, and she happened to be next to him...

That’s how he learned she had a horrible fear of loud things, voice specifically, and he wanted to do all he could to apologize

He eventually figured out noise cancelling headphones were a thing, and asked Levi to help him get a pair for her

And he gave them to her as apology gift, telling her that she can wear them around him as much as she needed, and he would do his best to never be that loud again

Belphegor:

Loud voices bothered him too, though for him it was because they would interrupt his naps

He realized how severe it was for MC when she cowered next to him during one of Mammon and Satan’s screaming fits, covering her ears and eyes slammed shut tight

Whenever he noticed her becoming overwhelmed, he would drag her off to a quiet spot of the house, or somewhere he knew was a good nap spot at RAD

And keep her holed up there with him for a while, either taking a small nap together, or getting her to talk about something she enjoyed to distract and reset her brain

If he saw that another screaming fit was about to happen, he would preemptively cover her ears for her, a sign that he was trying to protect her from the loud voices to come

Diavolo:

It took him a bit to realize that MC was actually scared of how loud his voice could be

His voice was always booming, being a large demon, it came with the territory

But seeing her flinch and try not to cover her ears every time he greeted her made his heart ache

He sought advice from Lucifer and Barbatos, unsure of what he could do to help her feel more comfortable around him, and the main advice they could give was just to watch the volume of his voice when speaking to her

He tried his best to speak softer when addressing her; but his volume would tend to rise when he would speak to her about something that excited him

He would do his best to learn to control his volume for MC; he wanted her to be around him as much as she was around the brothers

Barbatos:

Like Lucifer, he knows immediately that MC has an issue with loud voices, simply by watching her interact with the other demons

He notices how she flinches at the volume of their voices, how her hands shake while she holds the cup of tea he made

He frowns to himself, knowing she is having a horrible time and is literally sitting in fear at the sounds

He offers to have her join him in the kitchen, where he has some treats ready to bring out for Lord Diavolo and the others, and he is thankful that she accepts right away

He admits to her that he can see how uncomfortable she is, and offers her respite in the kitchen for as long as she needs before going back out and enduring more

If she needs more time, she can head out to balcony to get some fresh air, and he will make up an excuse for them to leave her be

Simeon:

Simeon picked up her having a fear of loud voices by observing her in the crowded cafeteria

He was watching from his spot against the wall, noticing how often she would curl into herself at the sounds around her

He could see her physically trying not to cover her ears, trying not draw attention to herself, and this made him frown

He walked over to her, tapping her on the shoulder so she wouldn’t be startled by him, and placed his hands gently on her ears

He simply smiled at her confused face, but she soon returned the smile, whispering a small thank you

From then on, whenever he would see her struggling, he would walk right up to her and cover her ears for her, or try and talk to her to distract her from the loudness around her

Solomon:

His general reaction to finding out MC is scared of something is to relentlessly tease her; it’s practically his trademark

But when he sees her turn into a practical ball, hands over her ears and eyes slammed tight at the sound of Diavolo’s booming voice over the intercom, he definitely pulls back

Instead he tries to become a soundboard for her, offering to listen if she needs to vent or rant about something that bothers her

Or brings things with him that could be a from of distraction for her, like one of his spell books or a new familiar she can fawn over

He’ll provide warnings for her as well if he knows something loud is about to occur, like another announcement over the intercom, or a teacher about to raise their voice at another student

#obey me #shall we date obey me #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon #headcanon #request #fem!mc

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biaswreckingfics · 3 years

Text

Liminal: Part 1

Pairing: EXO x Female Reader

Genre: Witch!AU

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Some strong language

Summary: Magic. Murder. Mystery. You don't know when this became your life, but your choice in the matter is long gone. Someone is after you, someone is killing witches, and when a coven approaches you and tells you you're one of them? You're sure they're crazy. What's so magical about a girl stuck working in a greenhouse?

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Junmyeon swipes up the newspaper that Chanyeol had thrown down on the table with a sigh. Kyungsoo watches the anger take over his face as he reads the article they have all already had the displeasure of seeing.

Another senseless murder.

Another witch dead.

Everyone in the room shares the same frustration. The same anger and helplessness that is fleeting across Junmyeon's face at this very second, and they have no idea how to stop it.

This is the sixth body that has shown up in the past two months. The police think it’s a serial killer, but they have no real idea of what's happening. All they keep managing to do is get in the way of the people who actually have a chance of solving the murders - and they needed to be solved quickly before anyone else is killed.

None of the covens or elders can figure out why this is happening. What would someone gain from killing witches? Even worse, what would someone gain from killing witches that didn’t practice magic?

That is part of what shocked Kyungsoo. Not only were witches being slaughtered, but there were entire lines of witches hidden from the covens. Sure, he had heard of people going into hiding after the war centuries ago, but he hadn’t realized how many there were or that they were still in hiding after a couple hundred years.

Did those who were killed even know they were magical or was that knowledge lost to them a long time ago?

It was a surprise to the elders too. When the first few deaths occurred, none of them realized it was witches being killed off. The only reason anyone figured it out is because an Elder works on the police force. Kyungsoo didn’t know if it was his instincts or something about the way they were murdered that caused red flags to go off in the Elder’s head, but if it wasn’t for him, they still wouldn’t know. He raised concern, and others began tracing back the deceased familial lines, ultimately discovering it’s their own being murdered.

“What should we do?” Seoyeon quietly asks.

“You carry on with what you’ve been doing.” The High Priestess says as she sweeps into the room. “You keep perfecting your skills, and let the Elders keep tracing family lines.”

Jongdae watches her from across the room, already shaking his head as she speaks. “That’s not enough. We need to find these other hidden witches before whoever is killing them does.”

“How do you suppose you’re going to find someone you don’t even know exists?” She asks calmly, clasping her hands in front of her as she comes to a stop next to Junmyeon. When nobody offers her an answer, she continues. “Running around like a bunch of blind mice isn’t going to solve anything. Obviously, report it if you see any suspicious activity. Otherwise, let the Elders handle this for now.”

Her words frustrate some of the members, but they leave no room for argument. Besides, only fools would argue with their High Priestess. Though, something about her words sends a thought through Kyungsoo’s brain.

He has noticed suspicious activity lately at a place that he frequents quite often. At first, he thought it was just paranoia because of the murders, but now he thinks it’d be stupid to ignore. Especially when someone’s life could be at stake.

“The greenhouse,” his deep voice rumbles, causing everyone to look at him. “I’ve noticed odd people hanging around there, and they only started coming once the murders began. I thought it was in my head, but now I’m not so sure.”

He ignores the way his cousin’s eyebrows furrow and focuses solely on the High Priestess, who nods at his words.

“I’ll check into the employees that work there. For now, continue going there to keep an eye on things.”

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You hum to yourself as you bend down and check the sage plants for any bugs. There’s only about an hour left of work, and you figure this is the quickest way to pass the time. Plus, you didn’t mind this part of the job. It’s mindless and lets you escape into your fantasy world that is always quietly calling your name.

“Did you know that some people use sage to ward off evil?”

You jump when you first hear the deep voice next to you, but a smile quickly grows on your face. Kyungsoo. One of the greenhouse’s most consistent customers and definitely one of your more favorite customers. His monotone voice would make you think he’s bored, but you could always hear the passion in it when he talked about plants.

You straighten up to meet his stare. “Is that why I get the random terrified customer that comes in asking for it?”

The smile immediately falls from his face as he processes your words. “What?”

“I’m joking, Kyungsoo,” you tell him as you hold back a laugh. “Besides, aren’t there specialty shops for that?”

“Probably.” He shrugs his shoulders before a curious gaze takes over. “So, do you believe in things like that?”

“In evil spirits?” A small laugh escapes from you. “No, not really. Ghosts, demons, magic… I don’t believe in any of it, but if someone comes in here looking for sage to protect themselves, I’m definitely not going to stop them.”

Kyungsoo nods at your words, but you can tell his mind is elsewhere. Either lost in a world of magic and evil or just in a daze. You glance past him to make sure everything else in the greenhouse is going okay and notice another customer watching you.

Changmin. Someone who only recently started coming to the greenhouse but wasted no time in trying to get to know you.

“Do you need any help Changmin?” you ask, causing Kyungsoo to look over at him.

The two make eye contact for a moment, and you curiously take in the sight. Did they know each other? Because the vibes you’re getting aren’t exactly friendly.

“I do, actually.” Changmin finally says, ripping his gaze away from Kyungsoo to look at you.

“Okay. One second.” You tell him, focusing back on the man in front of you. “Did you need anything else, Kyungsoo?”

He eyes Changmin a little longer before turning back toward you. “I’m good. Thanks. I’ll see you around, though.”

You nod and watch him walk away before making your way over to Changmin. His brown eyes still watch Kyungsoo until he’s out of the store, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion.

“What’s up?” You ask in an attempt to get his attention.

“How long have you known him?” He asks, leveling you with a stare.

You jerk in surprise at the unexpected question. There’s no obligation to answer him, but you can’t deny you’re curious why someone you barely know would ask that.

“He’s been shopping here for a couple years. Why?”

Changmin slowly nods before looking back in the direction Kyungsoo had left in. You study his side profile, taking in the locked jaw and intense stare. They had to know each other, and not in a good way.

“Changmin?”

He studies you for a moment before saying, “I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

Your mouth parts slightly as you try to take in his words. Who just says something like that, and why did he think he could say it to you?

A smile grows on his lips as he takes in your expression. “Just some friendly advice.”

“…Right.” You finally find your voice, though a weird feeling fills you. Something about this entire thing feels off, and you don’t want to be dragged into it.

“Well, thanks for the help.” He winks at you and heads toward the entrance.

A minute passes before you find your bearings again. That entire encounter was awkward, and what’s more, you never even helped Changmin, so you didn’t know what exactly he was thanking you for.

Pushing the last five minutes from your mind, you pick up a nearby watering can and start giving some of the drier plants a little bit of water. You follow the same monotonous routine as you normally do and sigh. You’re so bored… and not just here but in general.

Working at the greenhouse is fun, and it’s refreshing to be surrounded by nature and warmth every single day, but it isn’t enough. You crave excitement and adventure. You want to travel the world and experience all that life has to offer, and you know you won’t find that here in the greenhouse.

You want more.

As your night wraps up, you turn off the lights and begin to head out, turning to lock up the greenhouse before you go. It’s the same routine that you always have, but something about tonight feels different. Something in the air feels different.

Brushing off the odd feeling, you throw the greenhouse keys in your bag and begin the journey home. It’s nights like these that you’re grateful you only live a couple blocks away. You get to tune into your thoughts and let your mind wander in the peace and quiet of the night, but tonight, that odd feeling remains.

You glance over your shoulder to glimpse the empty streets. Vehicles parked along the road for the night and a few trees scattered along the sidewalk greet you, but that’s all. No other human being catches your attention; however, you still can’t shake the feeling growing inside of you. The feeling that you’re being followed.

Quickening your pace, you try to remain calm and clearheaded. The odds that you’re being followed aren’t very high, but the recent string of murders in the city has you feeling on edge anyway. You debate if you should continue going home or if you should go somewhere else, but there’s no public place between the greenhouse and your apartment, so you continue on your path.

It’s probably just paranoia, especially since it’s nearly all the city can talk about. The news, the papers, social media… it’s everywhere, and that’s why you assume the odd feelings are just in your head. You’re psyching yourself out… but that still doesn’t stop you from feeling a sense of relief the second you get into your apartment.

Locking the door immediately behind you, you take a deep breath before letting out a breathy laugh at your actions. They were warranted, but you still felt a little silly. You turn on the lights and move to drop your bag on the table near the door. Before you can take any further steps into the apartment, your phone rings and you phish it out of your pocket, barely glancing at the caller ID because you already know who it is.

“Hey, mom,” you greet her.

“Did you make it home okay?” The worry is clear in her voice, so you avoid any sassy responses and move to sit on your couch.

“Yep! Safe and sound.”

You’ve grown used to the nightly phone calls you’ve been getting from your parents over the past couple of weeks. Ever since the news broke the first couple of murder stories, your parents have been worried sick about you, even more than usual. You’ve been trying to keep them calm and not become frustrated by their actions because you understand. You’re their only child, and you live alone in a dangerous city, but sometimes you really want to forget about the horrors that exist on the other side of your apartment door.

“Good! Make sure your door is locked!”

“It is mom.”

You hear her sigh on the other end of the phone. “You know we just want you safe, sweetie.”

“I know, and I love you for it.”

“Love you too, baby. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

You let out a soft laugh as you hang up the phone and drop it on the couch. Turning your head towards the window, you take in the city lights and listen to the soft sounds of the still bustling city that slip through the glass. Your mind can’t help but think about the odd feeling you had when you left work. The feeling that you were being followed. Was it paranoia as you suspected, or something more sinister?

The following days prove to be just as boring as usual, and after your spooky walk home a few days ago, you welcome it. For once in your life, you welcome the quiet, boring life you lead. The only difference you’ve noticed over the past few days is the more frequent visits of Kyungsoo and Changmin. It’s like every time you turn around, one of them is there. It’s almost eerie how they manage to do it.

Kyungsoo is a welcome distraction. He often talks about the plants you have in the greenhouse and similar ones he thinks you should talk your superiors into growing. He often makes comments about magical herbs or ones that’d be used in rituals, and you have to laugh. It’s funny to you how into magic he is, but you can tell he’s passionate about it, so you let him continue telling his stories.

Changmin, on the other hand, seems more concerned about Kyungsoo than you or the greenhouse. You often catch him watching Kyungsoo from a distance, and you know Kyungsoo can feel it because he has caught him several times himself. It’s odd how Changmin doesn’t even bother trying to hide it, and things take a really weird turn when Changmin approaches you about him directly.

‘Didn’t I warn you not to trust that guy?”

The small shovel you’re holding in your hand drops back into the pot as you stand up to greet Changmin. “Hello to you, too.”

His eyebrow quirks up as you ignore his previous sentence. “Hi. Did you not hear what I just said to you?”

“I heard you just fine. What I’m not hearing is an explanation.” He gives you a confused look, so you elaborate. “This is the second time you’ve told me not to trust Kyungsoo, but you’ve yet to give me a reason. Kyungsoo has been nothing but nice to me while you, on the other hand, keep sending him death glares across the greenhouse and telling me not to trust him.”

He studies your expression for a moment before nodding. “I just thought I’d help you out. You’re a nice girl. Maybe a little too nice. Didn’t your parents ever teach you that looks can be deceiving?”

Confusion causes your brows to furrow as you try to figure out how on earth you should even respond to that. This man that you barely knew, not only is telling you not to trust someone but is calling you naïve directly to your face. Who does stuff like this?

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs his shoulders, “maybe watch who you befriend.”

You meet his stare for a moment before saying, “Yeah… I’ll do that.”

For the rest of your shift, all you can think about is how relieved you are that Changmin is gone. The man is starting to creep you out and why he felt like he could tell you who you could and couldn’t trust really bugged you. The two of you are friendly but not friends. You barely know him, so why does he think he can come up to you and say things like that?

“Don’t forget to turn out the lights!” Your coworker reminds you as she breezes past towards the door.

“I got it, don’t worry. See you tomorrow!”

She throws you a smile as she exits the greenhouse, and you try to focus on the last-minute things you need to do, but your mind is elsewhere. Sighing, you toss your work gloves into a bin by the counter and move to grab your purse. You’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.

As you walk out of the greenhouse and turn to lock up, you get an eerie sense of déjà vu. You lift your head up and look at the area around you. The sight that greets you causes a bad feeling to work its way up your spine.

People are scattered all over the place. On the sidewalk on each side of the greenhouse and across the street. They stay half-hidden in the shadows. Not enough to show their faces, but enough that you can tell they’re there.

You take a deep breath and try to keep calm while you watch the shadows. There had to be 10 to 15 people around you, and that’s enough to set off your alarm bells because you’d usually only see maybe four people maximum when you closed.

The way they all stand still as they watch you causes your heart rate to spike. You stare at the wooden door in front of you and debate on running back into the greenhouse since the key is still in the lock, but you know that’s not going to stop them from whatever it is they plan on doing. Something tells you they’re here for you and that they won’t stop until they get what they want. You don’t know why, but your body is screaming it at you.

You needed to find a place with people, or at least, a busy street, and there wasn’t any toward your apartment, so you pull the key out of the lock and head in the opposite direction. Your steps are slow as you come close to one of the people leaning against the building next to you. The girl doesn’t move as you pass her, and though you try to find her eyes, it’s like she leans back deeper into the shadows, making it even harder to see her.

Once you pass her, you pick up your pace and almost swear when you hear footsteps behind you. You knew this was going to happen. Now, you just have to be quicker than the rest of them.

Quickening your pace to a jog, you force yourself not to look behind you. Every time the person looks behind themselves in a movie, they fall and bust their ass. That would not be you. However, something else tries to force its way inside your head…

What if these people had something to do with those murders?

You force yourself into a jog, noting the wind has noticeably picked up. Good. Maybe they’ll get tired of going against the wind to follow you. You smile at the thought until you feel the wind push against you even harder.

You stumble a little at the force of it but try to keep going. You ignore the harsh whip of it against your face, but it stings enough that you question where the heck this wind even came from. Was it even supposed to storm today? You could’ve sworn the forecast said sun all day when you woke up.

An even harder gust of wind slams against you, and you find it nearly impossible to move your body. Chancing a glance behind you, you see the people that are following you having an even tougher time. It’s like they’re somehow getting even more wind than you are.

What the hell is going on? You’ve never experienced wind like this. It’s almost… unnatural.

Lightning arcs across the sky, being immediately followed by thunder, and all you can think is “great, a freak storm, that’s exactly what you need right now”. You look up at the sky and feel your face scrunch in confusion. There aren’t any visible clouds, so you’re not entirely sure where this storm is coming from.

More bolts of lightning streak across the sky, lighting up the road around you until suddenly one of the bolts hits a streetlight behind you. The thunder that accompanies the bolt is monstrous, startling you into turning around and searching for damage.

Smoke comes off the light that had just been struck, but before you can process it, another bolt hits the light across from it, sending two of your followers stumbling. You jump back as more bolts begin hitting the road, and that’s when you realize the lightning isn’t following any basic laws of science. Tall buildings, other streetlights, plenty of metal objects surround you, and instead, the lightning hits the ground, bypassing everything. Even odder, the bolts only hit the ground around the people behind you, none of them near you.

Momentarily stunned by the odd storm, you realize this is the perfect distraction to get away. You turn back around and begin to fight against the wind to move. At first, it feels like you’re cemented to the ground, but ever so slightly, it becomes easier to move. You push harder, fearing that if it’s easier for you, it’ll be easier for your followers to move as well.

Wetness suddenly hits your face, distracting you and causing you to look back up at the sky. Rain too? Of course, it makes sense, but there weren’t even any clouds thirty seconds ago. The sky opens up moments later, dropping so much rain on you that you’re drenched instantly. It pelts against you almost painfully, like thousands of needles being jabbed in your skin, and you cry out before you can stop yourself.

Turning your head towards the buildings alongside you, you search for a place to hide out. You can’t stay in this rain any longer, and when you glance behind you, you notice most of the creepy people fleeing the storm, making your sense of urgency dwindle. What you need to do now is find shelter, then as soon as the storm lets up, you can go get help.

Taking a step towards the buildings on your side, you notice a shape approaching you and you immediately tense up. The creepy people didn’t leave like you thought. They just went around to trap you instead. You quickly back away as the figure moves closer to you and notice it’s not as hard to move as it was. The wind is starting to let up as is the rain, allowing you to see the person approaching you.

You blink a few times as you take in his sudden appearance.

“Kyungsoo?”

“Come with me,” he urgently tells you, holding his hand out for you to grab.

You look between his hand and his face as you try to push past the startling confusion you’re feeling. What the hell is he suddenly doing here, and why does he want you to go with him?

“Please! We don’t have a lot of time!”

The urgency in his voice has you looking over your shoulder. You didn’t have a lot of time? Is he talking about those people? How would he know about anything that’s going on?

“Where?” You turn back to him and shout to be heard over the rain.

“Please, just trust me!” He yells, looking behind you.

You send one more peek over your shoulder before glancing down at his hand. Changmin’s words telling you not to trust Kyungsoo work their way into your mind, but you squash them. You barely know Changmin, and a part of you feels like you can trust Kyungsoo. He, at least, feels safer than being out on these streets alone at night.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hand in his and allow him to pull you back in the direction he came from. The two of you run toward the end of the block, and then he pulls you around the corner, where you see a black car already running and waiting for you.

He opens the backdoor, and without question, you jump in. You look up as you find your seat and come face to face with another man. Your movements halt, but Kyungsoo jumps in after you, blocking your only exit. You look up to the front of the car and see two more unfamiliar men in the driver and passenger seats.

Oh. You fucked up. There’s no possible way jumping in an unfamiliar vehicle with three strangers and someone you barely know isn’t a fuck up.

“What the hell, Kyungsoo?” You turn and hiss at him.

“Calm down. Everything’s going to be okay.” He tells you as he places his hand on your arm.

You immediately move away from him, not wanting him to touch you. “Like hell it is!”

Tearing your gaze from Kyungsoo, you look at the other men in the car, and that’s when it hits you. Not a single one of them is paying any attention to you. They’re all concentrating on something behind you, outside of the vehicle. You take a moment to study them as they focus on whatever it is they’re doing.

Next to you is a thin man with brushed-back hair. You see his eyes focusing on the trees as they almost violently sway, and you assume he’s as curious about the wind as you. In the driver seat is a shorter, muscular man. He stares out at the rain like he’s almost in a daze, and an unnerving feeling begins to prod at your skin. Lastly, in the passenger seat is another man, but his face is turned away from you. All you can tell is that he’s looking up at the sky like it holds all the answers.

Slowly, you turn to face Kyungsoo, who’s looking out the back of the car in the direction you came from. He must feel your eyes on him because he quickly turns to face you. You try to find your voice to speak, but the most that comes out is a whisper.

“What the fuck is happening?”

Before he can answer you, you feel movement from your side, and you immediately snap your head in that direction. You meet the cautious stare of the man next to you, the one who was watching the trees, and blink a few times before you realize how quiet it has gotten.

Reluctantly, you pull your gaze away from the man and look out the window, noticing the storm had disappeared as quickly as it came. The night is now silent and eerie. The trees no longer sway, the rain no longer drops, and the lightning is long gone. You sit frozen as you try to figure out how any of this is logically possible until you realize that it’s not just the man next to you that is focused on you. The two men in the front are as well.

You turn to look at Kyungsoo, the only one you know. “You have about five seconds to tell me what the hell is going on.”

He searches your face a moment before nodding. “You’re in danger.”

You quickly open your mouth to argue with how absurd that sounds, but he holds his hand up to quiet you.

“Those people are after you, and they’re not going to stop until you’re dead.”

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