The Innocence of Brutality [Legolas/Fem!Reader Formate]
Click HERE for [Legolas/OC Formate]
AO3 | WATTPAD | MASTERLIST
Links to chapters:
The Innocence of Brutality Pt.1
The Innocence of Brutality Pt.2
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 3
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 4
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 5
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 6
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 7
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 8
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 9
The Innocence of Brutality Pt.10 - NEW!
Summary: The Reader is of the Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.
Legolas’ brows pulled tight. ‘”Is she one of Sauron’s? Do you know that to be true?” Gandalf, with narrowed eyes, shook his head. “No. Something far more dangerous.” The Prince shifted his weight. “What is she?” Gandalf glanced at all the curious eyes upon him before his deep voice huffed across the dirt as he reluctantly spoke his next words. “Rámaite Mahtar.”
Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.
Status: In Progress
Total Word Count: tbd
Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, injuries, gore, nudity, things get spicy, discussion of sex 🌶️
The Raven Scholar, Antonia Hodgson. My big standout new author find this year, with a classic fantasy court drama/murder mystery featuring a truly excellently written cast of characters. Review.
A Drop of Corruption, Robert Jackson Bennett. Second of the Holmes and Watson-style intrigue murder mysteries, with a rare combo of unique fantasy worldbuilding and a classic, plotty mystery. Review.
How to Find a Nameless Fae, AJ Lancaster. bi4bi fantasy romance with a sensible 40 year old protagonist, fairy tale plot, and a love interest with more than a little bit of Howell Jenkins. Review.
I Leave It Up to You, Jinwoo Chong. Leaning a bit towards litfic, about a queer man's complex relationship with his family and their sushi restaurant after waking up from a coma. Review.
Blood on Her Tongue, Johanna van Veen. A properly bloody Gothic novel set in 19th century Netherlands. Excellent atmosphere. Review.
A Brother's Price, Wen Spencer. Genderswapped Regency romance with the sociological SFF worldbuilding to back it up. Review.
The Incandescent, Emily Tesh. Emily Tesh never misses. Slice of life about a jaded teacher at a elitist magical school for teenagers. Review.
The Everlasting, Alix Harrow. Time loop narrative about butch lady knights, fascism, and the meaning of the stories we tell ourselves. Review.
A Far Better Thing, HG Parry. Excellent fairy changeling angst based on A Tale of Two Cities. I love a good tragedy. Review.
Upcoming Releases
The Subtle Art of Folding Space, John Chu. Probably a bit obvious to compare it to Everything Everywhere All At Once. Messy family drama and interdimensional shenanigans. Out April 7th. Review.
The Duke, Anna Cowan. Absolute souffle of a lesbian melodrama and very much in the shape of classic eighties Regencies, except the duke is a woman. Has the intensity and drama I've been missing from some sapphic romances. Out April 28th. Review.
The Poet Empress, Shen Tao. Still thinking about this one. Ruthless, pragmatic fantasy set in a mythical China that takes aim at a lot of dark romance tropes and hits it out of the park every time. Out January 20th. Review.
A Widow's Charm, Caitlyn Paxson. Delightful fantasy romcom about a widow blackmailing a guy into (illegally) necromancying her recently dead husband. Out March 31st. Review is held until spring but here's the Goodreads.
Honorable Mention
One Yellow Eye, Leigh Radford. Story about a woman trying to save her infected husband in the most compassionate take I've ever read about a zombie plague. Excellent medical details also. Review.
Notes from a Regicide, Isaac Fellman. Messy, rambling narrative about a trans man trying to make sense of his trans parents, with a sprawling SF future that only shows around the corners. Review.
What Fury Brings, Tricia Levenseller. The only thing you need to know about this book is that CS Pacat enthusiastically blurbed it. What if HE got kidnapped and dark fantasy romanced, and also the protagonist lady had biceps the size of cantaloupes. Review.
Nicked, MT Anderson. Queer medieval relics heist with a good touch for the historical period. Review.
As promised here is my list of Covey-inspired names.
I tried to follow the typical naming convention of the first part of the name being a traditional folk poem or ballad, but I did add some names that differed from the typical names, and still fit the covey vibes. Suggestions appreciated :)
I also posted a list of shades of colors in case some people needed it!
Annabel (Annabel Lee)
Alice (Lady Alice)
Arthur (King Arthur)
Annie (For Annie or Gentle Annie)
Ariel (Ariel by Sylvia Plath)
Annachie (Annachie Gordon)
Andrew (Death of Young Andrew)
Angelina (Farewell Angelina)
April (April Come She Will)
Annet (Lord Thomas and Fair Annet)
Augustine (The Ladder of St. Augustine)
Allegra (Children's Hour)
Amoret (The Faerie Queene)
Amarantha (Song to Amarantha)
Barbra (Barbra Allen)
Billy (Billy Boy)
Bonny/Bonnie (‘Bonny Barbra Allen’ or ‘The Bonnie Lass o’ Fyvie’)
Bridget (The Banks of Newfoundland)
Bill (Railroad Bill)
Bess (The Highway Man)
Clerk (‘Clerk Saunders’ or ‘Clerk Colvill’)
Claribel (Claribel by Ralph Vaughn Williams)
Christabel (Christabel by Samuel Taylor Coleridge)
Clementine (Oh My Darling, Clementine)
Clara (The Song of Maria Clara)
Clarinda (To the Van Morte Clarinda)
Celia (To Celia)
Claude (Claude Allen)
Cole (Cole Younger)
Corey (Darling Corey)
Charlie (Mr Charlie)
Catherine (Catherine Howard’s Fate)
Carolina (Carolina in my Mind)
Curtis (Ballad of Curtis Loew)
Cecilia (Cecilia- Simon & Garfunkel)
Corinna (Corinna’s Gone A’Maying)
Delia (Delia by Samuel Daniel)
Davy (The Ballad of Davy Crockett)
Donnie (Ballad of Donnie Gene)
Delilah (Hey There Delilah)
Delta (Delta Dawn)
Donald (Ballad of Donald White)
Danny (Danny Boy)
Earl (‘Earl Brand’ or ‘The Earl of Westmoreland’)
Evangeline (Evangeline by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Eulalie (Eulalie by Edgar Allen Poe)
Eliza (Eliza Jane)
Edmund (The Wreck of Edmund Fitzgerald)
Ellen (Poor Ellen Smith)
Enoch (Enoch by Lord Tennyson)
Edith (Children’s Hour)
Emmeline (The Sparrows Nest-Wordsworth)
Frankie (Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest)
Godiva (Godiva by Alfred Tennyson)
Grace (Amazing Grace)
Gloriana (The Faerie Queene)
Hollis (Ballad of Hollis Brown)
Hazel (Hazel- Bob Dylan)
Isabel (Adventures of Isabel)
Ira (Ballad of Ira Hayes)
Irene (Goodnight Irene)
John/Johnny (Johnny Has Gone For a Soldier, Young Johnny, or John Henry)
Jane (For Jane by Charles Bukowski)
Juliet (Romeo and Juliet)
Janet (Janet Waking or Fair Janet)
Jackie (Jackie Boy)
James (St James Infirmary Blues)
Jeannie (Annachie Gordon)
Jenny (The Ballad of Jenny Rae or Ballad of Jenny Ledge)
Jack (Jack Orion)
Jubilee (Jubilee)
Joshua (Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho)
Jim (Jim Bowie)
Johanna (Visions of Johanna)
Judas (Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest)
Lucy Gray (Lucy Gray by William Wordsworth)
Lenore (The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe)
Lorelei (Lorelei by Heinrich Heine)
Lamia (Lamia by John Keats)
Lillian (Red Dirt Girl)
Lance (Poor Old Lance)
Lyonell (Sir Lyonell)
Louise (Visions of Johanna)
Maude (Maude Clare)
Molly (Molly Malone or I Never Will Marry)
Michael (Michael Finnigan or Fields of Athenry)
Marina (Marina by T.S Elliot)
Mariana (Mariana by Alfred Tennyson)
Margaret (Spring and Fall or Proud Lady Margaret)
Maria (The Song of Maria Clara)
Matty (Matty Groves)
Mary (Miss Mary Mack or Fields of Athenry)
Maurice (Child Maurice)
Minnie (Ballad of Minnie Dean)
Moll (The Ballad of Moll Mcgee)
Maggie (Little Maggie)
Maisry (Lady Maisry)
Nellie (Nellie Clark)
Nancy (Nancy by William Cowper)
Naomi (Naomi Wise)
Oliver (Sweet Polly Oliver)
Ophelia (Ophelia by Arthur Rimbaud)
Owen (The Lament for Owen Roe)
Orion (Jack Orion)
Polly (Pretty Polly or Polly Vaughn)
Phoebe (O Sister Phoebe)
Robyn/Robin (A gest of Robyn Hode or Robin Hoods Death)
Randall (Lord Randall)
Rosemary (Balled of Rosemary Lane)
Ruby (Ruby-Are You Mad at Your Man)
Rosaleen (My Dark Rosaleen)
Rosalind (Rosalind by Lord Tennyson)
Ruth (Ruth by Wordsworth)
Simon (Simple Simon or Simon Lee)
Sadie (Little Sadie)
Sam (The cremation of Sam McGee)
Shady (Shady Grove)
Saro (Pretty Saro)
Sally (Aweigh, Santy Ano)
Susan (Reverie of Poor Susan)
Suzanne (Suzanne-Leonard Cohen)
Tam (‘Tam Glen’, ‘Tam o' Shanter’ both by Robert Burns, or Tam Lin)
Thomas (Thomas the Rhymer)
Tobias (Where are the Days of Tobias)
Tamerlane (Tamerlane by Edgar Allen Poe)
Tom (Tom Dooley)
Una (The Faerie Queene)
Vincent (Vincent-Don McLean)
Willie (‘Willie’s Lady’ or ‘Willies Lyke-Wake’)
Waterlily (Water Lily by Ralph Stanley)
William (Sweet William’s Ghost or I Never Will Marry)
Willow (Down in the Willow Garden)
Zuleika (Zuleika by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy)
oscar's drawings from when he was a kid include an entirely black sheet of paper and some animals who had angry faces "because they didn't want to be painted" 😭😭😭😭😭
୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri
୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @runnergirl234) : celebrating the fourth of july with your f1 boyfriend <3
ᡣ𐭩 a/n : you guys should know how much of a sucker i am when it comes to introducing someone to a different culture, this was so so so fun to write🥲
ʚ・max verstappen
max didn’t get it.
“so, you just eat a lot and blow things up?” he crossed his arms, eyes narrowing like this was some elaborate prank.
“pretty much,” you said, handing him a beer.
he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “you americans are insane.” but he cracked open the beer anyway.
the backyard was packed. the grill smoked, the table was buried under piles of burgers and hot dogs, and a guy in an eagle tank top was aggressively tong-flipping ribs like his life depended on it. kids sprinted past with sparklers, and someone had already set off a rogue firework that nearly took out a lawn chair.
max surveyed the chaos like he was analyzing a new circuit. someone shoved a hot dog into his hand, and he stared at it like it was an untested setup change.
“no cutlery?”
“no, max. just eat it.”
he sighed but took a bite anyway. chewed. nodded slightly. “not bad. bit plain.”
he grabbed the mustard and squeezed way too hard. a horrifying amount of it slopped onto the bun. he stared at it for a long moment before taking another bite. his expression didn’t change, but you could see the regret.
“this was a mistake.”
when the fireworks started, he barely reacted at first, just tilting his head to watch as red and blue bursts lit up the sky. the next one was louder, the kind that rattled your ribs. he flinched, just a little.
“bit excessive,” he muttered.
someone handed him a sparkler, and he held it like it might explode in his fingers.
“just wave it around,” you said. “it’s fun.”
max verstappen does not “wave things around for fun.” but after a few seconds, he started moving it in small, cautious circles, still frowning in deep concentration. then, like it was a matter of principle, he traced out the number 1 in the air.
of course.
you laughed. he shot you a glare. “say nothing.”
the grand finale kicked in, launching fireworks in rapid, ear-shattering bursts. max, now fully resigned to the chaos, took a long sip of his beer and gave a small nod.
“alright,” he admitted. “i kind of get it.”
another firework exploded so hard it shook the ground. he blinked.
“…still think you’re all insane, though.”
ʚ・lewis hamilton
lewis adjusted his bucket hat, surveying the backyard scene with an amused but slightly wary expression. smoke curled from the grill, country music blared from a bluetooth speaker, and someone was setting up a folding table for what had been described to him as “competitive beer pong.”
“you lot take this holiday seriously, huh?” he mused, sipping on an iced matcha he had brought himself.
“it’s america’s birthday,” you said.
he chuckled. “right. and what’s the game plan? burgers and blowing things up?”
“basically.”
lewis shook his head, grinning. “so, absolute carnage, then.”
he fit in better than he probably expected. within ten minutes, he was deep in conversation about plant-based grilling techniques with someone’s confused but intrigued uncle. he took over the aux at one point, replacing the country anthems with smooth r&b, nodding along as he flipped a veggie burger with the confidence of a seven-time world champion.
when someone handed him a sparkler, he twirled it effortlessly between his fingers, making little figure eights in the air. “alright, i see the appeal,” he admitted, watching the light trail behind his movements.
then came the fireworks.
lewis leaned back in his chair, watching the first one explode across the sky. his sunglasses, which he had no reason to still be wearing at night, reflected the red and blue bursts.
“these are, what… not regulated?” he asked as another one screamed into the sky.
“not really.”
he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “man, if i did this in monaco, they’d fine me and take my yacht.”
still, he looked genuinely impressed. when the grand finale hit, shaking the ground with an almost comical level of intensity, he let out a low whistle.
“alright, america,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “you do know how to put on a show.”
just as he said it, someone behind him lit an illegal firecracker that shot sideways, barely missing a parked truck. lewis instinctively dodged, years of racing reflexes kicking in.
he stared at the scorched grass for a long moment, then slowly turned back to you.
“yeah, i’m gonna stick to silverstone celebrations.”
ʚ・george russell
george arrived looking like he had just walked out of a country club. polo tucked in, hair perfectly styled, white sneakers that had clearly never touched a patch of grass. he took a slow, deliberate look around the backyard. shirtless guys were shotgunning beers, someone was wrestling with a grill that was clearly too hot, and kids were launching bottle rockets dangerously close to a tree. he exhaled through his nose and adjusted his watch like he was mentally preparing for what was about to unfold.
"alright," he muttered to himself. "let’s see how this goes."
at first, he took the polite approach. he asked well-structured questions about barbecue techniques, nodded attentively as someone explained the art of smoking ribs, and accepted a plate of food he clearly didn’t recognize with a determined sort of curiosity.
then he saw the keg stand.
he narrowed his eyes, watching as a group of guys hoisted someone upside down, beer pouring straight from the keg into his mouth while the crowd chanted encouragement.
"what exactly is happening there?" he asked, arms crossed.
you explained. he blinked. "and people enjoy this?"
before you could answer, someone clapped a hand on his back. a very large, very enthusiastic man in an american flag tank top grinned at him. "you're up next, british boy."
george let out a small, nervous chuckle, glancing at you like he was waiting for an escape. you just grinned. "it’s tradition."
for a moment, it looked like he might back out. then something shifted in his expression. that familiar look of determination. the same way he looked before attempting an impossible overtake. he squared his shoulders, handed you his drink, and nodded once.
"alright. if i’m doing this, i’m doing it properly."
what followed was the most technically flawless keg stand anyone had ever seen. a perfect lift-off, immaculate form, and balance so steady it looked choreographed. when he landed back on the ground, he wiped his mouth, adjusted his polo, and looked around.
"was that acceptable?"
the entire backyard erupted.
by the time the fireworks started, he was fully committed. the polo had been replaced with a ridiculous red, white, and blue hat. he accepted a plate of chili cheese fries without hesitation. he was even chanting “usa! usa!” along with a group of strangers like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.
as the grand finale filled the sky, he leaned over to you, shaking his head with a laugh. "i have to admit, you lot know how to celebrate."
then someone behind him misfired a roman candle. the fireball shot sideways, missing him by inches. he spun around, hands on his hips, eyes wide.
"right," he said, voice slightly higher than usual. "and that is where i draw the line."
ʚ・carlos sainz
carlos had questions.
"wait, wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand as he surveyed the absolute chaos of the backyard. "so, today, we eat like… ten hamburgers, drink cervezas (beers), and then we throw fireworks at each other?"
"pretty much," you said, handing him a beer.
he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "los americanos están locos, eh? (you americans are crazy, huh?)"
but he cracked open the beer anyway.
carlos adapted quickly. within ten minutes, he was fully involved in the grilling process, standing next to the guy manning the barbecue with his hands on his hips, nodding like he was strategizing a pit stop. when handed a hot dog, he examined it critically.
"where is the jamón? (ham) no chorizo? (spicy spanish sausage)" he asked, looking personally offended.
"just eat it, carlos."
he sighed dramatically but took a bite. then another. his expression didn't change, but he gave a small nod.
"okay, está bien (it's okay). but if i put aceitunas (olives) on this, it would be better."
then he saw the fireworks table. his eyes narrowed. "who is in charge of this? porque esto looks very unsafe (because this…)."
before you could respond, someone lit a firecracker that immediately fell over and shot straight across the lawn. carlos flinched, ducking like it was a rogue piece of debris from an f1 crash. his head snapped toward you.
"¡ay, madre mía! (oh my god!) this is allowed?"
you shrugged. "kind of."
his hands went to his hips again. he muttered something in spanish that you were pretty sure included words not suitable for broadcast. but by the time the real fireworks show started, carlos had finally given in.
reclining in a lawn chair, beer in hand, he watched the sky light up with red, white, and blue. he exhaled and shook his head with a small smile.
"okay," he admitted. "es un poco loco… pero me gusta. (it’s a little crazy… but i like it.)"
then, just as he said it, another rogue firework went off sideways. this one nearly took out a folding chair. carlos was on his feet in seconds.
"no, no, no! that is not normal! esto es peligroso! (this is dangerous!)"
you couldn't stop laughing as he pointed accusingly at the guy holding the lighter.
"¡hermano, tú no sabes lo que haces! (brother, you don’t know what you’re doing!) give me that thing!"
and just like that, carlos sainz was suddenly in charge of the fireworks, directing the entire show like an engineer over the radio.
ʚ・charles leclerc
charles was trying very hard to be polite.
it was his first fourth of july, and instead of some wild backyard rager, you had brought him to your family cookout, thinking it would be a nice, relaxed introduction to the holiday. that was your first mistake.
he had been handed a plate piled with enough food to feed a small country, your uncle had already declared him an honorary american, and your grandma had called him “such a handsome young man” at least three times. charles was handling it all with his usual charm, smiling and nodding as your family quizzed him about monaco like he was an ambassador rather than a formula 1 driver.
“you ever driven one of them nascars?” your cousin asked, chewing on a rib.
charles hesitated for half a second. “uh… no, not yet.”
“bet you’d be real good at it.”
he smiled. “i hope so.”
your cousin nodded seriously, like he had just made a groundbreaking discovery, then handed charles a sparkler. the wrong end.
charles, being charles, took it without question.
the second the lighter touched the tip, he yelped and dropped it straight onto the grass, shaking out his hand like he had just suffered a catastrophic brake failure.
“oh! merde!” he blinked at his fingers, then looked at you, eyes wide with a mix of betrayal and confusion. “it bit me.”
your cousin cackled. “man, you gotta hold the other end.”
charles gave him the most unimpressed look you had ever seen. “yes, i see that now.”
despite the initial trauma, he tried again, this time holding it the correct way. he watched the sparks flicker and pop, his expression turning thoughtful.
“this is actually nice,” he said, moving it gently through the air. he traced out a shape, pausing, then tried again. “i was trying to do my number, but i think i made a… fish?”
you leaned in. it was, indeed, a fish.
"close enough."
the fireworks started just as he got comfortable, your dad setting them off from the driveway like it was a carefully planned operation. charles leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the sky as red, white, and blue bursts lit up above.
for a moment, he was quiet, just watching. then he exhaled and smiled. “this is really beautiful.”
you were about to agree when another one went off way too close to the ground. charles flinched so hard he nearly spilled his drink, eyes darting toward the launch site.
“is it supposed to do that?”
your dad waved him off. “eh, it’s fine.”
charles did not look convinced. “i don’t think that is fine.”
another firework whistled sideways into a bush. charles shot up out of his chair.
“no, no, no—this is not normal!”
your cousin just laughed. “welcome to america, man.”
ʚ・lando norris
lando had never looked more out of his depth in his entire life.
and that included the time he got stuck on a beach in monaco.
you had brought him to your university’s fourth of july party, thinking it would be a fun, casual experience. that was your second mistake. your first mistake was underestimating how unhinged your friends were.
“okay, so let me get this straight,” lando said, standing in the middle of a backyard that looked like it had already survived three different safety car restarts. “you guys drink an obscene amount of alcohol, eat way too much food, and then you—what? just set things on fire?”
“yeah, pretty much.”
he blinked. “that’s mad.”
and yet, here he was, already double-fisting a beer and a plate of nachos, blending in like he had been here all semester.
the night started off fine. he played beer pong, overthought his technique, lost anyway, and then blamed the table for being “not regulation size.” he had his first ever corn dog, called it “weird but kinda amazing,” and then proceeded to eat three more. he even wore a ridiculous red, white, and blue cowboy hat that one of your friends had aggressively placed on his head.
everything was going smoothly. then someone handed him a roman candle.
“wait, what am i supposed to do with this?” he asked, inspecting the long tube like it was an unfamiliar steering wheel.
“just hold it and point it up,” you said, already realizing this was a mistake.
your friend lit it, and lando immediately panicked.
“oh my god, it’s on fire—IT’S ON FIRE.”
“yes, lando, that’s the point.”
“I DON’T LIKE IT.”
“JUST HOLD IT STILL.”
“I CAN’T.”
the first fireball shot out, straight up into the air. the second one did not.
instead, it veered at a slightly concerning angle, skimming past the roof of the house and nearly taking out a string of decorative lights. lando let out a full-on shriek, dropped the roman candle, and sprinted five steps away like the thing had personally offended him.
the candle, now abandoned, continued shooting rogue fireballs across the yard. your friends scattered. someone dove behind a cooler. one of your more chaotic friends cheered. lando, meanwhile, had his hands on his head, looking like he had just witnessed an absolute strategy disaster.
“oh my god,” he wheezed. “i almost died.”
“you did not almost die.”
“that was the most unsafe thing i’ve ever done, and i race at 200 miles per hour for a living!”
despite the near-death experience, lando stuck around. mostly because someone handed him another beer, and he was too emotionally drained to do anything but drink it. when the actual fireworks started, he stayed a healthy distance away, sipping his drink and shaking his head every time one exploded a little too close to the ground.
by the end of the night, he had recovered enough to join in on the chanting. he even put the cowboy hat back on.
“alright,” he admitted, exhaling. “that was actually kinda fun.”
then someone suggested doing sparklers. lando immediately held up both hands.
“no. absolutely not. i’ve learned my lesson. you lot are psychos.”
ʚ・oscar piastri
oscar piastri was trying his best.
you had invited him to your family’s fourth of july cookout, reassuring him it would be a relaxed evening with good food, nice company, and minimal chaos. that had been a lie.
now he was sitting on the porch, gripping a lemonade like it was a contract extension, watching your uncle aggressively flip burgers on the grill while your little cousins ran barefoot through the yard with sparklers. someone had already spilled an entire bowl of potato salad, your aunt was yelling at your dad about lighter fluid, and a bluetooth speaker was blasting country music at a volume that should have been illegal.
oscar took a slow sip of his drink. “so this is normal?”
you nodded. “completely normal.”
“right,” he said, nodding slightly. “that’s concerning.”
to his credit, he was doing his best to fit in. he helped carry the extra chairs outside, listened to your grandpa tell a very long-winded story about how “kids these days don’t know how to drive,” and politely answered every single person who asked if he knew daniel ricciardo.
he even attempted a game of cornhole. it did not go well.
“mate, you’ve got to actually aim,” your cousin said as oscar’s beanbag completely missed the board.
“i am aiming.”
“then why does it look like you’re throwing a penalty kick?”
oscar’s next toss went even further off course. he turned to you, deadpan. “i don’t like this game.”
the real trouble started when your little cousin, clearly taking advantage of his foreign guest status, decided to hand oscar a firework. not a sparkler. not a small fountain. a full-blown roman candle.
oscar held it with both hands, staring at it like it was an unexploded bomb. “am i being set up?”
“just light it and hold it up,” your cousin said.
oscar frowned. “that sounds fake, but okay.”
he did as he was told, but the second the first fireball shot out, he visibly tensed, gripping the firework like he was on the final lap in monaco. another fireball launched, and he let out a quiet but very real “oh no.”
“it’s fine,” you reassured him.
“it doesn’t feel fine,” he said, carefully adjusting his stance like he was bracing for impact. “how long does this last?”
“maybe ten more shots.”
oscar sighed. “great. love that for me.”
when the roman candle finally fizzled out, he let out the slowest exhale of his life and handed it back like he had just completed a dangerous mission.
“alright,” he said. “i have now contributed to the chaos. that should fulfill my american initiation, yes?”
the night ended with fireworks, which oscar watched from what he clearly deemed the safest possible location—standing just inside the house, one foot over the threshold in case he needed to make a quick exit.
when someone asked if he had fun, he paused for a moment, considering his answer.
“well,” he said, taking another sip of lemonade. “i still have all my fingers. so i’d call that a success.”
When Percy proposed to Annabeth, the camp erupted into cheers as she started crying. The dryads, however, didn't understand what was going on. They stared in confusion as the rest of the camp cheered. After everyone had calmed down enough, he called "And for those who don't know what just happened!" Percy pulled an apple out of his pocket and tossed it to Annabeth, and the cheers started all over again, this time with the dryads.
Request: Looking for Percy Jackson fanfiction with criminal AU and preferably Percabeth.
Here's a few. They're all crossovers, but I don't think you have to know the other fandom to enjoy and understand the fics. At least, I haven't seen Brooklyn Nine Nine TV but I still really enjoyed reading those crossovers. Posted 14/8/23. Enjoy!
act natural by maverickk
G | 900 words | Complete
Percy Jackson & Tony Stark
Crossover (Marvel), Interrogation, Percy Jackson is a little shit
Percy and Tony might be in a little bit of trouble.
i'm an atheist by maverickk
T | 1.6k | Complete
Percy Jackson, Nick Fury
Crossover (Marvel), Interrogation, Sarcastic Percy Jackson, Nick Fury just wants to do his job
Percy finds himself in an interrogation room, and his best bet is to talk his way out of trouble.
Missing, Presumed Dead by Deerlie_03
T | 5.7k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Jake Peralta brings the teenager to the precinct on a day that should be like any other. Then he spends the next few years trying to unravel the mystery that is Perseus Jackson. Why exactly does the kid know so many missing people?
Now and Then by Deerlie_03
T | 9.8k+ | Ongoing as of 14/8/23
Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase
Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), POV Outsider, Aged Up Percy Jackson Characters, Future Fic
“Are we finally finding out about the new recruit?”
Prentiss opened her mouth with every intent to continue but was suddenly cut short by a new voice. “Finally? Prentiss, have you been keeping me a secret?”
“Nice to see you again, agent Jackson,”
Ten years after "Lykaion" (part 1 of this series) Percy reunites with the BAU, this time as a new recruit to the team. This is the story of some of his first cases alongside them as well as the more important moments in-between.
Lykaion by Deerlie_03
T | 20k | Complete
Percy Jackson, Criminal Minds characters
Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), Outsider POV, Case fic
They were used to catching killers in the act, not listening to audiobooks and making strangely coloured cookies wearing gingham aprons but that hardly exonerated the kid. After all, there was a lot about him that just didn't sit right, that seemed far too close to the case to be a coincidence.
In which Percy Jackson really isn't a serial killer, he just has terrible luck.
Long Forgotten Enemies by littlebear62007
Not Rated | 52k | Complete
Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase
Crossover (Criminal Minds TV), Murder Mystery, Police Officer Percy Jackson
The BAU is called in when teenagers across New York City are found dead and tortured. Joining the investigation late, after being held up by another case, the team is immediately overwhelmed by the unusual nature of the case. Both the families of the victims and the lead Detective Jackson seem to be hiding something. Why would these families keep critical information from federal agents just trying to find and rescue their children?
Percy Jackson has been working for the NYPD, happy to live a normal life after years of war. When demigod children begin turning up dead throughout the city, Percy is torn between two worlds. How will he find the person responsible for killing his family while keeping their world a secret for both his fellow officers as well as government agents?
After working with the squad of the 99 for almost a year, her colleagues start finding out that Annabeth Chase is more than an ultimate Detective (/Genius).
One by one, they come face to face with the supernatural world their co-worker and friend grew up in.
And just in time, because a new threat is looming in the distance...
aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying
HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum
warnings: angst w comfort throughout
It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter.
There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.
“Close the window,” he grumbles.
You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face.
You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.
He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies.
You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him.
When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.
But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing.
While you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.
“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”
He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”
You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.
You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.
The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.
He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.
“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.
He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”
His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.
As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.
You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.
You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”
He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.
You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself.
You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.
The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this.
You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.
It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.
“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”
He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.
You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained.
You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.
“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.
You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.
“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”
You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.
He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close.
He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.
You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls.
As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.
He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.
You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC.
Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.
You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.
“Movie or music?”
He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.
There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.
You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair.
His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.
You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.
He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace.
After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.
Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.
Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.
You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.
You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.
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