#TRYING NOT TO WRITE TEN PAGES ABOUT EACH OF THESE TOPICS WHILE STILL DOING THEM SOME SEMBLANCE OF JUSTICE

[luminousvision]

Outside

It took ten years to find the freedom to write outside, beyond ordinary topics like Stalin, Hester Prynne, or the oxidation of glucose. It took another ten years to find my voice, which had only one monotonous modality up until that point. But before all of that, at the age six, there was almost nothing. I began my writing journey with precisely four words.

I played inside today.

Jordi, the really pretty girl sitting in the desk next to me (back when prettiness just meant your handwriting was soft, curly and legible), wrote about how she played ball with her dog who then ate two apples for dinner before she took a nap on the bed. The story filled the four ultra-tall lines of penmanship practice paper with all of its swirly and girly serif glory. 

Unlike Jordi, I played inside every day. No more, no less. Each day I would gaze about at my classmates’ desks like an indiscreet cheater, bored and still too Korean to write any more. Every day, Jordi would write about her mom putting on makeup, going to the grocery store, or some other Homeric epic, while I was stuck playing inside day after day. After several identical four-word stories, Mrs. Vanderhorst sat with me and asked what exactly I had done inside. Surely, I had burned Troy or screwed my mother.

Inspired, I transformed my narrative.

I played outside today.

After another week of efficient four-word stories that would have made Hemingway blush, Mrs. Vanderhorst was quite worried. She asked me if I didn't like what I did inside, or why it was better to play outside. But you see, Mrs. Vanderhorst misunderstood my deliberate ambiguity since I was obviously expressing that nothing, inside or outside, was close to meeting the threshold of noteworthiness. The four-word stories captured the stream of six-year-old consciousness with justified writer’s block.

Normally, writer’s block afflicts those who simply don't have the character, perceptiveness, or intelligence to comprehend the endless abundance of notable topics begging to be expressed on paper. But it can also happen when the author’s life actually doesn’t have that abundance of notable topics to begin with. What activity of a six-year-old could possibly be worth writing about? I was completely right to have writer’s block.

I did not fully understand at this precious young age, which meant I believed I simply wasn’t trying hard enough. So, unfortunately, I tried. I exploded beyond the acceptable boundaries of expression and wrote a story. A story! I wrote a story about a peaceful deer grazing on the plains and drinking from a pond. A lion ambushed the deer, which began to run for its life. After an extended chase that exhausted both of them to their limits, the lion finally tripped on a rock, letting the deer escape. The lion had hurt its paw and could not continue the chase. The deer returned to its quiet existence, no longer worried about the lion. My story was the longest of anyone’s in the class that day, flowing gracefully over seven pages.

Mrs. Vanderhorst read my story in careful analytical detail and concluded the struggle between deer and lion did not adequately capture my symbolic coming-of-age story, where the first grade classroom pushes me beyond my comfort zone, thereby redefining my identity. She therefore declared that this story did not fulfill the assignment of writing about my previous day. Mrs. Vanderhorst did not congratulate me in overcoming writer’s block, nor on the excellent quality of prose. My writing grade that month sat at 1 out of 4, or “Needs Improvement”, despite my tour de force.

My teacher’s feedback enlightened me. Writing should stay within bounds of one’s skill, which we can expand incrementally. Writing should stay in bounds of one’s experiences. If you don’t have any notable topics, then please get writer’s block. Do the right thing for your readers.

I, remarkably precocious, absorbed these lessons without hesitation. With my newfound enlightenment, I continued my treatise on the Reflections of Yesterday with: I played inside today.

[septembersghost]

for the reverse unpopular opinion meme ummm vanessa/ethan and elena gilbert in general <3

c r y ♥♥♥

Vanessa/Ethan, where do I begin? idk how to capture this well and succinctly! they’re a pairing that I didn’t EXPECT to captivate me so much, and then they quickly turned so many of their initial tropes inside out. you think she’s this mysterious, perhaps slightly aloof, determined Lady, and he’s the masculine, American, gunslinger with a troubled past - their first interaction, when he's sort of glib, calls her “darlin’,” and she just READS HIM, and then he asks, “You have a name?,” and she replies, “Yes,” with that enigmatic smile and walks away! then it’s like - actually, she is boundlessly empathetic and frighteningly perceptive, and she’s suffered horrific trauma, but it doesn’t define her, and she forges on through the dark, and he admires her for it. he is fascinated and impressed by her, and he’s wildly loving and surprisingly soft and not closed-minded (about her intellect, about the existence of the demimonde, about the tasks ahead of them). they’ve both suffered abuse, had their entire families stripped from them, both been beset by violence and darkness, some of their own making, and they’re drawn together electrically and yearningly. they both ache for a place to belong. (also, the Iconique bi aspect of the two of them, and never once do they judge each other for all that they know and uncover about their true selves. Dorian being infatuated by both of them? he’s ~problematic~, but you can’t say he doesn’t have taste). they both have monstrous aspects, yet in one another nearly find salvation. (that he says to her: “We are not like others. We have claws for a reason.” and she says to him: “Whatever you have done, whoever you have made yourself, I'm here to accept you. We're together for a reason.” I---!!!!) the fact that he manages to drive the demon back when she’s so terrifyingly possessed. when she asks if she can sleep in his room because she’s afraid, and you realize they give one another safe harbor. EVERYTHING in “Little Scorpion” when they go to the moors together. (has chopping down a tree ever been more symbolically loving? the discussion about their childhood fears! the fact that he teaches her to shoot, and she teaches him to dance! the way they fall into easy, comfortable patterns together, despite their terror and sadness. “Do you ever think what it would be like, to be like other people?” “Normal people? I try not to.” the score used for their waltz is one of my favorite pieces of music from the soundtrack.) the prompt said to not talk about missed potential which is HARD with them (the Wolf of God/protector thing was such a cool concept), but what we got on screen was so beautifully matched, they were like watching a dance, in and out of the shadows and light, magnetically drawn together, wishful and wistful. they both longed for connection and safety desperately, they were tender to one another in a world where they’d been brutalized (and it had “made us brutal in return”). that dream she’s forced to see at the end of S2 being suffused with warmth, and knowing how much she craves it, and seeing her turn it down for the sake of her own soul. the letter he writes to her tearing my heart out. (“your many kindnesses I will always carry with me. such generosity has not been a part of my life, and I thank you for your affection and understanding. in my most frightened and lonely moments, you were there, and such light you brought to me.” ARE YOU KIDDING, THIS IS MY WEAKNESS.) the IMPECCABLE Gothic Romance vibes of it all. it is very hard to effectively capture that and not lean too far into melodrama or to not feel like a facsimile of other Romantic couples, and especially since Penny Dreadful utilized characters and stories from preexisting media, they could’ve fallen into that, but never did for me. maybe because Vanessa and Ethan were both original characters? but the writing for them, the way they were more mirrors than they were opposites, the quiet and peace and understanding they found in one another, the way they became found family (the found family aspect of Penny Dreadful in general is a LOT) and never-quite-lovers, a missed breath away from their hearts being joined. I love them both so much and I’m sad about them forever.

***

ELENA, my best girl, my forever girl. I love Elena for a lot of the same reasons I love Dean, I can’t actually acknowledge her without saying that? they are closely related for me and have a lot of trait overlap. Dean was a part of my life for four years before Elena was, and Elena is actually another flickering flame that came into my world at the absolute lowest, ugliest point. seeing her as this young woman who is floating in grief, and yet still shines as a beacon of humanity with a recklessly brave and loving heart. her depression is really important to me and it gets dismissed or twisted a lot by people who unfairly decided to hate her, but it’s such an important aspect of her and about the way she’s moving though her life and coping. she is so compassionate, yet also able to be cruel and knife’s edge sharp. she suffers and is allowed to show that, to feel it. we see her begin to wake up out of the haze of loss and we see how many times she traverses the edges of it. she’s clever and tactical, but also makes impulsive decisions. she struggles and she’s self-sacrificing, to her detriment at times, and often despite others’ demands and even manipulations. she’s loyal, yet cunning. she’s radiant in a way that enthralls and draws in those around her, including the monsters (especially the monsters), and she herself is seduced by that other of the world. they say she’s a “special girl,” but it’s not because she’s a doppelgänger, she is NEVER a copy of a copy, she is fiercely her own. it isn’t her magical blood that makes her special, it’s her essence and the spark that makes her who she is. she got to be ruthless at times, she lashed out, she broke down (the scene where she burns the house down is inscribed in my brain, and it’s been years now since I rewatched TVD), but she also exuded joy and hope. she’s just so, so human and so made of love - its goodness and its darkness (again, the Dean parallels). and Elena has one of the most important lines from a show that has always stayed with me - her version of “I do my best to be brave” - “I’ll survive. Somehow I always do.” it isn’t valiant and it isn’t even remarkable, per se. it’s laced with sadness. yet she survives and withstands and keeps her heart open anyway. she always comes back to herself.

(Vanessa and Elena are without QUESTION two of my absolute favorite heroines of all-time, and there’s a whole other analysis I could do regarding the moments when they succumb and do become those beings with teeth themselves, and yet still how it’s their souls that persevere. through everything that befalls them, I just cherish them more and hold them closer.)

[desultory-suggestions]

Hi! Any tips for exams? I'm really close to a major set of exams and idk where to begin

Hello, Love! Ah, exams. One of the most stressful times for a student. There’s so much work, and each teacher/professor acts as if their class is your only one. So how do you prioritize and get through exam season? Here are some of my best tips!

Organization

First, what do you have to get done? Often times we have more than one exam, homework, work, etc. It’s easy to get overwhelmed, so plan out exactly what you have going on. You can do it on a calendar, website, or if you prefer a paper planner that’s fine! Write down the due date for every upcoming assignment (say in the next 2 weeks), the dates and times of your finals, and any important information.

Adding notes about the type of exam and requirements can help. Is it an open note exam? Is it early in the morning? Are you taking it online or on paper? How long do you have to take it? Knowing all of this ahead of time helps with planning. If the exam is early you set alarms and plan to go to sleep early the night before. If it’s open note you can focus on having comprehensive notes, if it’s not then try memorization.

Studying

Now that you know what you’re studying for, what needs to be studied? For each class, I like to make a list of every topic on the exam. Then I go through and highlight the topics in three colors. Green if I am confident in my knowledge of the subject. Yellow if I need a bit of refreshing. Red if I do not understand the topic or need to spend significant time on it.

Now get all of the information you need. Download or highlight any readings you’ve been given and make a list of the page numbers you need to read for each class. I split the list up by what seems related closely or by order of place in the text.

How you study really depends on who you are! Some people can sit down and read 200 pages, absorb it all, and have a great time. Others can barely stand to get through ten and feel like they haven’t learned a thing. If you don’t know your style, try to explore. Here are some types of studying that might work.

Note-taking! Even if the exam isn’t open note, writing or typing out information can really help with memory. Whether it’s word for word or writing out the concept in your own way it helps you really grasp the texts. Don’t be a perfectionist in your notes, just get them down. You can even doodle or draw the concepts! This is best for reading/writing learners.

Verbalizing! Maybe you need to hear it and speak it. You can listen to your texts as audiobooks, use apps like Speechify, or even read out loud to yourself. If you have the option, ask a friend or loved one to read the text to you. This is best for auditory learners.

Videos and movies! Some people are more visual. There are tons of online resources where you can watch lectures and see slides on the topic you’re studying. Youtube alone is a treasure trove of professors and academics who have put super-specific knowledge out there for free. Watch and try to take notes in a more visual way, drawing, graphics, color coding, etc. This is best for visual learners

Kinesthetic learners can often take parts of these other methods and combine them into something new. Walk or exercise while listening to your lectures. Do flashcards and slap the cards down like uno. Dance while you watch a video. Use pens you enjoy that lets you enjoy the physical experience of note-taking.

Physical and Mental Health

Exam season is super stressful. You can get really overwhelmed and busy, but don’t let it become an excuse for self-destruction. Pulling an all-nighter is not advantageous!

Hold to your routines as much as you can. Plan when you are going to get food, shower times, anything you need to. Brushing your teeth is still important even during exams.

Make sure everything is easily accessible. I like to get easy foods I can grab during exams, lay out my outfit the day before an exam, pack my bag the night before.

Get plenty of sleep. You need to be well-rested to learn and retain information. Set a bedtime, and plan to be done with everything before it. Start wrapping up an hour beforehand.

Try techniques like Pomodoro that have built-in break times, that way you know it’s not endless drudgery and you get time to rest between masses of text. If you’re like me and you hyperfocus, it’s ok to work through your break to maintain focus but take a break as soon as possible.

Don’t be afraid to ask professors for help, extensions, advice, etc. They really do want to help you, and everyone needs help sometimes. I’m a straight-A student, and people assume it means I don’t struggle. What it really means is when I struggle I get help ASAP so it doesn’t mess up my grade.

Your health is always more important than a grade. If you are getting exhausted and hurt, focus on yourself first. In five years this grade won’t matter. Worst case scenario you have to take the class again. It’s ok.

App Recommendations

Tide - Focus, Sleep, Relax, Breathe. You can set times to study with various soundscapes. It’s easy, free and helps you track your time.

Stoic. - Mood tracker, journaling, mental health, and meditation. Really relaxing. Lots of free features and great for checking in with yourself.

Egenda -  Simple class and homework tracker. Put in each class and add homeworl with due dates for each one.

Spanish Dict. - Super useful spanish dictionary, education, and translating app.

Alarmy - Great alarm clock app! Helps you wake up by requiring you to complete simple (or difficult) tasks or the alarm will go off again. Great for the constantly tired.

Notion - Basically does everything. Great of tracking, journaling, calendar, and even fun daily tracking things. 

Rememnber! You are smart, you are capable, you can do this. Good luck!

-Evan

(P.S. - I have a studyblr over @solar-scholar!)

[mt-words]

Can we get some dream smp fandom positivity posts? As someone who posts mostly analysis and has never once had someone say anything rude in response, I think we perceive the fanbase as more toxic than it is because of a few outspoken individuals. Y'all are pretty chill and I like you.

In no particular order-

I love that Eret’s fans come up with such cool theories, I swear she could give you two sentences of lore and I could see three five page essays on what it could mean about their character within an hour and each of them is unique, intricate, and makes logical sense.

I love the compilations Foolish fans make of him doing ridiculous things on stream, he’s a fun guy that never fails to make me laugh and everything I see from them embodies that energy to me.

I love how creative Hannah’s fans are, you take the awesome ideas she has and turn them into the most amazing designs and concepts.

I love that Techno’s fans might write a ten page essay about his character or just say they enjoy watching him do crime, and you never know which it will be because both come from the same people.

I love how Philza’s fans embrace everything he does with so much enthusiasm. His chat is a flock of crows? Excellent, they can work with that, you will see fifty incredible pieces of art and a hundred theories in the first hour and they’re just getting started.

I love that Niki’s fans are so careful to pay attention and not miss any details. It has been ages and I still see occasional mentions and theories about the “Dear Friend” letter.

I love that Fundy’s fans are very empathetic, they love to find and elaborate on the connections between characters and that’s pretty cool!

I love Tommy’s fans for their energy. They seem passionate about making things right and hopeful that no matter what your situation is things can get better. I’ve seen so many breathtakingly emotional art pieces from this side of the fandom.

I love that George’s fans unapologetically simp for him but then catch me off guard by making deep insights about his character.

I love how Bad’s fans are as genuinely sweet as he is, they’re willing to really look at everything that makes up a character and see the tragedy of it and have compassion about things. And some just want to see an egg rule the server, c'mon, it would be funny.

I love the running gag with Skeppy fans of making Skeppy critical posts, y’all are hilarious.

I love how Purpled fans play up his lack of lore as him being an incredibly powerful cryptid, and they’re right. He totally carried the wither fight on Nov 16th.

I love the balance Quackity fans have between a love of humor, justice, and darker topics. I think like Quackity they are often underestimated and thought of as the jokester side of the fandom to an extent, and then I start reading things they write and it’s well thought out and insightful.

I love that Tubbo’s fans love chaos, cute things, or both to an unhealthy extent. Seeing anything from them reminds me of princess unikitty in all the best ways, and then they turn around and throw a super in depth meaningful analysis at me in the next breath.

I love everything about Sapnap’s fans. Y'all are perfect. The writing and art from the born in fire line? Gold.

I love how Jschlatt fans are generally chill and just enjoy whatever they want to. Their favorite Manburg president was the one who publicly executed his right hand man and gave Dream a resurrection book for firepower, and he looked good doing it.

I love that Callahan has fans. You people are dedicated and I respect it. The fact that Callahan was one of the first names to pop up when everyone was trying to figure out who Harpocrates was even though he rarely involves himself with plot? Your influence knows no bounds.

I love that Alyssa’s fans are simply too powerful. She hasn’t played on the smp since way before I started watching and there are still people defending her barn and drawing pictures of her.

I love that Antfrost’s fans have taken so many ideas and just ran with them and made them awesome. Like him practicing magic? Perfect, he now carries potions and gets a wizard hat.

I love that Dream fans look at a character who has been portrayed as pure evil from many points of view and understand that Everyone has motives based on their situation, even if it isn’t handed to us in an easily understood way.

I love how Jack’s fans are so ready to support any action he takes. Crawling out of hell? Incredible. Killing a child? Good for him! Go team Rocket. Grieving the same child? Learning healthy coping, he’s the coolest.

I love that Connor eats Pants fans are the most reasonable people in this fandom. This is terrifying. Thank you for your service, you always make me smile.

I love that Punz fans unapologetically just love their capitalist mercenary. As they should, his presence always tips the scales and everything he does brings more depth to the characters and plots he interacts with.

I love how much Ranboo fans love complexity. Most of them aren’t afraid to admit that their favorite characters are flawed, because aren’t those flaws what make them interesting and relatable?

I love the variety of Hbomb fans. Half of them may be embracing the cat maid bit while the other half goes on about how impactful and cool L’cast is, but they’re all super chill.

I appreciate that Puffy fans take the time to understand so many perspectives. So many posts I see involving her tie in lore from other characters and find interesting ways to connect them and build them together, kind of like Puffy herself.

I love that Wilbur fans seem to approach the story like they’re solving a puzzle, carefully piecing together details from months apart to figure out how and why everything goes down.

I love how hard Ponk fans work to spread awareness of how awesome he is. Ponk says and does wonderful things and is very fun to watch. I never would have tried his content without them.

I love that Karl fans saw him wanting to be involved and started coming up with such cool ideas around his character that they actually made them canon. Correct me if I’m wrong, wasn’t the time traveler thing a fan theory at first?

I love the creativity Sam fans have with his design and their willingness to discuss complex moral issues. Sam is involved in some heavy lore stuff but he and his fans keep things entertaining and calm.

I’m sure I missed some things, please feel free to add on!

[call-me-aesthetic]

If Twisted Wonderland was an American Public School

WARNING: There are some slight sensitive topics that are featured in here! Reader discretion is advised!

Part 2 can be found here

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

- That one preppy girl who takes all honors and AP classes 😑

- Wants everyone to know that he’s becoming a doctor one day for his strict parents or he’ll dishonor the family

- Reminds the teacher about homework, knowing well that he’ll get slander for it

- Complains about how he got a 90 on his test or a B on his report card, a try hard much?

- Wears a cardigan with thicc but cute glasses since he’s one of those people with can’t see shit on the board so he has to move to the front of the class

Ace Trappola:

- The SoundCloud rapper, that’s it

- “Wanna listen to my mixtape? It’s pretty fire, my guy.” 😩🔥

- You will not miss him BLASTING out some song on his Bluetooth speaker, that shit be echoing through the hallways

- Tells you to stop what you’re doing only for him to either sing horribly or do a backflip, thinking that he’s so cool

- Wears a Supreme jacket with AirPods and waves on his head

Deuce Spade:

- Assuming that he’s still a delinquent, he’s that kid with the most fucked up school record

- Not much of a bully but will still talk shit to your face without caring, might even throw stuff at you during a lesson and you would be the one getting in trouble instead of him 🗿

- If he ever gets mad, it would be overdramatic like kicking the desks, punching the lockers, or walking out of the classroom unannounced and everyone would look at each other wondering wtf happened

- Covers the entire desks with drawings of skulls and those “s” if you know what I mean

- Wears Champion hoodies, wants you to know that he’s broke and rich at the same time

Trey Clover:

- The guy that’s not really popular but everyone knows him since he’s in all their classes

- Most people might have a crush on him because he’s REALLY nice 😳👉👈

- Gives off “older brother” vibes based on the way he looks and acts, like offering you a ride home if you beg ask nicely

- Secretly bakes creme brulee but doesn’t want to mess with the flow so he sticks to the status quo

- Wears the school’s hoodie just because he thinks it looks good on him, and the fact that he doesn’t know what else to wear

Cater Diamond:

- Hot Cheetos girl 🥵

- Has a whole buffet of food in his backpack and will not hesitate to eat them during a lesson, no sharing either sorry

- Excuses himself to the bathroom or full on skips class just to film a Tiktok

- Has about 100 followers on Instagram Magicam and brags about how he’s famous

- Wears a Thrasher hoodie with large hoop earrings and his hair in a bun

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

- The kid who flunked their freshman year that also sort of vibes with new classmates

- Always gets mistaken as a teacher by people since he looks and sounds old

- Knows the lessons but still fails them anyways, didn’t really give a damn either 🙄

- Captain of every sports club you can think of, never actually plays but has a lot of knowledge on them

- Wears the school’s letterman from years ago since it used to be his brother’s and that he’s too lazy to buy a new one

Ruggie Bucchi:

- That one kid who NEVER has money for the book fair or any other school event

- Always has to ask his classmates for some cash

- If he somehow does, then he’s one of those kids who buys Diary of the Wimpy Kid or the World Record books

- If he’s feeling cheap, he’ll buy the “cool stuff” like the chocolate scented calculator or fruit snacks 😭

- Wears oversized hoodies and basketball shorts that are clearly hand-me-downs

Jack Howl:

- That one athletic kid who’s both scary good and competitive when it comes to school games like football or soccer

- Literally the best player on his team and without him, they’re trash as hell 💀

- Tries his absolute best to support his teammates without yelling at them for how dumb they are

- “KICK THE FUCKING BALL! DO YOUR LEGS EVEN WORK?!”

- Wears the school’s jersey just to show off his “school spirit”

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

- The kid who sell snacks for “charity” but everyone knows he’s keeping the money to himself

- If you don’t have cash or try to negotiate with him, the only thing he’ll do is raise the price up

- “What do you mean you don’t have ten bucks? I can see it in your pocket.”

- Just bring nothing with you, he’ll doing anything to steal your stuff 🤭

- Wears a collar shirt with a tie and khakis that have pockets to keep his glasses and money in

Jade Leech:

- The kid who puts on a goody two shoes facade but is actually a stoner

- Only does “safe” drugs like vape but occasionally smokes weed, mostly in the bathroom or behind the school 🌬

- Can play it off and hide the scent when he’s high, teachers never suspect anything from him

- No one really cares to stop him unless he gets caught or something idk

- Wears clothing that either makes him look like a businessman or a junky, there’s nothing in between

Floyd Leech:

- The kid that’s plays basketball or volleyball just because he’s hella tall, and is actually good at the sports but doesn’t put much effort into them

- Always stays behind after gym, even though the teacher tries to make him leave for his next class 😬

- “I swear after this one shot, I’ll go to class.” *He never made that shot*

- Will jump you no matter who or where you are, and will get angry if you step on his new shoes

- Wears the jersey of any famous team with the latest pair of Jordan sneakers

Scarabia

Kalim Al Asim:

- VSCO girl at best, don’t lie to me now 🤡

- The only words he knows are “And I oop– sksksk.” and “Save the turtles.”

- Walks during a track meet while everyone else is running and sweating hard, the teacher doesn’t care either

- Doesn’t really do anything in gym but talks to his classmates and stands near the water fountain to refill his Hydro flask

- Wears tie dye shirts with cute scrunchies

Jamil Viper:

- That one quiet kid who everybody thinks is a serial killer but he’s actually not, I swear

- He just wants school to be over and spend the rest of his summer relaxing 😔

- Although he shouldn’t abuse his “power,” he‘ll move his hands in his pockets or backpack to make it look like he’s about to pull a weapon out.

- “Chill, I’m just grabbing a pencil.” *Everyone in the class started crying*

- Wears dark colored hoodies that intimidates people but are actually comfy

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

- The baddie popular girl 😌💅✨

- Arrives to school late with a Starbucks in hand from his local Target

- Fixes himself every 5 seconds like reapplying his lipgloss or spraying Bath and Body Works cherry blossom perfume

- Uses acrylic nails and long hair extensions as weapons during a cat fight

- Wears a crop top with ripped jeans and those clout sunglasses

Rook Hunt:

- That creepy guy in the hallways who tries to get your attention, even if you don’t know him

- Scares people when he says, “Ayo, where my hug at?” 🥶💯

- Uses at least 10 cans of Axe body spray a week after gym class, which stinks up the locker rooms

- Waves at you if he passes your class, even walking into the room just to say hi

- Wears literally anything but always include a hat

Epel Felmier:

- The artist girl who just wants to be alone 🧑‍🎨

- Purposely draws in front of you but pretends like you’re not looking

- If you complement him, he’ll just brush it off and proceeds to diss himself

- “Thanks but I’m not THAT good at drawing, teehee.” *Insert Radio Rebel face*

- Wears a hoodie or a cardigan with big pockets to put his art supplies in

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

- I don’t even need to tell you who he is, y’all already know ahaha 🥴

- Sneaks a whole PlayStation in his backpack so he can play with it during lunch

- Is on his phone 24/7 even in class to the point where teachers don’t care anymore

- Tries to get people into anime but only to little success

- Wears a shirt of any anime character or that damn ahegao hoodie, girl bye

Ortho Shroud:

- The nerdy kid who’s known for destroying others at many games

- Plays classics like D&D, Yugioh, Pokémon, the whole shabang

- Daily Beyblade battles during recess with everyone surrounding him, the menacing aura radiates off of him

- Will steal your things if you lose to him but gives it back a week later cuz he’s sweet 🥰

- Wears light up Sketchers shoes and those Minecraft shirts you find at Old Navy

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

- The theatre kid who also goes to band practice, change my mind 👁👄👁

- Takes his role seriously when it comes to school plays and concerts, even if he gets casted as a damn tree or doesn’t go solo

- Remembers the songs and their lyrics to any musical you name, a really good singer at that too

- Plays almost every instrument, you definitely know this since you can hear him down the hallways during a test

- Wears a white button up shirt, black pants with fancy dress shoes, and top it all off with a fricking Rolex watch

Lilia Vanrouge:

- The weird guy who pranks people and vandalizes school property in every way possible

- If you ever get a textbook with a message that tells you to go to a certain page only for you to found a picture of a dick, yeah that was him 😒

- When using a Chromebook, he’ll leave a tab open on YouTube so when the next person uses it, pray that your ears will still work by tomorrow

- During lunch, he is a literal DEMON that mixes milk with chicken nuggets together and having the audacity to eat it too

- Wears an oversized raincoat or a windbreaker but idk wtf kind of things he has hiding underneath

Silver:

- That guy in class who consumes Monster energy drinks and falls asleep 99% of the time but somehow manages to pass the class 🤷

- Whenever he’s awake, he’ll talk to the teachers since he’s basically friends with them for some reason

- Writes his name out of boredom on any desk you sit on but in different places, sometimes around the corners or the sides

- Has a sixth sense because he’ll wake up if you try to draw on his face and if you did get something on him, it’s on sight

- Wears those colorful hoodies that zips all the way up to cover his face with a matching backpack, it’s pretty cool ngl

Sebek Zigvolt:

- That kid who literally knows everything about historical wars and will show it off during class

- Also has knowledge on weaponry, which has people questioning him but he’s just very dedicated on serving his country and people

- Knows how to fight and defend himself from a bitch since he spent his summer at a military boot camp, put respect on my man’s name 😤

- Honestly a great partner for a group project, actually does the given work but not the whole thing for you

- Wears anything that has camo pattern and chunky combat boots

I only made this because me and my friends were talking about our school memories so yeah. This is based from my experience so they might not be exactly accurate. Might even be a part two if you want.

[phykios]

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!

1)

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. 

2)

“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.

3)

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. 

4) 

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.”

5)

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.

+1

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. 

[rumblelibrary]

Headcanons for Laszlo plz,

Doctor!Reader was going a Institute to see Laszlo, prepare tea. Talks about how Laszlo adore these children’s in Institute. But then you felt your heartbeat that Laszlo was the sweetest and he was trying to kiss you on his office. We chuckles and hopefully get to know each other more

A Study on Feelings [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Doctor!Reader]

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mention of murder and abused children

Author’s note: I hope I made a good job for your request 💕 thank you for allowing me to write it.

The case they refer to is made up and not related to the series.

You stepped out of the carriage thanking the driver, he bowed his head to you touching the tip of his hat respectfully.

The day was slowly dying, the sun was disappearing among the grey clouds of New York sky, the city trembling of life was going toward a well earned rest, but the joyful sounds coming from beyond the gates of the Kreizler’s institute were the real blessing of the day.

“Doctor Y/L/N” the familiar voice of Doctor Kreizler welcomed you as he walked outside the heavy gates “I am glad you made it to visit us” he said referring to himself and the whole Institute altogether. 

You couldn’t help but smile back admitting how it was unmissable for you to do such a visit.

Words aside he caught your attention as he was without his jacket, a more easy look that, in such a time where people took hours to dress and undress, it was a proper sight.

As you got inside the sound became more clear, the children rushing one after the other while getting in their beds, the smiling faces, the happy chats.

It felt such a blessing to be able to witness such a pure joy.

“Please, pardon my attire, the kids and I were playing, right?” He asked to a child that nodded he looked down shyly, not able to cross eyes with you but clearly trusting the doctor. Laszlo noticed that reaction, but he opened his left arm in front of you to invite you to go further.

Tenderness and attention gravitated around this place, it was a calming space, but also rooted into the process of healing the kids were going through.

Something hard to explain, something that could only be felt in a place like the Kreizler Institute.

You followed Laszlo inside as he gallantly showed you the way around, room after room, hall after hall to his office.

“This place is magnificent” you murmured to him 

“It is, indeed, but not just architectonically, the kids make it special” he assured as he thanked the lady at service for bringing hot water to him.

“You like brewing your own tea?” You asked him once alone.

“What does that say about me?” He joked and you shrugged lightly observing him in such a mundane situation, in his little ritual.

“That you’re very fond of control, you probably spend a lot of sleepless nights here, and you take pride of your tea selection”

He chuckled at your words replying quickly

“Sounds like somebody that I know, do you have a favourite tea?” 

“I will try your favourite, if you allow me” you said pacing around the study during the whole conversation, your eyes going quietly from the chalkboard to the books open on the big table, the intense scente of wood covering the room joined with the gentle notes of the vanilla coming from the books.

The place felt relaxing and professional, serious but cozy.

“I admire your work, Doctor Kreizler” you confessed honestly as he let the tea brewing “now, I believe you called me for a very specific matter” you added as he pulled out those papers and books you were meant to see together.

You stared at him as he explained the case, word after word, his hand moving along every detail, apologising for every gruesome one, showing proofs, the ideas he had, the intuitions and troubles.

“May you go back to that last victim?” You asked as you proceeded to collect the tea and to pour it yourself as he was now more challenged to go through the topics, you saw something he didn’t and that intrigued him. He wasn’t completely blind to your presence there and, probably, he also tried this hard to impress you. He felt a bit silly, showing off like a peacock all his feathers about solving murder cases.

You smiled as the time flew by, your teas followed one after the other marking the edges of the pages and turning cold as you spoke and shared ideas. At some point you took off your jacket to be more comfortable while writing on the board adding those possible explanations to the motifs of the new killer he was investigating on.

“Doctor! Doctor!” A tiny voice called and you both turned around as a little girl rushed in, blonde hair blowing in the air already wearing her night dress as she handed the big black jacket of the doctor back to him “You forgot it”.

“Oh, thank you so much Margaret, you have been most precious, now go to bed or Mrs Morenko will get worried” he smiled at her lovingly and she nodded valiantly before rushing away.

You kept quiet as you observed her and smiled how she skipped around happily.

“She is the girl you told me about?” You asked him and he nodded closing the door after her and moving back to the table, standing beside it as he gently tapped on the wood with his fingers.

“You can’t prevent polarisation, it is harder with kids” you assured him moving by his side to interject his stare still settled on the wood under him.

“I should have seen it coming, she is getting into a place I never meant her to be. I wanted her to be freed by the need to please her family and now she substituted it with the need to please me”

“You substituted her parents in her mind, an evil man and an evil woman, you’re the sweetest of the mothers and the most protective of the fathers. You can’t blame yourself on this.” 

He listened to you  and you could almost see the little gears in his brain elaborate your words, his right hand abandoned on his side, hair slightly falling on his temple as he pressed his lips tightly together.

“I did her wrong being so soft on her”

He concluded closing his eyes for a moment before looking up at you realising how close you actually are.

“Do you expect me to punish you now?”

You asked back at him and that surely took him by surprise as he tried to babble what he meant and he wasn’t self pitying himself and how you probably didn’t want to listen to his children’s problems too, you were already helping too much.

“Doctor Kreizler” you interrupted that river of words “as professionals we need to understand how to treat our patients in the best way to bring them further in life and not backward. You know just as I do how if you utilised a strong and threatening attitude you would have just taught her that the way to deal with life is to submit to the more aggressive ones, which is way worse than a young ten year old having a crush on the man that taught her she can be strong, isn’t it?”

He looked at you and smiled moving his head on side with a small tilt letting your words sink in and probably glad you defined him in such a way.

“I just love these kids” he breathed out as his eyes drifted somewhere in the space “they are picked up so soon in life and set for failures and successes they never meant to have, somebody else reading through them seeing fault in desire and poverty in tenderness”

You felt you chest tighten as he spoke, his eyes now shining, his voice narrating slowly those lives and achievements. His passion and hard work showing as he guided some papers closer to play out that moment the embarrassment of having opened up to you like that.

“The truth is, Doctor Y/L/N, that we can do so little, and the best thing we can do is to teach them not to accept little from life”

You smiled at him softly “You’re right”.

He smiled back as his dark gaze dropped down on your lips and he leaned in carefully, his eyes up at you again searching for consent, you imperceptibly wet your lips as you realised he was closing the space between the two of you.

Then a familiar voice coming from outside the window calling his name.

He paused midway and you could see a soft pink take over on his cheeks and behind his ears, he murmured something moving away from you as he opened up the window letting in the cold breeze.

“Laszlo! There’s another victim! Come down! Now! She is still alive you have to speak to her!” John shouted from his carriage “Move your ass!” He added shouting again as Dr Kreizler clearly was upset by the interruption and rolled his eyes to that vulgar talk.

You chuckled slowly picking his jacket and moving behind him. He noticed you and gulped down letting you help him with it.

“I apologise, I have to go, but Dr Y/L/N, I pledge for your forgiveness”

You nodded slowly as you were thinking about it as you picked up your own jacket.

“That could be earned by giving me the permission to call you Laszlo myself”

He smiled with a light nod just admiring the way you didn’t let any embarrassment run through the two of you.

“I couldn’t in any way refuse a requests coming from you, Y/N”

You nodded to him placing your hat back on your head with a smirk

“Good, now don’t stand there, we have to go” you said as he froze halfway through the door.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t expect to introduce me to this case and make me forget about it, or about you” you said and he let out a breathy chuckle holding the door for you open before following you outside.

This was the beginning of something new.

Tags: @cazzyimagines @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing

[queenshelby]

The Nanny – Part Two

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Words: 5798

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Tag List: 

@atomicsoulcollecto  @datewithgianni @mariapaiva13  @avonlady1985 @lauren-raines-x  @hanster1998  @elenavampire21  @nerdy4itall  @peakyboyslover  @atomicsoulcollecto  @lilymurphy03  @deefigs  @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse  @livinginfantaxy

NOTE re Tag List: If you haven't been tagged but have requested to be tagged, please check your settings to ensure that I can actually tag you. I have reviewed all tag list requests and if you do not appear above, I cannot physically tag you because of your settings. Please PM me once you would like me to try again.

A Small Surprise

Another week had passed since your encounter with Cillian at the theatre and you missed interacting with him, especially now that you broke up with Darcy once again.

Once again, Darcy had become verbally abusive towards you and you were devastated and upset about his behaviour. You became to realise that, most probably, he won’t ever change. You often thought about Cillian’s words. You were too young to be wasting your time on someone like this.

But, despite your breakup, Darcy called you at least ten times a day, trying to apologise. You ignored his calls, but, unfortunately for you, you still had to interact with him at theatre practice and art school.

At least, Anita was there for you and tried her best to prevent you and Darcy from having arguments while dealing with each other in a professional capacity. But it wasn’t easy.

Since your latest and hopefully final break up, Anita had also tried to hook you up with her brother, but you really weren’t interested in dating anyone after what you have encountered with Darcy.

Despite your disinterest in dating, you struggled to get one man out of your head and this was Cillian.

Since you became to know what he was doing for a living, you could evermore so understand his reluctance to get involved with someone your age. It would almost be cliché for an actor to date someone half his age. The backlash would almost be ridiculous.

In the same vein, you were really not keen on dating an actor. The ridiculous filming schedules, the gossip and the fact that people would look at you differently would certainly upset you and make you uncomfortable.

Yet, you couldn’t forget about him and the kiss you shared. The kiss he initially returned and which felt so amazingly good.

There was something about him that you hadn’t found in any man before. It was almost like you had known him for years and yet, you barely knew him at all. You felt comfortable in his presence and it felt natural to be around him.

With these thoughts on your mind, it was easy for you to let go of Darcy this time around eve though you knew that you could never have Cillian. Or could you?

It was a Sunday afternoon that Craig came home after spending some time at the pub celebrating a friend’s birthday.

He looked somewhat tipsy when he walked inside and Ella became rather frustrated with him. It was almost too funny to watch.

You noticed him carrying a paper back.

‘Y/N, this is for you’ Craig said as he handed the bag to you.

‘Uhm, thank you’ you said, surprised by his gesture.

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Cillian asked me to give this to you so thank him’ Craig said, unsure about what was in the bag. He believed Cillian’s gesture to be odd but didn’t dare to question it.

You walked into your room, curious about what was in the bag.

Unsurprisingly, it was a book entitled ‘The History of Irish Theatre’.

You and Cillian had talked about this book following your little incident at his house.

He thought that it was very educational for anyone who is interested in Irish literature and play writes and he said that, when he goes back to his house, he would get it for you so that you could read it.

You opened the book, very keen to read it.

To your surprise, Cillian had left you a note inside which, amongst other things, contained his mobile phone number and an offer to help you with rehearsing the play if you needed it and wanted an outsider’s opinion.

He also was kind to tag the pages relevant to your play in the 350 page book.

You took out your phone and saved his number before texting him to say thank you.

He responded almost immediately. His response was short but that is what you would have expected from a man in his 40s.

About an hour later, you received another text message from him.

‘I have four tickets to a play at the Abbey which I think you might like. You could go with some friends from your theatre group and your boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s for a Sunday night though’ he texted.

You responded by thanking Cillian for the offer and telling Cillian that you had broken up with Darcy before taking the courage to ask him whether he would be interested to come with you to see the play.

An hour after your text, you still hadn’t received a response and you regretted asking him. After what happened between you, you thought that you must have taken it too far.

Another twenty minutes later, as you were in the shower, the phone rang.

You quickly jumped out of the shower and answered your phone while the water was still running in the background.

‘Hi, Cillian’ you said shyly as you shivered, still being wet from the shower.

‘Am I calling you at a bad time?’ Cillian asked, observing the background noise through the phone.

‘No no, not at all’ you said.

‘What’s that noise?’ he asked.

‘Uhm, I was just having a shower’ you said and, just after you said this, you realised how inappropriate your comment was once again. There was an awkward silence on Cillian’s end following your comment.

‘Right’ he said before taking a pause.

‘About Sunday, I have seen the play already with some friends but I am happy to take you if you want’ he said before taking another pause. ‘As a friend that is’ he added, qualifying his offer.

‘Of course, yes’ you said shyly.

‘I think that, if we go together, I should probably invite Craig and Ella and suggest that you come with them’ Cillian suggested, being mindful that, otherwise, this might awkward.

‘Yes, sounds good’ you said.

‘Great, I will let you get back to your shower then’ Cillian said with a laugh.

‘Alright…and thanks’ you said.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian responded before hanging up.

To your surprise, a day later, Cillian told you that Craig and Ella weren’t interested in the play but had no problem with you going to see it with Cillian and some other friends.

You felt somewhat awkward about Craig and Ella knowing that you were going to see a play with their mutual friend. But Cillian assured you that they didn’t think anything of it. In Ireland, everyone was friendly and welcoming and interactions like this weren’t suspicious. In fact, Cillian had even told Craig that he had offered to help you with your theatre project and that he believed that the play you were going to see would really help you with your perspective on contemporary Irish theatre. With Cillian being double your age, Craig simply thought that it was a nice gesture and Craig also knew that Cillian could do with some friendly company after yet another fight with his fiancée.

Instead of Craig and Ella, Cillian ended up inviting his youngest sister Janet and her husband John. They both enjoyed theatre and had recently returned to live in Dublin after spending five years together in London.

You met Cillian and his sister and her husband at the theatre and they were very welcoming. You thought it was going to be strange, meeting Cillian’s family, but it wasn’t at all. His sister was in her late twenties and you could relate to her.

You talked about many things before the play started and she was surprised when she learned that you were only 20 years old. According to her, you appeared very mature for your age.

Change of Mind

‘You know she’s nice, smart and very pretty’ Janet said to Cillian about you after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom right before the play started.

‘And she is 20 years old and I am still in a relationship’ Cillian chuckled in response to her comment.

‘And here you are, choosing to attend this play with her instead of your fiancée’ Janet giggled.

‘Because my fiancée and I are taking a break and Y/N is just a friend’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I think you already made up your mind about your fiancée. I know you brother. I am not blind either. I can see the way you look at Y/N. You like her a lot’ Janet said.

‘Janet, she is 20. Now can we change the topic please’ Cillian said firmly.

‘So what if she is 20?...I like her. She seems nice’ Janet said before her husband John had to comment just like a man would.

‘Just count yourself lucky Cillian. Not every man your age has a shot with a young woman like her. Also, you wouldn’t be the first actor who goes there trust me’ John said, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Enough now, please’ Cillian said just as you returned from the bathroom.

When you returned to the table where Cillian, Janet and John were standing, you finally heard the theatre bell. Cillian seemed somewhat relieved that the play was about to start and you made your way inside, taking your seats.

Just as you sat down, you saw Darcy with his parents and brother. Your heart sunk and you hoped that he would not see you. But he did, almost immediately.

The situation had officially become awkward and, just as Darcy saw you, his father spotted you and Cillian as well.

He came over to greet you and Cillian which, instantly, raised a lot of questions.

Cillian explained to Darcy’s father that you were a friend and, just as he did, the bell rang again, telling everyone to take their seat.

This was lucky, preventing Darcy’s father from asking more questions.

Darcy’s father excused himself and, luckily for you, Darcy was at his best behaviour with his parents being around.

During the interval, Darcy greeted you politely and that was it. He didn’t acknowledge Cillian, Janet and John and there weren’t any further interactions from his side.

After the play had finished, Janet suggested that you all go to Cillian’s house for a drink and some pizza. After all, you hadn’t had dinner yet.

You agreed and picked up some Pizza and a couple of bottles of wine on the way.

To your surprise however, Janet excused herself pretty much straight after dinner and a glass of wine.

‘Well, John and I have to get up very early tomorrow’ Janet said.

‘We do?’ John asked.

‘Yes darling, don’t you remember the thing at your work?’ Janet asked, giving John a nudge.

‘The thing at my work?....Oh right, the thing at my work. I forgot’ John said.

‘Well, we will be going, but you two should really finish this bottle of wine’ Janet said and you observed her winking at Cillian.

Cillian sighed before giving his sister a kiss on the cheek and saying goodbye.

‘Uhm that was strange’ you giggled just as Janet and John left. ‘I just finish this and will call a taxi’ you said, pointing to your full glass of wine.

‘Yes, my sister is strange indeed’ Cillian chuckled, knowing exactly what his sister had in mind.

‘So how did you like the book?’ Cillian went on to ask to change the topic.

‘It’s fantastic. In particular the actor’s notes on the scenes. Although, there is one thing no one really talks about and I have been trying hard to find material on it’ you said.

‘And what is that?’ Cillian asked curiously.

‘How do you act a scene where you have to kiss someone. I mean, do you actually kiss them on stage? How about on screen? I mean, you would have the answer to this wouldn’t you?’ you said.

‘I do’ Cillian laughed.

‘Well then please enlighten me. I am curious’ you said.

‘On screen, depending on the angle of the camara, you most often don’t get around kissing. Your lips touch. It’s as simple as that’ Cillian said.

‘But is it different from a normal kiss?’ you asked.

‘Not really’ Cillian said. ‘But, in saying this, for theatre, no one from the audience will be close enough to see what you are doing so just give the guy a peck if you feel too uncomfortable to kiss him’ Cillian laughed, knowing that the play you were doing included a scene just like this.

‘I am glad you can laugh about it’ you said sheepishly.

‘Well, I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a man before so I think you will be fine. Just don’t think about it as a kiss. Think about it as an act. I guarantee you that, when you are in character with a complex script like yours, it will just come naturally’ Cillian said.

‘I suppose you are right. I mean, at least it’s not Darcy who I have to kiss on stage’ you laughed.

‘Well, there you go’ Cillian said just as an awkward silence erupted between you again.

‘Speaking of which, I have actually been thinking about our kiss more often than I should have’ you said shyly.

‘Y/N, we agreed that we would forget about what happened that morning’ Cillian said.

‘We did. But I can’t’ you said before taking a pause. ‘Can you?’ you asked.

‘I’ve been trying’ he chuckled, causing you to smile.

‘Perhaps you should stop trying and kiss me again. Just once more and I will never mention it again’ you said as you walked over towards him.

‘I am twice your age Y/N. You do realise that, right?’ Cillian said as you took his hands suggestively, indicating that you wanted him to stand up.

‘Yes, I do and I like it’ you giggled before biting your lip. Your comment made Cillian raise his eye brows and laugh.

‘You could be with someone your own age Y/N. I am sure you get plenty of offers. So why me?’ he asked as he stood up in front of you, running his hand over your cheek and moving part of your hair away from your face and behind your ear.

‘Because you are intelligent, kind and not afraid to be yourself. I like that. Despite, I also think that you are incredibly attractive’ you whispered shyly.

‘But, if you don’t like me then just tell me and I accept that’ you added after Cillian didn’t respond to your comment.

‘I like you alright. But I know that it would be a very bad idea if were to get involved with each other’ Cillian said quietly.

‘Maybe. Maybe not’ you said and, just like this, Cillian leaned forward and pressed his lips on to yours.

The kiss was gentle and Cillian caressed your face with his warm hands while his soft lips explored yours. Your lips moved in sync with his for a moment until he pulled away slightly.

‘We should not be doing this’ Cillian said and, just after he did, you decided that, this time, he wouldn’t get away that easily and you crashed your lips back onto his.

He accepted the kiss, giving into you for what felt like an eternity until he pulled away again.

‘Are you sure this is what you want? Because there will be implications if…’ he said and, before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted.

‘I know and I am prepared to deal with these implications as they arise’ you said before pressing your lips back onto his. You knew that, most likely, you would have to keep your interactions with Cillian a secret at least for a little while and you knew that, later down the track, this might cause issues with Craig and Ella.

Despite these intrusive thoughts, you managed to switch off and get lost in the moment and kiss between you soon became heated as Cillian gently slipped his tongue in between the opening of your lips.

You gave in and let his tongue dance with yours as if it was the most natural thing to do. He was such a good kisser. Gentle and passionate.

‘Now do you want me to stay for the night or call a taxi?’ you asked as, after at least ten minutes, your lips drifted apart.

‘If you were to stay, what would you be telling Craig and Ella?’ Cillian asked.

‘That I had some drinks after the theatre and ended up staying at a friend’s house’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘I guess you are staying then’ he said as he ran his hand over your cheek again before giving you another kiss.

‘Alright’ you said shyly. ‘I will go and have a shower then’ you said nervously.

It felt different this time around and you didn’t know how far he wanted to go. You had never had sex before and intimacy didn’t come naturally to you.

After you both had showers, separately, you met in bed just like the last time when you stayed at Cillian’s house.

Just this time, neither of you bothered getting dressed for the occasion.

Bed Time

Cillian was lying there, under the doona, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs as you walked into the bedroom.

You, on the other hand, wore even less. A black thong. That was it and you could see the appreciation on Cillian’s face as you walked into the bedroom.

But, in addition to your naked body, your tattoos and piercings, he could also see the nervousness on your face as you climbed into bed next to him.

‘You are beautiful’ he said as you got under the doona.

‘If you say so’ you smiled shyly before giving him a kiss.

It wasn’t long until he gently pulled you closer towards him and began running his masculine hands over your body, including your breasts and all the way down to your naked ass.

His lips never left yours and you enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The little amount of his chest hair brushed against your breasts and, as he held you close, you could feel his erection grow beneath his breaths.

You knew he wanted you, all of you and, whilst you wanted to be with him, you weren’t quite ready to take this step yet.

‘Cillian, I am…I never had…’ you said and, before you could finish your sentence Cillian withdraw his hand from you.

‘You are a virgin?’ he asked somewhat surprised, causing you to nod. Whilst you hinted on this previously when you talked with him about Darcy being pushy when it came to your relationship, you never actually told him that you never had sex. It all made more sense to him now and made him dislike how Darcy had treated you even more.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise’ Cillian said.

‘Are you disappointed?’ you asked, noticing Cillian’s reluctance to touch you again the same way he was before you told him.

‘Why would I be disappointed?’ he asked, running his hand over your cheek.

‘Not sure. Perhaps you expected something else tonight?’ you said shyly.

‘Well, the truth is that I didn’t expect anything tonight. Not kissing you, not lying next to you or getting to touch your beautiful body. So, I am getting way more than I had bargained for’ Cillian said.

‘You are so kind Cillian. What I meant was that, once you got a woman into bed, you probably didn’t expect this’ you said somewhat embarrassed.

‘At my age, probably not’ Cillian laughed. ‘But, I am not disappointed Y/N. We will just take things slow, move at your pace, alright? Despite, there are so many things other than sex in the conventional way that are enjoyable and I am just happy to lie here with you and kiss you all night’ Cillian said before pressing his lips back on to yours.

‘Things other than sex in the conventional way?’ you asked curiously after your lips drifted apart.

‘Yeah, you know, like other things’ Cillian chuckled. He clearly was out of your comfort zone having to give you a sex ed lesson.

‘Hmm, like what?’ you said cheekily. ‘Can you show me?’ you asked nervously. Whilst you weren’t quite ready to take things all the way, you felt an overwhelming desire for this man and you trusted him and you certainly wanted him to continue to touch you.

Cillian chuckled at your comment but reluctantly agreed. After all, he just promised you to take things slow and what he was about to do didn’t exactly fall into the category of taking things slow.

‘Alright, but you are in charge. Promise me that you will tell me if you want me to stop, ok?’ Cillian said reassuringly.

‘I promise’ you said before he leaned in and gave you another kiss before guiding your back down on to the mattress.

After you lied down comfortably, Cillian kissed you once again before his lips began trailing down your neck, kissing all over it, while his hands wandered over your naked breasts.

In this moment, you felt somewhat vulnerable. You weren’t exactly blessed with a large bust but Cillian seemed to like what he saw as he kissed down your beautiful body, his lips and tongue exploring and enjoying the sweetness of your flesh.

Eventually, his lips found their way to your perky breasts and lingered at a taut, pierced nipple, the tip of his tongue rolling around it, over the tiny bumps on your areola. He drew it into his mouth, eliciting a soft sigh from you as he sucked.

It felt amazing, much unlike what anyone else had ever done to you before and you could feel an unexpected tension build up in between your legs. The moisture within you was building and you trusted Cillian even once his lips began to trail further down your body.

His lips soon found the swell of your belly, and he showered it with soft kisses. His tongue played a moment in your pierced belly button before he continued his downward journey.

Then, suddenly, his lips touched the top of your lace panties causing you to let out a surprisingly loud moan.

No man had ever been this close to your mound before with anything else but their fingers.

With his fingers, he hooked into the ream of your lace panties before sliding them down all the way past your knees and then down over your feet before letting them drop over the bed.

There you were, completely naked, in front of the man you were so desperate for.

With his head moving back in between your legs, you felt vulnerable and excited at the same time.

The scent of your hot sex was now filling his nostrils, making him crave the taste of you.

His lips first touched the inside of your thighs, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. Again, you couldn’t help it but moan unexpectantly loud at the sensation.

Your reaction made Cillian smile against your thighs and he moved his head slightly inwards.

You could feel his warm breath on your vulva just before his lips touched your naked mound for the first time.

‘Oh god’ you inhaled sharply, making him smile again. He clearly was doing all the right things and took it slow, much slower than he would usually take it.

After kissing your most intimate body part a couple of time, he finally let his tongue lightly trace down the folds of your flesh.

It felt insane and you moaned loudly before you started to squirm when his tongue ran through your folds for the second time.

Cillian soon felt your fingertips caress his hair as he teased you.

He ran his tongue up and down those lips, enjoying the wetness between them.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned just as you gripped his hair tighter as he pushed his tongue inward in between your lips, savouring the sweet taste of you.

By this point you were dripping wet as his tongue went as deep as it could, his face awash with your warm juices.

Then, Cillian pulled back slightly, moving his tongue up and down, side to side, not wanting to leave any part of your sex untouched.

At the top, he found that sensitive nub of flesh, now fully extended. As his tongue flicked against it, he felt you give a little shiver of pleasure. His tongue swirled around and around, and then his lips engulfed it, sucking it gently as you began to moan even louder.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you moaned as you let your body take in the fullest extend of this sensation and closed your eyes.

Just as you closed your eyes, you could feel one of Cillian’s fingers run over your wet slit while his tongue continued to swirl around your clit.

You took in a deep breath but tried to relax as much as possible, thinking about what he might be doing next.

And, just like this, he carefully slipped a finger into you, watching your cues closely for any pain.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned again at the sensation. To your surprise, it felt nice, very nice.

After your body relaxed again Cillian began moving his finger in and out in a slow, steady rhythm as his tongue played a staccato on your pulsing clit.

He loved your taste, your scent, your sounds, he was in his happy place, and your pleasure was his goal.

He kept going, making love to you with his lips and tongue and fingers. Your sounds intensified in volume; the grip on his hair tightened; your hips rose as you squirmed beneath his ministrations.

After several minutes of pure extasy, Cillian carefully inserted a second finger while he gentle sucked on your clit.

You tensed up once again at the intrusion but, following some mild discomfort, were able to relax again. The slight amount of pain quickly turned into pleasure and your breathing was becoming heavier.

You felt full, just by his fingers and they moved in and out of you in the perfect rhythm.

With your moans becoming louder and louder and your walls becoming tighter around his fingers, he could tell that you were close. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, hooking them slightly upward and touching that other magical spot you never knew existed.

Your moans turned into screams of pleasure and your hips bucked as he pushed you over the edge.

Cillian lifted his eyes so he could look up at you and see your head thrown back, eyes closed, and mouth open with your moans and screams of pleasure filling the room.

You were totally lost in the ecstasy of the moment. His tongue was still dancing against your pulsing extended clit.

Your hips bucked one more time, and then you grasped his hair and pulled him away. It was too much, too intense.

He would have kept going for as long as you would let him, but your body had reached the point of pleasure saturation, and you needed to catch your breath.

While you were breathing heavily, coming down from your high slowly, Cillian kissed his way up your body until your lips met, and you shared one long deep kiss.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked as he could see small tears building up in your eyes. You looked completely exhausted and somewhat confused.

‘Yes, it’s just… I think I just had an orgasm’ you laughed.

‘Well, that was the idea’ Cillian chuckled. But you didn’t laugh at his joke. You were entirely overwhelmed.

‘Have you not had one before?’ Cillian asked somewhat surprised by your reaction.

‘What, an orgasm? No…But I read it’s normal for women not to have orgasms’ you said shyly.

‘If that was true then that would be pretty disappointing’ Cillian chuckled as he took you into his arms.

‘How about you get some rest alright?’ Cillian said with a smile as you seemed somewhat besides yourself which he thought was cute.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms. You felt so safe and secure next to him.

But for Cillian, it took a little longer. Whilst he promised you to take it slow and was prepared to stick to his promises, deep down inside, he wanted you, all of you.

Good Morning Mr Murphy

The next morning, your alarm went off at 7am. You had to attend art school which was due to start at 9am.

You would have rather stayed in bed with Cillian, but this wasn’t an option.

When the sound of your alarm ripped you out of your dreams and your eyes shot open, you noticed that Cillian wasn’t lying next to you.

As you got up to look for him, you heard the shower running in the bathroom. He was up early and it surprised you.

‘Can I come in?’ you asked as you knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Uhm, yes sure’ Cillian yelled out. He clearly was still in the shower.

‘Good Morning’ you said as you walked inside, not being able to see Cillian through the steam covering the door of the shower.

‘Good Morning… I will be out in a minute’ Cillian said, his voice sounding somewhat hasty.

‘No need, I just come in’ you said.

Without asking permission, you opened the shower door and stepped inside.

Your lips instantly met Cillian’s lips as you stepped closer towards him. But he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with your quick approach.

As you went to press your body against his soapy chest, you could feel something in between you and, just as you did, you looked downwards.

This was the first time you saw Cillian’s most intimate part and it was quite a sight.

‘Sorry’ Cillian said with some embarrassment as his erection pressed against you. He had struggled with it on and off since the previous night.

‘Now I am no expert, but I think that your reaction down there tells me that you like me, a lot’ you giggled as your hand reached for his hard cock.

Cillian moaned at your touch and you slowly began stroking him.

‘Now, I have never done this before so just tell me if I do something wrong alright?’ you said as your hands moved to either side of his hips.

‘Done what?’ Cillian asked and, just as he did, you dropped down to your knees right there in front of him.

‘This’ you said as you took hold of his cock again and guided it towards your mouth.  

You could hear a soft moan come out of Cillian as your tongue touched his shaft for the first time.  

You first licked the side of his shaft tentatively. Your heart was pounding as you did and you continued licking the sides and worked your way to the top of his cock.

Swirling your tongue around the head of Cillian’s cock and then working your way back down the shaft, you felt like you found yourself in another world, one you had never been in before.

Cillian groaned again and you felt his hands on your head as you continued licking his cock and then finally taking him into your mouth as far as you could go.

You didn't have a clue what you were doing, never having done this before, but you started bobbing up and down his shaft.

As Cillian’s moans became louder and steadier, you started bobbing up and down his cock even faster. You could taste his per cum on your tongue and then felt his hands hold on to the hair on your head even tighter.

You were in control but it was almost like he needed to hold on to something, grab something with his hands.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he moaned and you could tell he was getting close.

Before he could say anything else, you looked up at him.

‘I want you to come in my mouth’ you said before taking him back inside your mouth.

He looked surprised but didn’t dare to argue and, after a few more head bobs, he let go.

You could feel his cock begin to throb in your mouth and, just as you did, his hot sweet cum began to flow steadily from his shaft into your mouth.

You stopped bobbing your head as he came down from his high and let go of his cock before looking up at him and opening your mouth.

He could see his cum in your mouth and the disbelieve on his face made you laugh for a second, causing you to spill some but swallowing the rest.

‘Are you sure you never done this before because I never had a woman do this last bit’ Cillian chuckled as he helped you up.

‘No…never’ you said. ‘But, I’ve watched porn before’ you laughed as you wiped your mouth before giving Cillian a kiss.

After your intimate encounter, you both cleaned yourself off and got dressed before Cillian gave you a lift to art school.

Unpleasant Surprise

Your day at art school was good but you couldn’t get Cillian out of your head that day.

You went as far as to cancel your date with Anita that same afternoon so that you could surprise Cillian at his house later.

It was probably for the better you thought as Anita had many questions for you that day after Darcy had told her that he saw you at the theatre with Cillian.

At 4.30pm, after picking up some food and clothes from at home, you made your way to Cillian’s place.

You knocked on the door and, eventually, Cillian opened.

‘What are you doing here Y/N?’ Cillian asked surprised. You came by unannounced and thought that, maybe, it wasn’t a good idea after all. Perhaps he didn’t like surprises.

‘I am sorry, I should have called. I just wanted to surprise you’ you said before asking Cillian whether you could come inside.

‘It’s not a good time Y/N’ Cillian said and, in this moment, you could hear a female voice from inside his apartment.

Through the crack of the door, you could see a blonde woman. She was pretty, probably in her late thirties, wearing a black dress and heels. It was obvious to you that Cillian and her were close.

‘Can I call you later?’ Cillian asked.

‘Right, sure’ you sighed as you handed him the bag with the food and walked off.

As you walked towards the elevator, tears were building up in your eyes and you felt overwhelmingly anxious and upset. Perhaps he wasn’t different than other actors and you were just another quick fling.

You didn’t pick up his calls that day. You’ve been hurt enough by men in the past.

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Family Secrets (Demetri Volturi x Reader)

WARNING: Dark themes mentioned!

For as long as you could remember, your mother was always a rigid woman. She was constantly tense. You used to believe it was because she worked so much to keep the two of you going but after some time, you had to wonder if it was just a personality trait. She didn't have friends, or people she considered friends specifically. Her focus was always on you, the house and her job. Your mother said she didn't have any family but you. She was disowned by her parents and had one sibling that also cast her out. She never told you why. She never told you anything about her life before you. Eventually you stopped asking because she wouldn't entertain the question and instead got more agitated with the more curious you had become as you grew up. 

The next common topic was your father, someone you wondered about since your earlier school days. You noticed the kids in your class with their parents. Mum's, dad's, mums and dads, two mum's and two dad's. All had more information about their family than you did. Your mother also didn't talk about your father. You knew you had one but your mum hadn't been in contact with him since she was pregnant with you. She gave no reason why, nor did she give any clue about who he was. He didn't matter, she had told you and that was the end if it.  However being the child you were, that only raised more questions. 

Things boiled over a few months, living most of your childhood in the dark about your family. The questions bouncing around in your head. That was until you discovered some old photos in your mother's room. 

You were almost taken aback, there were two pictures of your mother both in different angles. She wore a sundress and sun hat, her head tilted back mid laugh, looking at something out of frame. Behind her, out of focus was what looked like a large dark brown door. To the left a red smudge that could only be described as a person and many other smudges in the background. After a moment you recognised those smudges to be people, simply out of focus like the rest of the background. You couldn't help but stare at her brilliant smile. Your mother had always been a pretty woman but she never smiled as wide as she had in this picture. Not that you could remember anyway. The woman was younger, identical yet completely different in nature. The mother you knew was very reserved, never having a smile that showed her teeth and practically lived in business suits with heels. Even a small smile from her had to be earned with good reason. You felt a pang in your chest, knowing that this version of your mother was long gone. Even more so, this was the person she wanted to hide you from so much. The other photograph had a what simply looked to be the wall of what you could only assume was the same building and people passing by in the background. Suddenly the photographs were ripped from your hands. You let out a startled cry as your mother looked at you with a fury you had never seen before. "I raised you better than to go through people's belongings!" She snapped. "But I-" You quickly discovered there was no room for excuses. "Go to your room!" You couldn't understand what made her so angry about those photographs but you didn't dare argue, the subject immediately dropped the next day. 

It wasn't long until there was bigger worries. It started off with small but odd symptoms. Until they became so frequent that they couldn't be ignored. A doctor's appointment turned into many. The doctors appointments moved to hospital appointments and that was when everything went very wrong. 

Your mother's illness was very aggressive so much so you had been forced to face the fact that you thought she'd be around for many decades yet, you woke up one morning to the fact that she only had months left. She eventually stopped working and had a couple of appointments with lawyers. It didn't take long for you to figure out why such meetings were happening. It became clear that any well moment she had, she was tying up loose ends. The house would be taken care of, as well as her burial, her money going to you in inheritance.  However there was one thing that you refused to think about and she struggled to bring up. An even further harsh reality that not everything could be fixed. You were still young. Whilst late teens, you were still regarded a child. You had no other family to live with or contact, it was more than likely that you'd be put into the foster system for at least a year and then be left to figure it out on your own. Secretly you couldn't help but feel anger towards your mother for that. This is what happens! You would think to yourself internally. This is what happens when kids don't have family! 

As time went on, hospital appointments became admissions. That was when you had to start packing some things for her and that was when you found even more things. Your brow furrowed to find some old letters, they weren’t recent. You could tell by their condition but they weren’t dated. You quickly skimmed the letter, this was someone your mother was romantically involved with. That was clear but who it was from wasn’t so clear. There had been no mention of you and the more you read the more apparent it became that this letter as well as the others were older than you. All were written and initialed by the same person. ‘D.V.’ 

You didn’t know anyone by those initials and to your recollection, neither did your mother. Or at least that’s what you thought. It made you wonder if you knew your mother at all. You kept your discovery a secret. You didn’t even know what you were looking at after all, some of the writing, you couldn't understand. This person’s handwriting was elegant and neat and in complete cursive. You’d have to sit down properly and read them to try and understand what had been written. 

After a couple of nights studying these letters you found nothing. They weren’t important, love letters that provided no context. Your thoughts drifted to your mother. She was weaker now, curled up in her hospital bed in Forks. Although she was just as grim as always.You wondered if you should tell her what you discovered, be honest about your discovery. You pictured her in the same spot you left her on that bed, night fall outside with blue-ish lights in various sections of the room. She preferred to be alone and luckily she was given her own room. Although you wondered if it wasn’t so much lucky as it was a favour for other patients. People who were dying weren’t usually in wards, they were in private rooms. Dying peacefully and out of sight for some dignity. It was hard to picture that she could be one of those people, but it was a reality you had to face. Even if with everyday, you waited to hear from doctors when she got to go home. However, all they ever told you in gracious terms was that those chances got slimmer each passing day. You imagined a doctor entering with a warm smile, a smile beyond his years as well as his wisdom.  “You’re working the night shift tonight?” Your mother would ask him.  “Yes, Ms (L/N).” The doctor would nod, his appearance and his voice being something of an angel. “I’m here to check up on you. How are you feeling today?”  “Like a useless bag of bones,” Your mother would mutter. “useless.”  "You are most certainly not useless." The doctor would smile with sad eyes yet a twinkle would still resonate, as though he knew this to be fact. "You're a mother after all." She nodded. "They won't need me anymore. They're grown up."  "My wife likes to believe our children, no matter how old, will always be children." Your mothers mouth twisted. "She is correct, Doctor. We would do anything for our children." She seemed distracted almost immediately. “Would you turn on the TV?” 

You blinked, shaking the thought away before checking your watch. Ten o’clock. You called it a night, watching a movie before bed. The next you, you began your routine, getting ready, making sure the house was in order before finally collecting some things to leave for the hospital. The place almost becoming a second home. 

As you arrived, you found your mother reading a book, noting it to be one of her favourites. She enjoyed books about travelling to far away places, even a few romances about someone meeting the love of their life in a foreign place. She looked up at you, marking her page before placing it at her bedside.  “Hello, did you sleep well?” She asked.  “Hey.” You smiled at her. “Yeah, I didn’t seem to notice the silence as much this time.” You struggled to feel completely comfortable in that house. You hadn’t wanted to leave your previous house and so moving to your current one left you with a sour expression and a nasty attitude. You had always told yourself you moved for her, rather than because you didn’t have a choice. Although you hadn’t realised that mindset would backfire. The house didn’t feel like home and now that your mother had been in hospital for some time, you felt that you were intruding.  “That’s good.” She nodded, looking a little more peaceful. “Very good.”  “Can I ask you something?” You asked hesitantly and she hummed in confirmation as you took a seat at her bedside. “When I was packing you another bag the another night, I found some old letters.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “They were rather personal.” You added. “Signed by a ‘D.V.’? Your mother sighed with a frustrated eye roll. ”I...who is that?” You asked.  “No one worth while. Back then when I knew that person, I was young and stupid.”  “So why do you still have them?”  “I don’t know!” She snapped. “They aren’t important!” 

A knock at the door interrupted your conversation. You were startled to see who had walked in the door. A man with blonde slicked back hair, pale skin and gold eyes entered. You must have seen him passing by before as it was the same doctor you had imagined as a scenario in your head last night. You couldn’t help but look mildly confused.  “Ms (L/N).” The doctor nodded to your mother.  “Dr Cullen.” She greeted him in response. Your eyes shifted between him and your mother in confusion.  “This is (Y/N).” Your mother nodded at you.  “Ah, hello there (Y/N). I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, forgive me for not recognising you.” Dr Cullen smiled, reaching out his hand for a handshake. You reciprocated the motion. “Please, call me Carlisle.”  “Nice to meet you.” You said quietly, unable to shake off his statement. He had said that he hadn’t seen you since you were a baby but he looked younger than your mother and barely ten years older than yourself. Whilst it was possible mathematically, you couldn’t help but find something a little off about it. Then again it would have made sense that he was a kid at the time. With that, you shrugged it off.  “I’m taking over your mothers case.”  “Oh, okay.” You nodded. “Is that allowed? If, uh, you know-”  “(Y/N), Carlisle is an old friend who I havent seen in years. There is no rule against him treating me. The circumstances call for it.” Your mother said slightly exasperated. That last line stuck with you.  “What circumstances exactly?”  “I’m more ideal for your mothers case.” Carlisle said quickly. “It’s more of my field that the previous doctor, especially with your mothers condition.”  “Oh...okay.” You nodded. ”Tell me, have the two of you discussed (Y/N)’s next steps after all of this?” Carlisle took out a pen and began rummaging into a locked cabinet behind him. He pulled out a folder with your mothers name on it.  “Not exactly.” Your mother answered. Carlisle looked over at her. “Well, have you given much thought of where you’d want them to be?”  “I have given it a lot of thought, but I don’t have much options.”  “Well is there a relative (Y/N) could stay with or you’d consider?”  “It’s just us.” You said quietly, your eyes flickering to Carlisle.  “I don’t want them put in the system but i’m not in contact with my family. I don’t have friends that I could ever ask such a thing as to take guardianship of my child.” Your mother sighed. Carlisle paused before looking over at your mother. “Would it be possible to get back in touch with these relatives?” Your mother stiffened before shaking her head with a clenched jaw. “No. I cut all contact. I’d rather it was that way.” You noticed the look your mother and Carlisle gave each other, almost like a silent conversation. Or more so a one-sided argument if you knew your mother. Carlisle trying to get through to your mother whilst your mother stubbornly refused with a sour expression.  “Well, i’d have to begin the paperwork on (Y/N)’s situation for social services immediately.” Carlisle looked almost saddened and your mother shifted in discomfort.  “(Y/N), would you bring me some tea?” Your mother asked and you slowly nodded, before digging into your bag for some money. 

After you had left, your mother spoke up breaking the silence. “They don’t know Carlisle.”  “I understand but they will need to know.”  “How would I tell them?” She snapped. “Vampires were the monsters under their bed for so long, friends with the boogeyman and werewolves. You expect me to tell them they’re half vampire and who their father is?”  “He could take care of them.” Carlisle said quietly.  “You don’t know that. That place isn’t a place to raise anyone! They’re strangers!”  “I can give you my word that they’ll always have a home with me.” Carlisle assured her.  “Whilst I live and breathe, (Y/N) will never know.” Your mother insisted.

Weeks passed and eventually so did your mother. You felt lost. Still without answers and now with nowhere to go. You couldn't help but wonder what would happen to you now. Your mother never told you. After that day, your mother assured you that you wouldn't have to worry about it. She had taken care of it. You just had to trust her. 

Carlisle had been around almost everyday since you had first met and even his wife Esme wanted to meet you when she discovered you were in the hospital visiting your mother. Esme greeted your mother like an old friend a warm smile graving her perfect features. She was clearly very caring and nurturing. Your mother seemed to appreciate that and hesitantly welcomed it. That was very out of character for your mother...at least in your eyes. You had a lot of questions when you discovered that no longer would you be going into the system. Somehow Carlisle and his wife arranged for you to be staying with them. At some point your mother had agreed to this. However, you couldn't figure out how they had done so. They weren't adopting you. That much you gathered but once again you were only left with more questions. 

The Cullen's were a strange bunch. All had gold eyes, which you weren't sure was even probable to be adopting so many kids who had matching bizarre eye colours. All but one. A girl called Renesmee, 'Nessie' for short. You couldn't help but stifle a laugh and she too seemed to get amusement out of it. She looked to be the same age as you. Then it got confusing. One of the kids, Bella, married into the family and had a biological child with Edward, who was Nessie. Yet all looked to be in their late teens, barely two years older than you and Nessie.  Another being, Emmett spoke about your mother as if he too also knew her a long time ago. The family as a whole didn't make sense yet none were willing to clear anything up for you. Somehow they were more secretive than your mother had ever been. However, they did an excellent job at keeping you calm about it. 

Carlisle took some time off from the hospital to help you settle in. He understood this was a big jump for you and a very difficult time. Carlisle had been the most familiar part of your day and he wanted to be there just as he had been prior to your mother's passing. You decided to give Carlisle some peace in his office. 

You moved to the kitchen to see Esme chopping vegetables. She looked up with a bright warm smile. "Hello, (Y/N)." "Hi, Esme." You returned her smile somewhat shyly. "What are you making?" "Renesmee is craving some vegetable soup. I'm thinking it's the time of year." Esme responded, her smile never faltering. If anyone appreciated your efforts, it was Esme. She had immediately wanted to reassure you when you had first come to stay with them. Her words stuck with you. "I know it was just you and your mother before. Living with such a large family must be very different. We'll do our best to make sure you're comfortable here. You're a part of the family now." 

Ever since you had tried to be a part of the family, rather than the outsider- as much as you wanted to hide away in your room that you had to share with Renesmee. Esme was the first to notice and she was more than encouraging. She noted the tiny details such as you no longer lingering in the kitchen doorway and now willing to approach her, just as you did to get a closer look at the pot.  "It is getting colder." You nodded. "It could be the change of weather." "I agree." Esme responded. "Would you like to help?" You thought about it. "I don't know if I can be much help." You said meekly. "I, uh, wasn't allowed near knives a lot of the time with my mum." 

You expected Esme to be confused but instead a flash of recognition rushed over her face before her usual smile. "Well, they are dangerous." Esme responded. "Here. I'll show you." "Really?" Your eyes lit up. Your mother never had time for things like this so to have Esme offer was a surprise. "Of course!" She stepped to the side, gesturing for you to stand beside her as she reached for another knife. "I'll get you to cut these." Esme put some newly washed leeks on the chopping board in front of you. You picked up the knife and Esme immediately advised you. "Put this hand on the leeks but tuck your fingers in like this, it's safer." You copied her. "Like this?" "Yes." She praised. "You hold the knife like this." She showed you where she positioned her fingers around the knifes handle. You followed suit. "That's it." You couldn't help but smile as you cut into the leek. "Well done! Those are excellent size of pieces too." Esme praised with a small grin, like a proud mother. 

You and Esme kept conversation going. Suddenly you squeaked, the knife dropping onto the cutting board with a clatter. You immediately covered your thumb. Esme however remained calm, even offering a comforting smile. "Not to worry, it doesn't look too bad." You put your bleeding thumb to your mouth before recoiling sharply. Your mother's scolding returning to your mind. Her eyes always widened before she'd swat your hand away from your mouth, demanding you didn't do it. She never told you why she was to against you doing it. She did it herself. All she would say is that it's disgusting. Esme, on the other hand, said nothing about it simply taking your hand and leading you to the sink to run it under some cold water. "It was bound to happen." She said simply. "Renesmee has done it plenty of times. She can be as clumsy as her mother used to be at times." "Someone can stop being clumsy?" You looked over at Esme who seemed to ponder the question. "Hm, perhaps that's poor phrasing. Bella still has her stumbles ever now and then but back when we first met her...?" Esme trailed off, giggling. "Bella fell many times. She got a paper cut from a birthday gift from Alice, you know." "Really?" You cracked an amused smile. Esme nodded. "Yes. Cut it on the corner of her gift, the wrapping paper no less." Esme chuckled to herself. "It drove Edward wild." She continued. "He was always so worried about her. Even now, he'll still forget how capable she is." "Never underestimate a woman." You smirked and Esme grinned. "Indeed." "Was it just paranoia or did he have reason to be worried?" Esme's smile faltered, as though remembering something bad. "Sometimes he had reason..." Her smile returned quickly. "Although mostly he was worrying over nothing." She said almost as though assuring you.  However, your mind latched to her hesitation. "I'm sorry, I ask a lot of questions. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories." You apologised. "Never be afraid to ask questions in this house. It's a good thing. You're clever. I know you have a lot of questions." You said nothing as she continued. "I can't give you all the answers right now but I promise you will get them." "Can I ask some right now?" "I'll do my best to answer them." She nodded. "How did you know my mum and how did you know me? She never mentioned you." Esme pondered the question. "I can tell you how we met you?" Esme offered and you nodded frantically. "Although I can't go into every detail. Just know you'll know soon enough." You nodded in response.. "We met your mother when she was young, before she had you and she loved to travel. She had begun to see the magnificent things about the world and was eager for more. After a year, she returned one night at our doorstep. She was scared and had a baby in her arms. We helped her get back on her feet but by the time you were weeks old she insisted that she could do things on her own and since then she had moved around. Carlisle took her case, recognising her name.” "Do you know who my dad is?" You asked hurriedly and Esme stiffened. "Yes. Your mother told us that night. We know him but not on a personal level.” You wanted to know more but before you could ask, Esme put a hand on top of yours. "That's all I can tell you, right now but you will know everything soon. If you want to." 

Renesmee flopped onto her bed with a huff mumbling into the covers about being tired. "You and me both." You stretched. It had been two days since you had last slept. You had always struggled with sleeping every night and no amount of doctors appointments seemed to help. Your mother eventually gave in, assuring you it was fine and perhaps you were just different that way. However she made you promise you'd keep that to herself. That was until you started living with the Cullen's however. You noticed that the Cullen's seemed to be the same and even more so, Renesmee also only slept a couple days at a time. The two of you bonded over that. 

"Sometimes I just feel like I'm different from everyone else." You had once told her. "We are." She responded brightly. "We're rare." "What?" You laughed. "How do you know!?" "I just do!" She grinned. "Oh Renesmee..." You sighed after your laughter died down. "You talk so much crap sometimes." Her laughter roared back to life and she pushed you. You nearly fell off her bed in the process only making the two of you laugh harder. "You are though." Renesmee said finally, rolling into her side to face you. "You just don't know it yet." You sighed. "I mean it." She insisted. "You and I are more alike than you think. We're rare. You'll see." She rolled back onto her back, a moment of silence filling the room. "We're so cool." She finished and you scoffed with a giggle. 

 A few days later, you were with Carlisle in his office. You asked if you could sit with him, enjoying the peace. Somehow by design, the office was away from the house. You found that most weren't built that way. Carlisle agreed and you watched as he wrote in the same cursive writing that those letters had before. You thought about your time with the Cullen's. In the strangest way, they had their oddities and secrets. The secrets you had grown accustomed to thanks to your mother but the oddities bugged you. You never saw them eat, they'd leave every week for one night leaving only you and Renesmee. They never went to bed before you and we're always awake before you. They grew worried about the sunlight on the days it threatened to break through the grey clouds. Their eyes changed colour. Something about them free you closer and that tempted you to tell a secret you had never told anyone. 

"Carlisle, can I talk to you about something?" You asked your eyes peeling away from his writing and rising to his face. He paused, looking up at you. "Of course. Is something wrong?" "No, I- uh... I've never told anyone this, not even my mum. I feel like I can trust you with this and that you won't think i’m...weird." You admitted. Carlisle smiled at you. "I'm good with 'weird' individuals. You tend to find that they're truly magnificent. Go ahead." You shifted in your seat. "I don't know if it's some dumb teenage thing but...I think I'm different from other kids my age." "In what way?" Carlisle asked seemingly intrigued, putting down his pen and resting his head on his hand. "I dunno, I just the feeling...it was little things." "It's alright." Carlisle reassured you. "I'm here to help." You leaned forward slightly. "So, when I was little, I fell off a balcony. Fourteen foot drop and I felt the pain, tried to get up but my left leg gave out on me. I remember my mother screaming that I had broken my leg. She took me to a hospital, by the time I arrived, I felt better. My X-rays came back saying I was absolutely fine. I thought I had super powers, I fixed my broken leg. After that my mother insisted to the doctor's she never said a 'fourteen foot drop'. She said I fell at a 'four feet drop'. She took me there because of how awkwardly I landed and was concerned about my leg." Slowly you shook your head. "I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember perfectly what she said and I remember where I fell. It was fourteen feet. " You took a breath. "I remember every birthday, every Christmas and every miniscule minute in between." You continued. "I don't sleep every night. I don't get tired like everyone else. I always heard things others couldn't." You swallowed, leaning back in your chair. "My mother lied to so many people about events in my life and I don't understand why. Most of all, I don't understand why I feel so different from others. Like an imposter but even I don't know what lies underneath." 

You looked at your lap momentarily before lifting your gaze to examine Carlisle's expression. He didn't look appalled or uncomfortable, in fact he looked exactly the opposite. Perhaps he heard this sort of thing every day. "Am I crazy?" You asked lightly. Carlisle shook his head. "No, not at all. As a matter of fact, I believe you're very intelligent. You pick up smaller details that others don't. You're seeing the pieces of a puzzle and are trying to out them together. However, you haven't seen the full picture. So how can you really know what you're looking at?" Carlisle continued. "I can help you. I can answer all of these questions but once I do, your life will be changed forever. It can't be ignored and whatever you wish to do with the information I give you. I want to support you with. Are you prepared for that?" You nodded. 

Carlisle moved to a sofa and gestured for you to sit beside him. "This is a long story and I need to keep an open mind and listen to all of it first." You nodded. "We knew your mother through a group of individuals. She had just finished her studies and was travelling the world with her friends. She wanted to go everywhere and anywhere. She was young and wanted to see everything, now that she was free from responsibilities. She went to Volterra, Italy." You remembered the photographs you saw of her smiling, looking at something out of frame, mid laugh. "They wanted to see the castle there." Carlisle quickly dug out a box and inside were the same pictures you had discovered. He had stored them away for you, no questions asked. He pointed to one. "This is the fountain outside of the castle and in the background you can see blurred figures. Cameras weren't the best back then but this is a line of tourists to go and see inside the castle. He pointed to a particular red blur. "It is beyond likely that we know who this is. A woman named Heidi. She's a part of a group called the Volturi." You soon noticed he had photos that you hadn't seen before. The third was one that was definitely of the same day and time. Another angle, minutes before or after the previous two. However, the tourist line was more clearer behind your mother in this shot. This 'Heidi' was in a red tight dress with high heels and her brown curled hair framed her perfect face. Your eyes narrowed, noticing that this 'Heidi' was looking directly at your mother. "Heidi offered your mother and her friends a tour, free of charge." Your mother never took free samples, she would always pull you away, looking unnerved by anyone who offered anything free. Carlisle sighed, as though struggling to find the right words. "Your mother's life changed that day. She, like, many other humans never believed in monsters but she learned they can be very real and they aren't under the bed. The group, as I mentioned, are known as the Volturi. They're almost royalty in our kind...the vampire world." Your eyes narrowed. "Let me finish. It sounds bizarre right now but you need to hear everything to understand." Carlisle reminded you and you nodded, pushing back your building questions. "Those tours are organised for that group to feed upon humans and that day, your mother was the only one who survived. She had watched her friends and strangers from all walks of life be murdered. She was given a choice, she could live and do what was asked of her with no questions, or she could die with the others. She was young and would have done anything to live, like everyone else and so she agreed. Your mother met a man named Demetri. He too was a part of the Volturi- a vampire. Your mother was very drawn to him and the two of them spend more time together." Carlisle tilted his head. "They were in love." "D.V..." you whispered under your breath, remembering the letters. Carlisle nodded. "An old friend of mine, Aro, is the leader of the Volturi. One of three. He took interest in my grand daughter after she was born." Your face scrunched up in disgust and Carlisle chuckled. "Not like that. You'll understand, you're doing well." Carlisle continued. "He wanted to learn more about what she is but due to our history with the Volturi, we'd never allow him near her. Renesmee was a child, not an experiment. So he wanted one to study. Demetri was selected to help create one...and Demetri chose your mother. Which is why she lived." You trembled slightly but continued to listen which Carlisle seemed to appreciate. "Your mother didn't know Aro's plan and had grown very attached to Demetri, soon enough she was pregnant. By then, she found out her purpose. She didn't want her child to be studied, no matter what it originated from. So when she gave birth, it was a miracle she survived. Whether it was preparation or luck, no one knew. She took the baby and fled. By then Aro had grown bored of the idea and didn't come after her. Neither did Demetri. Months had passed and she was on my doorstep holding a baby and begging for my help. The rest you know." Carlisle took your hands in his. "Renesmee was born to Bella and Edward. She is half human and half vampire. Bella gave birth to her whilst still human and my family and I are all vampires. We don't feed on humans, we've never condoned it. That's not our way of life. We feed on animals, 'vegetarians' if you will. We don't sleep, every week we leave you and Renesmee to hunt. Renesmee was the first hybrid the Volturi had ever seen and Aro wanted to know more about how similar they are to vampires. I think you know where I'm going with this."  "We're rare, you and I!" You remembered Renesmee words from that night. "The baby..." You mumbled and Carlisle nodded giving your hands a light squeeze. "You did have super powers that fixed your legs. Vampire venom is quick to heal injuries. Injuries you and Renesmee are more susceptible to be because you are still half human. You moved constantly because you aren't entirely human. However there has been many differences with hybrids. Another Hybrid Nahuel was fully matured after seven years since birth. Renesmee grew very fast, and at this rate will be fully matured in a matter of months. She's taken a little longer than Nahuel. You however, have taken even longer than her. Her growth is double yours." Carlisle looked at your expression. "You were three years old but had the intelligence of a five year old. You've been moved schools and home so many times as to avoid suspicion, never staying long enough for anyone to notice why you suddenly looked to be eight within a matter of a year. These things aren't patterns. Renesmee showed me that. Sometimes your growth will be very fast and other times it'll be slower. Vampires don't age and can only die by fire. Your mother told me before she passed that she was worried you had already stopped aging. It's possible and you need to know that." "What?" You managed out quietly. "Think about it, (Y/N). It's been three years and you look exactly the same." Carlisle answered. You were taken aback that your mother had mentioned that to Carlisle. "You don't feel right around the other children because you aren't like other children." "Why would my mother hide this from me?" You asked finally. "I think she wanted to give you something that in the end, you can't have. A normal human life. She wanted that for you but...your biology, could never allow that. Do you understand?"  You remembered all the times your mother would look alarmed and swat your hand away from any paper cuts and you must have had said it out loud because Carlisle answered you. "I think she was worried you'd enjoy blood. I can't say I agreed with her methods, (Y/N). Suppressing instincts is never good for someone. However she didn't want you to have anything other than normality. I think it's important that you know that nothing your mother did, keeping this from you, would hurt you. You can survive on blood just as you can on human food but she couldn't account for the aging. I'm so sorry you had to find out this way. However, in the end...she didn't want you to be alone." 

You took a week to process what you had been told. Everything had changed just as predicted. Yet in the same way, it didn't seem to change your feelings for the Cullen's- only reinforce them. 

Finally, you approached Carlisle again. "Can you tell me more? About the Volturi? About the vampire world?" "I can, but might I ask why?" Carlisle answered.  "...do you think I could contact him? My dad?" You didn't realise how big an ask that was until Carlisle talk you through with it. Although he reminded you of his promise. He'd support you with anything you wanted to do with the information he gave you. If you wanted to contact Demetri, then he'd help you do that. 

Within five days, the Cullen's had a visitor. You opened the door to see a boy with shockingly red eyes, dark hair and wearing all black. Around his neck was a good crest, with rubies and in the shape of a 'V'. His eyes stared into yours with an empty gaze, he said nothing. "Hi?" You furrowed your brow, slightly unsettled before Carlisle stepped around you. "Ah, Alec. It's good to see you again. Please, come in." "Carlisle." 'Alec' nodded to Carlisle before stepping inside. You blinked and Alec suddenly sniffed once. "Smells like the other one." He said quietly and walked away from you. You looked to Carlisle sharply in alarm but his look told you not to worry about it. "(Y/N), this is Alec. He's one of the Volturi guards." Carlisle said, putting a hand on your back and guiding you to follow Alec into the living room. "Alec, this is (Y/N). Who you've been expecting to meet." You inhaled sharply as Alec was in front of your face in seconds. Whilst the Cullen's were wary of scaring you, their speed was limited around you. However, Alec didn't seem to care if he scared you or not. 

"You're age development is rather confusing." Alec most certainly didn't talk like others his age. Dared you say it, he was even worse than you. He'd stick out like a beacon. "Last I saw you, you were only a baby. A newborn." Alec said mostly to himself. "You aren't the first to say that." You replied. His eyes moved to yours with a piercing gaze. "So if you're Alec then you're not-" "Your father?" Alec interrupted and tilted his head and a small but very condescending smirk. "No." 

After a moment of silence Alec turned to you. "I've to meet you and then report back to Aro. That's all you need to know." Alec said flatly. Without warning, Alec grabbed your jaw within one hand, tilting your head to the side. "Hearing?" "Slightly higher than human range." Carlisle responded as you blinked. "Sight?" Alec asked. "Above human range." Carlisle responded again. "Smell?" "Human range." "Strength?" Alec enquired. "Above human range but no where as good as a vampire." Carlisle answered. "Speed?" "Above human...we learned that recently." Carlisle looked at you. 

You immediately remembered the time Emmett was chasing you. Your mother never allowed you to fun as fast as you could. The punishment was strict. However since her passing and staying with the Cullen's, you had began to relax and allow yourself to do those things, with the encouragement of the Cullen's. "Diet?" "Human food. We haven't introduced them to a blood diet yet." You shivered at the thought but couldn't help the creeping curiosity. Perhaps that was the vampire in you. "Intelligence?" Alec asked. "Highly." Carlisle smiled at you like a proud parent would. Alec seemed to catch this and stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "Behaviour?" "Well behaved." Carlisle said instantly. "Are they able to control themselves? Emotionally and such?"  "Yes." Carlisle responded. "How much do they know of our kind?" "They're learning." Carlisle retorted. "I see." Alec hummed. "Any gifts?" He asked after a moment of silence. Carlisle shook his head "None we've been made aware of." Alec nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I'll report this back to Aro. We'll be in touch." 

"(Y/N)?" Carlisle peeked into your room with a smile. "I thought you'd like to know the Volturi have contacted us. They'd like to meet you. Demetri included, of course." Your heart pounded. "My dad...wants to meet me?" Carlisle nodded with a warm smile. "It's your decision, if you so wish it. They're more than happy to accommodate you. Demetri is eager to see you again and they're pleased with the information we gave. We'd have to give them a some time to prepare for you. They're awaiting your response." Renesmee grinned at you in glee. You slowly nodded. "Yeah, I'd like to meet them."  Carlisle nodded. "Not a problem, I'll arrange the details with Aro." Just like that, Carlisle turned away. You turned to Renesmee, mostly in shock. She smiled brightly at you. "This is great!" 

Two weeks later, you landed in Italy. Taking a plane yourself was a new experience but your nerves were too busy with the prospect of meeting your father. Outside the airport you were met by Alec, this time with a blonde girl. "Hey Alec." You said and Alec nodded at you. "Hello again, (Y/N). This is my sister, Jane." He gestured to the blonde girl. Both wore stoic expressions that were horrifying. Their hoods were up. Instead of a cloak, they each wore hoodies and their hands were stuffed into the pockets, not a single bit of skin exposed. "Nice to meet you." You said to Jane. "Likewise." She said quietly, with an innocent tone. However their bright red eyes said otherwise. "This way." The two turned towards a black car. "Afton is driving us. He isn't one for conversation, don't take it personally if he ignores you." Alec turned to you. You nodded. "Got it." You paused. "My stuff?" "We've already got it." Alec responded. "We can't afford delay." You nodded. "Thanks." 

A man with black hair rose to a stand with a gasp and a grin of glee. "Ah! You must be our dear (Y/N)! My, how you've grown!" He hurried down the steps are towards you briskly as Alec and his sister moved to stand at the corner of the room. "Finally, I get to put a face to all the wonderful things I've heard about you." He reached out for you and by instinct you took his hand. You though he was going for a handshake but instead he turned your hand, encasing it within his own, his other moving to trap your hand in place as he hunched over slightly. He looked down at your hands before looking up to meet your eyes. "My name is Aro." So this was Aro. One of the three leaders of the Volturi and an old friend of Carlisle's. If anything he was the boss of the whole Volturi coven and guard. "Brothers! Come and see our little hybrid! They won't remember us!" The blonde and dark haired man who remained on their thrones stood up and walked towards you, although much slower and slightly less enthusiastic. All the while you really hoped that nickname wouldn't stick. 

"The resemblance of Demetri...it's quite surprising." Aro said to himself in awe. "Perhaps the vampires have the dominant gene." The blonde responded, sparing Aro a glance who dropped your hand as to watch the exchange. "My name is Caius." The blonde began. "Our sincerest apologies if this is uncomfortable. For us, it has been a blink of an eye. You were only a baby at the time we last saw you." "You were the last of us to hold them, brother!" Aro spoke up. "Indeed." The blonde agreed. 

You were surprised to hear the leaders had held you. With Caius' piercing stare, you were surprised you didn't have nightmare for the rest of your life. "Last but not least, this is Marcus!" Aro grinned gesturing to the dark haired man beside him. "It's a joy to see you again, little one. You have our condolences about your mother." Marcus' voice was move gravely, ad though he hadn't spoken for a while. A pang hit your chest and you nodded. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you all." "There will be plenty of time for questions and answers. However I do believe there is a more pressing matter." Aro smiled knowingly. "Indeed." Caius raised an eyebrow. "Jane! Send for Demetri! He has been waiting so long!" Aro announced. "Yes, master." Jane nodded before she was gone in a flash. 

You knew it was him as soon as he entered. His eyes locked on you instantly as he froze. You heard yourself exhale, silence filling the room, only the sound of your breathing. Although you were sure everyone else could hear your racing heartbeat. The blonde stranger slowly moved towards you. Almost as though frightened every step he took would cause you to shatter before him. His eyes were a dark red, wide and unblinking. As though he didn't dare. For you, this was the first meeting but for him...it had been years and each one seemed to pain him. The blonde before you was clearly emotional just by the sight of you. Just as he was a few feet away from you, he spoke. It was almost a whisper. You almost didn't catch it. “Il mio bambino...” You had no clue what that meant but you couldn't find the ability to ask. You couldn't find the ability to speak at all, a lump in your throat. Emotions arose within Demetri quickly. This time, his words louder and directed towards you. "I thought I'd never hear your heartbeat ever again." You looked down at your chest before looking back at up at him. Demetri's hands moved to cover his mouth. "Oh that wonderful sound." You were taken aback at how attached he had been to the sound of your heartbeat. Your heart ached for him. So you did what you thought unthinkable. You moved forward and closed the space, wrapping your arms around him into a hug. He gasped in surprise, uncertain what to do at first. You felt tears build up in your eyes. "I found you." You whispered, mostly to yourself. "Yes, you did." You felt his arms wind around you, holding you to him. “Il mio bambino...” He said again. You held him tighter as you felt a tear run down your face. 

From that moment on, Demetri wanted to know every little thing about you. No detail was dismissed. You realised during that time that Demetri had never heard you talk so naturally he’d want to listen to you talk about anything. He was eager to know every tiny little detail and spent hours finding out, with a sudden interest in everything you had ever done.Although some details about how you lived saddened him, he never explained why. You had speculations why. Your mother spent your whole childhood trying to suppress any part of him within you. 

Whilst caught in a daydream, you felt a hand ruffle your hair. You jumped in surprise looking behind you to see a very amused Felix. "Look sharp, little one. The world is a hungry place.” Demetri rolled his eyes. “Not in here, they couldn’t be safer.” Felix raised an eyebrow. “Even with Alec sitting across from them?” You scoffed, standing up and grabbing your now empty glass. “Yeah, okay.” You said unconvinced. After pouring yourself another glass of water, you turned and reeled back. A black mist, like an tendril hovering inches from your face.  “Alec.” Demetri narrowed his eyes in warning. Alec retracted his mist with a cold expression.  “See?” Felix pursed his lips. "He...he wouldn't." You said shakily. Alec turned his head from his seat, his red eyes boring into yours. "Go on, underestimate me. Entertain me." Your eyes widened in fear. His face was void of emotion but his stare was piercing. Your eyes fell to the floor, visibly backing down from him. "Next time I won't be so forgiving." Alec said coldly. 

Suddenly a hand slammed against the table before Alec making him look up. Demetri stared down at him coldly with a low growl. "I won't tolerate anyone threatening my child, that includes you, Alec. Warn them if you must but threaten them and then the line will be crossed." "You should teach your child to know better then, shouldn't you?" Alec glared up at Demetri. "They haven't been here long enough to know.. but you have." Demetri leaned forward. "You know I tend to leave you and your sister be. So the least you could do is have some patience for (Y/N). I'd hate for you and I to have a problem, Alec." Alec growled in response but seemed to take in his words, leaning back in his chair. "Fine." He said simply. "I'll do my best to be... accommodating." 

You jumped slightly when Demetri peeked into your room, knocking twice. "Are you busy?" You closed your book with a quick shake of your head and a smile. "What's up?" Demetri paused as if not entirely understanding what you mean but continuing nonetheless. "Felix and I have some jobs to do and I would appreciate your help?" You looked surprised by Demetri's response and he smiled in amusement. "It'll be a test of strength too." "A test?" You asked, moving towards him with intrigue. "You'll see." He smirked. "Alright, let me get my shoes." The curiosity had already consumed you and made you unable to refuse the request. He led you down many sets of stairs and corridors. Finally leading you to a room that looked older and more run down than the rest of the castle. 

Felix grinned at you immediately. "Hey, kiddo!" Felix greeted. "What are we doing in here?" You asked, taking a look around the room. "Well, this room will be redecorated as well as the one next door. We've got to break down all the furniture...and some of these walls." "Alright but...there's no tools here." Felix snorted. "What?" You asked. "You're adorable." Felix smirked in response before pulling out a drawer. Like it was nothing he pulled the backing of the drawer off, tossing it behind him, then the sides and finally ripping off the handle. Your jaw dropped at the sight before you turned to your father. He smiled at you. "Over the past couple of days, ive been noticing that you could be stronger than originally thought. So, let's test that theory." 

The two led you to a coffee table before tipping it. "Try to pull a leg off. It's an old table, so it won't be too complicated. You just have to pull." Demetri crouched down beside you. Hesitantly you wrapped your hand around a table leg and tugged. Nothing. "Come on, you can do better than that kid." Felix grinned, crouching down too. "You're holding back in case you break it." Demetri added. "You want to break it so you don't need to be careful." "Think of something that annoys you, really aggravates you- got it?" Felix asked. You nodded enthusiastically. 

You thought about all the times your mother lectured you for questioning her. The secrets that were life changing that she kept from you. A father you were robbed off. You pulled and with a crack it came off with ease. Your jaw dropped, instinctively waiting for a lecture that never came. "Nice one, kid!" Felix grinned. Demetri smiled at you, ruffling your hair as he, along with Felix stood up. You had never known how much fun destruction could be. You felt a rush run through you, suddenly very eager to do it again. The two vampires smiled as you clearly began to enjoy yourself. You spun driving your fist into some wooden railing above a half wall. All came off with ease and you made a noise of accomplishment before the force of your spin caused you to fall to the floor. Next that was heard as Felix's booming laugh before he punched chunks out of the brick in the wall. As you all continued, you grew more and more surprised that it didn't hurt very much and you didn't even have a scratch on you. 

You were having such a good time you didn't even hear the twins approaching. "Watch and learn, you two." Felix gestured to you. "You're more than able to help after all." Jane huffed. "Why would we ever concern ourselves with such things?" "Entertainment. Again, look at (Y/N)." They did exactly that to see you have the time of your life with Demetri, ripping a cabinet open. 

“Are you guys sure about this?” You asked, looking into the mug. After a moment of silence you quickly apologised. “Sorry! I...I ask a lot of questions.” You said hurriedly. Heidi frowned slightly. “Listen honey, I’m not going to give you trouble because you ask questions. That’s a good thing, take it from me. Actually, i’ll tell you something i’ve lived by all these years, even when i was human. Only ever ask questions. It gets others into trouble. Never give answers. It gets you into trouble." Heidi sent you a reassuring smile. “Now to answer that question. It’s absolutely fine.”  “If we wanted to kill you, there is easier ways.” Alec rolled his eyes. “You need to become accustomed to a blood diet. We can’t always give you a  regular human diet.” 

Slowly, you put the mug to your lips, taking a reluctant sip. Your first instinct was to pull back sharply, your brain reminding you profusely that it was blood in a mug. Although you weren’t repulsed.  “It should be an easier compromise for you that it’s warmed up.” Heidi smiled. “It was a blood bag but introducing you to blood and it’s cold...is a little cruel. Especially since we don’t drink it cold.” There was a slight gleam in her eye. You took another, longer sip.  “It doesn’t taste bad.” You sounded slightly surprised.  “Of course not, you’re half vampire.” Alec said. 

Once you had finished it, Alec held his hand out. “Took you long enough.”  “Alec!” Heidi tutted. Alec scowled at Heidi in response. Suddenly, you had an idea. You didn’t let go as Alec took it from you. Alec sighed, sending you a look of annoyance. "Let go of it. Now." You smiled at him. "You're pushing your luck, little one." Alec warned you with a clenched jaw. "You could easily take it from me." You replied, still holding onto the handle of the mug. "Does blood just make you more annoying? Hand it over!" Alec snapped. "Again, you've proven many times you could just take it from me." For a moment, Alec's anger was visible and he pulled the mug from you...only to find the mug now in two separate pieces. You still had the handle whilst Alec had the rest of it. Alec sighed, sending you another look of annoyance. "Now we're even for you threatening me, truce?" You asked lightly. Alec's instinct was to yell no, throw you to the ground and break every bone in your body. "Fine." He said through a clenched jaw. 

"Dare I say it..." Felix mused and he and Demetri walked down the corridor. "...I think Alec actually likes them. They test his patience every couple of minutes but I've never seen him be so gentle." Demetri thought for a moment. "Or it could have been my warning." The two cracked a knowing smile at one another, both very aware that the latter just simply wasn't the case. "I have to agree with you friend. I was wary at first but a thought occurred to me." Felix raised an eyebrow at Demetri, pressing for his friend to continue. "Jane and Alec are the same age physically as (Y/N). Perhaps it'd do them good." Felix thought for a moment before agreeing with a nod. "I didn't think of it that way. I suppose it would be the beneficial for the twins. Jane may take some time though." Demetri hummed. "Well we do have lots of it, friend." 

After some time, you began to think about your mother, now that you were experiencing the Volturi first hand, it made you wonder about her. More specifically, her feelings on you. The quiet always did bring nagging and often negative thoughts. Alec noticed almost immediately something was wrong. What made the matter worse was that he actually cared. He hated that but somehow he hated seeing you upset more. Your back was to him yet he knew you were crying. You had curled into yourself slightly and were trying very hard not to let your crying be heard. "Are you alright?" Alec asked quietly, moving to your side but refusing to look at you. You jumped slightly, quickly wiping your eyes. "Yeah!" You said, frantically nodding. "I'm fine." Alec tensely turned his head to look at you. "What's wrong?" Under his stare, one thing was simple. You couldn't lie to him. "I was just thinking about..." You trailed off, finding it difficult to really sum up what you were thinking. “I had so many questions and secrets about my life that I didn't want to notice the differences. I couldn't ignore them when she was gone...my mum.” Alec was quiet as you continued. "I can't help but think...she was scared of me. Or maybe that secretly, deep down she hated me." Alec thought for a moment. "Your mother was annoying." He said simply. Your eyes shifted to his. "I didn't like her. At all. I was very disgruntled to discover she was pregnant. I wanted to discover she wasn't compatible and be killed. Clearly I didn't get my way." Alec cast you a glance, noting your look of horror. "We weren't allowed near you." Alec continued. "When you were born my sister and I were the last people on this earth she'd ever let near you. She was hysterical when you were given to Jane who delivered you to the leaders. I won't lie, I enjoyed the misery it caused her." Alec paused, as though uncomfortable. "However, I think it's quite clear that if your mother ever hated you, she wouldn't have clung to you as she did. She wouldn't have risked her life to take you away. The way I see it is the exact opposite. I think she loved you more than anything in the world. She may have hated herself for that deep down. Some kind of moral dilemma I suppose, wanting to love and protect a child that is half vampire. She experienced our way of life and decided she didn't want it for you. So even if it killed her, she'd make sure she protected you from our world.” "What if she gave me up? Put me up for adoption or abandoned me?" "You'd have been back here immediately." Alec said flatly. "For the purpose of our laws and that Demetri wouldn't have had it. He let you go knowing you'd be with your mother and that this castle, isn't the best for raising a child. So if you had a better life, even if it wasn't with him, he'd make that sacrifice for you. In all honesty though, it was only a matter of time before you were apart of our world anyway. It's half of your DNA, you can't hide that for long." You couldn't help but crack a smile. "No wonder you hate me, you couldn't stand my mother." Alec paused. "i don't hate you." You looked at him in surprise. "I actually like you but you can be so damn annoying." You laughed. 

 "You believe the child is gifted?" Caius said as he turned to Aro. "Indeed." Aro hummed. "It's quite fascinating. Although I cannot be certain." "Do you think it would be useful to us?" Caius pressed and Aro hummed in thought. "Upon occasion." "What might it be?" Marcus asked. "I believe (Y/N) can see what's happening in current times with people they know. I believe I caught a glimpse of it in action. They saw Carlisle before meeting him but didn't understand." "From what you have told us, that seems logical considering they didn't know their true nature." Caius replied and Aro nodded. "Our focus right now is to keep them comfortable whilst transitioning them to a blood diet. Then we will investigate this potential gift." Aro decided. 

You hadn’t been able to find anyone. As it seemed, you found them all in a room. You staggered back in shock. Blood pooled in one side of the room that looked almost identical to the throne room. However this one, wasn’t marble. It was stone, there was a wooden table and wooden chairs and in the middle of the room was a large, bulky grate. You noticed the three leaders were missing, yet the higher guard were not. All of them were present.  “I was looking for you.” You said to Demetri but warily couldn’t take your eyes from the large puddle.  “I see, well allow us to clean this up and i’ll be right with you.” You began to shake slightly remembering that the Volturi didn’t feed from blood bags, not according to Carlisle’s story anyway. As you stood before the grate. You froze.  “(Y/N)?” Demetri called out but you didn’t respond. You looked in horror at the large grate, slightly trembling. Everything in your body told you to look away but you couldn't...and then your eyes focused on a hand. 

You screamed, staggering back in horror. Demetri was quick to catch you in a vice grip. He was talking to you, but you couldn't hear him. Tears falling from your eyes. In that moment, you knew. This is what your mother was trying to protect you from. You remembered Carlisle's story and it disturbed you, making you hysterical. You tried to get out of Demetri's hold but he wouldn't let you. All the while, the story looped in your head. Your mother looked at the same grate. She watched as her friends lifeless bodies were dropped inside. At the end of it all, not only did her friends never come home, neither did she. She could never tell the tale, even though it haunted her everyday. You could feel the fear that she without a doubt felt back then. 

You continued to scream, shaking violently in Demetri's arms. "Demetri, move." Alec said, finally moving forward with his arms out stretched. Demetri stepped back as the mist glided up to you. Your screaming and tears began die down. You began to lean and Demetri was quick to catch you lowering you to the ground. Demetri wiped your tears before looking at Alec who moved in front of you. "You can hear us now, I'll give you the rest of your senses back in a moment. Right now, you need to listen. You're alright. No one is going to hurt you but you need to calm down. I'll give you feeling back in one hand. Move your fingers if you understand." Alec's eyes dropped to your left hand. Your fingers twitched. "Good. Now remember, be calm. Nothing is going to hurt you." You began to blink erratically, swallowing hard. Before your eyes could wander beyond Alec and back to the grate, Demetri turned your head away. "Don't look." You met your father's gaze. Demetri looked heartbroken, apologetic. "I need to be alone right now." You said quietly. 

It felt like you had gotten the best if both worlds. Your mother told you nothing, wanting to protect you. It had seemed wrong at the time but now that you had the alternative, you missed it. Your father was honest with you. Perhaps a little too honest. The truth was no longer a sought ally but instead something you wanted to run from. The truth always seemed like a bright light to you. Now that you knew the truth for what it was. It was dark. 

You didn’t even go to your room, you rushed to the top floor of the castle, a place still and quiet and judging by the layer of dust on everything. It was abandoned, as many old places were. It seemed even areas of the castle weren’t safe from being forgotten by the vampires. You hunched over, swallowing back another wave of tears, trying to focus on the wooden floorboards underneath you. However it was no use, the tears constantly fighting they’re way out.  Suddenly in the corner of your eye, you saw someone. 

You turned to look at them and froze in shock. “Have I finally gone insane?” You trembled slightly, staring unblinkingly at your mother who mirrored your sitting position beside you.  “This place makes people go insane. Believe me.” She glanced around the dark room, only illuminated by moonlight. She noted your tremble and exhaled. “No. You’re afraid and that’s a very sane thing.” “Was this a mistake?” You asked her.  “A mistake? I don’t think so. Beyond the fear, lies the truth. You know everything now, there’s nothing left to protect you from.” Your mother responded.  “But you had reason to.”  “Yes...mine. My reasons. Truth be told, i knew nothing would happen to you here. Demetri loved you more than anything in the world. Protect you maybe, but I knew him well. I knew that me taking you away would be one of the most painful things to him. So I took you. I got my own revenge in the end.”  “Fighting fire with fire?” You whispered.  “It’s what this place drives you to do. Kill or be killed, hunt or be hunted. Adapt...or fall. This place...it saves them you know, it’s their sanctuary.” You turned to look at her and she continued. “None of them would last five minutes out there, they hide because they have to. The witch twins are a prime example. They could never survive modern life. So they hide and mock us for being expendable, never willing to admit the truth that in the end, we’re all leaving them behind. However there is something important in knowing that, (Y/N)- in knowing all of this, knowing why i did what i did.” A tear ran down your face but your mother continued.  “It isn’t your story, it didn't happen to you. They’ve treated you well. You did not live my story and so you won’t hold it against them. I’ve already done that for the both of us.” Your mother said firmly. “Before you died, you were adamant I never discovered any of this.” You began but never continued. Although your mother seemed to catch on. “You know me better than that.” Your mother chastised. “I had to let you go, it wasn’t fair to you. At the very end, I knew i had to let you go and you had to go back to him. If you taught me anything, it was that terrible beginnings don’t always have to be terrible endings. So if it was best for you, i’d give him back the one he loved the most.” Another tear ran down your cheek, before the tear hit the floor, your mother was gone. 

Ghosts were a lovely thought but you couldn't say you believed in them. You knew you needed your mother in that time and so you created her in your mind and willed her to speak the words you were so desperate to hear. In that moment you felt at peace, whether you had fooled yourself into believing what you wanted. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was enough for you to pull yourself to a stand and wipe your eyes. 

You stepped down the last step, meeting eyes with Alec. “There you are. You had some of us worried.” Your gaze travelled to his. He paused, his eyes canning your face. “Are you alright?”  “Yes.” You whispered.  “(Y/N), there is a lot of frightening things in this world but just as there is the ugly, there is the beautiful and good things in this world. When you live through what i have, what i have survived, believe me when i say, those terrible things are nothing in comparison, you’d go through a million of those terrible things because that one good thing is so rewarding. You have a father that loves you and will always be here for you. If you want it to be...this is your home.” Alec’s words resonated with you. Slowly, what he was trying to say made sense. You remembered the memories you had already made with your father, with Alec, with the Cullens, Renesmee ... your mother. None of them were perfect. Most had to do terrible things to survive. Yet that didn’t take away from any tender moment. So you let it go. Just as your mother had told you upstairs, whether she was real or your imagination. 

“Alec, i’d like to thank you.” You began.  “For what?” Alec asked.  “For your time, your effort. Angry or not, you’ve been there every step of the way. So thank you, you saved me. This is home.” Alec smirked slightly. “I know what it’s like.” 

Demetri looked into the room, find you fast asleep with your book still in hand and open at the page, laying on your stomach. Your hands held it in place but it was clear to see you were in a very deep sleep. Demetri noted you were still in comfortable clothing. He quietly moved towards you before gently lifting your hand and sliding the book out from your other hand. He marked the place before putting it on your bedside table. Carefully he lifted one of your legs ever so slightly to move in under the covers before doing the same with the other. Demetri pulled the covers over you, up to your shoulders. He didn't want you to get cold. He was pleased with himself that he didn't wake you. You didn't even stir. He tucked you in ever so slightly. Whilst he knew that wasn't necessary, he couldn’t help himself. He'd missed so much of you growing up, this was the first time he'd ever tucked you in since you were days old. He turned off the lamp beside your bed before leaning down to kiss your head. Just as silently, he left, leaving the door open just a crack. He had noticed you preferred the door like that most times. 

[mochegato]

Pixie Spy

Chapter 5

Chapter 1    Chapter 4

Marinette laid on Nino’s living room floor studying the stolen Grimoire files on her tablet.  She had been staring at the same page for the last two hours, making little progress.  Just because she could translate the ancient text, it didn’t mean it was easy or quick.  In fact, it was headache inducing and with Adrien focusing on keeping them caught up on homework while she and Chloe were otherwise occupied, she was translating alone.  She knew there were amazing secrets held in the texts, the drawings promised amazing new powers for each of the miraculous, she just needed to decode them.  

She scrunched her eyes closed and rubbed them to clear her vision that had started crossing.  Now, she decided, was a perfect time to take a break.  She looked around the room for a distraction. Adrien was near her on the floor, leaning against the couch and working on the physics assignment they had received that day, having already finished the calculus assignment.  Alya, having already passed her research onto Chloe, was on the couch working on the French Lit homework. Nino was sprawled out on the couch with his feet propped up on Alya’s lap, not working on anything, staring off into space with a furrowed brow instead.  

Everyone was working quietly except for Chloe who was making her discontent with her surroundings abundantly clear through her frequent huffs and exaggerated movements.  She was sitting in a chair making notes in a notebook referencing her laptop occasionally.  She huffed and wiggled uncomfortably in the chair, “Tell me again why we have to do this here?” Chloe demanded, not bothering to mask her disgust with the middle class surroundings.

“We can’t meet in the hotel because we can’t take the chance the Waynes would see Marinette walking in the lobby or the hallway. We can’t meet at Adrien’s place because Asshole Dad.  We can’t meet at Marinette’s in case they’ve made her already.  That leaves my place or here and my place has the twins who are currently both grounded and bored so… that leaves here.” Alya explained calmly, not bothering to look up from her homework.

“Yeah, yeah, but couldn’t we have met at like a nice café or pub?” Chloe whined, rubbing her arms as though contact with the chair fabric were scratching her.

“And take the texts outside?” Adrien asked with a raised brow motioning toward Marinette.

“Plus until we know how much they know, it is probably best I’m not seen out more than absolutely necessary, hence the…” she indicated the oversized hoodie she had stolen from Kim some time ago she had been wearing all day, mostly with her hood up, completely enveloping her head.

“I thought that was so you could hide from Laurence…” Alya said with a sly grin.

“Or Noelle,” Adrien threw in.

“Or Ignace…” Chloe added, keeping her focus on her laptop.

“Okay stop.  Really, Chloe?  Wouldn’t you much rather talk about the throngs of people throwing themselves at you?” Marinette attempted to divert her to one of her favorite topics, herself.

“Oh sweetie, we don’t have that kind of time.” Chloe said throwing her ponytail over her shoulder.  “We’re just talking about the ten or twenty we know about willing to let you tie them up and beat them like a piñata then thank you for the privilege.”

“That sounds like a regular Saturday night for you, Chlo,” Alya grinned.

“I…I don’t know how to react to that.” Marinette scrunched her face in confusion.  “My first inclination is to say she’s exaggerating, but it’s Chloe and if anything she would underplay it.  Plus I am extremely not happy with that little insight into Chloe’s bedroom, so… I’m going to ignore this entire conversation.” Marinette said turning back to her tablet.

Adrien looked up from his notes for a few moments staring in thought at nothing, “Valid,” he nodded, turning back to his work as well.

Nino had stayed silent throughout the conversation staring instead unfocused at a spot on the floor for the past few minutes. Adrien glanced back at him with curiosity.  “Hey,” he smacked his hand into Nino’s leg, “you okay there?  You completely missed us teasing Marinette about her fans. That’s one of your favorite topics.”

“Ahhh, Laurence… yeah, that dude makes me nervous. Michel is cute though.  I could see that.” Marinette gave an affronted squawk. Nino continued without acknowledging her, “No, I was just thinking… we know Batman’s secret identity.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said uncertainly.

“And he doesn’t know ours.” Nino continued.

“Right,” Adrien encouraged still not sure where the conversation was going.

“And we have you and Chloe, both pretty famous and could easily end up at a party or event with at least one of them…” Nino mused thinking out loud.

“True.”

“So… how much can we mess with him about it without getting killed?” Nino asked raising his brow with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Dude!” Adrien exclaimed excitedly, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

“You want us to prank the Dark Knight?” Alya looked at him like he was crazy.

“Really?” Marinette deadpanned.

“Yeah, you’re right.  It is potentially fraught with danger.  We might need to bring Alix and Max in on this.” Nino nodded still thinking about how he could manage it.

Alya dropped her head into her hands, “Idiot.” She muttered shaking her head in her hands, not entirely sure if he was joking or not.  Honestly, either option was possible.

“Well, that makes you two perfect for each other,” Chloe deadpanned still focused on writing something down in her notebook missing the withering look Alya shot her.

“Okay Kim,” Marinette rolled her eyes at Nino.  She looked uncertain for a moment then pushed herself back until she was sitting on her heels and spoke hesitantly, “Or… we could discuss if we are still certain we don’t want the Batfamily here.  Are we sure we don’t want their help?”

“Yes, yes we are,” Alya replied, her voice bordering on disbelief that Marinette would even ask.  “We know what the Justice League is like.  We know what they’ve done and we have a damn good idea what they could do given half the chance.  We gave in on Constantine and look what happened.  We cannot trust them.”

“Think about the last few weeks, Marinette.  Think how much worse they would have been if those people had powers to begin with and understood the extent of their powers, how to push them, how to exploit them.  What to ask for from Hawkmoth to do the most damage?” Nino added.

“The bats don’t have superpowers.” Marinette defended.

“But they work with people who do.  They have strategized attack plans around people who have powers. They understand them and what’s most effective…” Chloe added barely looking up from her notepad.

“And they are incredibly well trained in combat and strategic planning… It would be hard enough without them having super powers. With them, we would be fucked.” Adrien added cutting in on Chloe’s statement.

“We are barely keeping up as it is.  If one of the bats of Justice League were to get akumatized…” Nino let the statement trail off, allowing everyone to use their imagination to fill in the rest.

“Exactly!  We are barely keeping up.  Do we need to consider getting help?  From someone with more experience and different skills?  From someone with experience using superpowers against an opponent?” Marinette ran a hand over her face, “I’m just… I’m getting scared. And I don’t know if that is because I’m seeing a pattern or if I’m just frustrated with where we are and desperate for any change.  And the more distance I have from it, the more I wonder if Constantine was right.  Is it time to bring someone in, but we’re just too scared to try something different?”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a banal, obvious statement,” she glared at Adrien, “they have a good understanding of powers, their strengths and weaknesses, and how to strategize around them, which would make them powerful akumas, or incredibly advantageous assets against an akuma.”  Everyone stared at her in surprise.  “Stunned looks terrible on you.” She said making clear she was directing it to all of them.  “The silent awe of me is appropriate though.” She said sitting back in her chair only to immediately grunt and start squirming against the fabric again.

“It isn’t just the powers, I don’t trust them, especially Batman.  If we give them half the chance, I’m afraid they will try to take the miraculous because they think they could wield them and protect them better.” Adrien admitted.  

The group took a second to let both sides of the argument sink in, unsure how to move forward.  Both outcomes could lead to horrific outcomes that nobody wanted to allow. They were all afraid and they knew they were, but like Marinette, they didn’t know if the fear was holding them back from making a mistake or from having a breakthrough.

After a few moments of quiet, Nino broke the quiet in a soothing voice, “We have no way to know which way things will tilt.  Let’s see what we get from the files and reassess then. No reason to introduce more chaos until we know what we have to work with already.  Have you found anything yet?”

“A bit.  Ugh,” she said accepting the change of topic and looking at her notebook with disgust, “this would be so much easier if the kwamis could just tell us all the possible uses of the miraculous were and the ways they could be combined.”

“Yeah, but then Hawkmoth would have known too… and Mayura and Argus.” Tikki pointed out.

“That’s a horrifying thought.  I don’t think we could have taken Hawkmoth and Mayura when we started if they had known all their options.” Adrien shuttered thinking about it.

“That’s why they created the rule that kwami could only tell the very basic powers and responsibilities.  Anything more than that can only come from the Order, so if anyone stole a miraculous, they wouldn’t be able to effectively wield it, making it easier for trained wielders to get it back.”  Trixx said.

“A bit more effective back when there was an Order and masters who actually trained wielders, but you know, times change,” Plagg shrugged with a thinly disguised disgust.

“Okay but let me just say not having known this,” Marinette turned the tablet around for them to see the image of the dragon miraculous she had been studying, “was an option is extremely upsetting.”

“Dibs!” Nino called out, jumping up from the couch before anyone else could call it.

“Fuck you, I saw it first.  I’ve got dibs.  I’ve got plans for it.”  Marinette blew him off.

“No way, you’re going to see all of them first.” Nino pouted.

Marinette grinned at him, “Guardian” she singsonged.  

Trixx floated up closer to the tablet.  “Oh that one.  Yeah, everyone likes that one.  It’s actually just a variation of the power you know already so it is a lot easier to pick up than it looks.”

Plagg floated next to her to check it out too.  “If you like that one, just wait until you find out about…” his sentence was cut off by an overflow of green bubbles falling out of his mouth, causing him to glare at nothing and everything at the same time.

“Okay enough of that.  My turn.” Chloe announced turning her laptop to display pictures of each of the Waynes and their alter egos.

Adrien leaned forward to get a closer look at the images and suddenly his eyes got huge and he gasped, “Oh my God… in the name of all that is holy and good in this world, please tell me the one in the godawful, Red Skull wannabe mask is the one you were making heart eyes at all night.  Please, please, please…” Adrien begged Marinette.

Marinette refused to meet his eyes and pursed her lips, focusing intently on the laptop.  “No comment.”

“It is him! Can I please, please be there when you ‘discuss’ that mask with him before we kick him out?” Adrien said shaking with delight at the thought of it.

Marinette glared at him, “We are going to be focusing on getting them out of Paris without drawing further curiosity or ire, not their wardrobe.” She pointed out turning to Chloe with an expectant look trying to prompt her to continue but couldn’t stop herself from whipping back toward Adrien, “And, I don’t even know if he was even interested in me at all.  It’s far more likely they are concerned about the situation than he is about getting a date.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “You’re not that stupid, Dupain-Cheng. The honeypotting wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t interested.”

“I did NOT honeypot him…. And I still don’t know what that means!” Marinette yelled exasperated.

“Yeah, yeah.  But I get to be there right?” Adrien implored ignoring her annoyance and still not giving her a definition.  At this point, it was a matter of pride… or comedy.  Either way, he was dedicated to never telling her what it meant.

“Oooooo and me too,” Alya jumped in.

“You should just leave your com on so we can all hear.” Chloe commented with feigned disinterest.

“We should put it on speaker.  The kwamis will want to hear it too.” Nino agreed with a grin.

“I hate all of you,” Marinette grumbled crossing her arms in front of her as she pouted.

Adrien chuckled at her before putting her out of her misery, “Okay, Chlo.  What did you figure out?”

“So, I focused on Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne.  I couldn’t get an identity on Spoiler and there is no public information on Cassandra Cain, who is probably Batgirl, so I could only look at her vigilante work.  But if Constantine is right, they are both still in Shanghai.  It is unlikely they would have brought them in just to talk with us.  So for tonight, they don’t matter.”  Chloe explained before continuing with her analysis.

“The rest of the Wayne family are a treasure trove of insecurities, pressure points, and triggers.  I’m just going to go over the biggest ones since we hopefully will only have to deal with them for a few minutes at the most.  These unstable assholes are definitely Hawkmoth’s wet dream. Extremely well trained and no control over their emotions.  All have extreme versions of insecurity complexes, but react differently.

“Bruce Thomas Wayne is a control freak.  His public persona isn’t much help.  As far as I can tell, most of it is a mask.  He pretends to be a drunk, irresponsible, billionaire playboy but we know he’s Batman so all that is bullshit.  What isn’t is that he is a good negotiator and actor, all of which means he can be a good manipulator and we know from his experience as Batman that he is extremely strategic.  Be suspect of anything he tells you.  His intentions appear to stem from a genuine concern with making lives better, but how much he is willing to listen to other people’s opinion of what constitutes better is questionable, especially after what we know of the Justice League’s actions. He has a history of enforcing his vision onto other people, whether they want it or not, of taking control.  He needs to be in control, or feel like he is so he can prepare for what is coming and make sure it doesn’t turn against him.

“The oldest, Richard John Grayson, has a martyr complex.  He’s so devoted to the saving people thing he became a cop in his civilian life as well, by all accounts an uncorrupt one, and that’s saying something in Gotham and Blüdhaven.  Takes on too much at one time trying to fix everything and feels responsible for every bad thing that happens, even if he wasn’t there… especially if he wasn’t there, to stop it.  If he only would have done whatever, then the bad thing wouldn’t have happened.  If only he was better, blah, blah, blah. Sound familiar?” she looks pointedly at Marinette.  “That’s his weakest spot.  He takes the blame.

“The next, Jason Peter Todd has abandonment issues.  He’s constantly waiting for people to walk away from him like his parents did.  There is something more there, I know there is, like whatever happened when he disappeared for a few years, but we don’t have access to that information. Ridiculously protective of kids on the street, I think because he essentially grew up on them himself. But, here’s the catch, he became a crime lord in order to protect them.  He is willing to go dark to protect people, so they never have to feel like he did and never have to do what he had to do.  He’s straightforward and aggressive.  He feels like everyone is going to walk away from him because he isn’t enough for them to stay.  He’s dangerous.

“The next, Timothy Jackson Drake has inadequacy issues. Wealthy, absentee parents who likely never treated him like anything more than a business asset.” She looked sympathetically at Adrien.  “He is a certified genius.  Started running Wayne Enterprises a few years ago.  He likes a challenge and is an incredible negotiator.  He likes working things out on his own.  He’s smart and curious.  He knows exactly what to ask in order to get the information he needs without you even knowing that’s what he did.  Be careful answering any questions or reacting to any statements from him.  He is constantly trying to prove himself so people will love him.  He takes any failure extremely personally because it means he doesn’t deserve love and a reminder that he isn’t who he thought he was and therefore not worthy.

“The youngest, Damian Wayne, known as the Ice Prince in Gotham, has a superiority complex.  Nobody gets close to him and nobody wants to.  He showed up in Gotham at age 10 with a fully-fledged attitude.  Everyone and everything is beneath him.  He also drives himself to extremes in order to confirm his superiority.  He insults and belittles others because he believes he should be superior to everyone around him, but he is afraid he isn’t and if he isn’t better, then he is significantly worse.”

The rest of the room looked at her sympathetically.  They all knew she wasn’t just talking about Damian. That was her up until a few years ago. She needed to believe she was better than everyone else and needed everyone around her to believe it too.  If she was better then she deserved her parents’ love.  If she had everyone else’s love, it made it easier to fool herself into believing her parents loved her as well, or blunt the feeling when she would realize just how much they didn’t.  But years of therapy, a higher purpose, and real friends that truly wanted the best for her but refused to take any shit from her, made her realize she didn’t need to be that person to deserve love.

“Also keep in mind there are likely significant trust issues going on here.” Chloe continued ignoring the looks from the rest of the room.  “There are a lot of reports of violence between Red Hood and Red Robin, Red Hood and Robin, Red Hood and… everyone actually, as well as Robin and Red Robin.  Based on fact that violence is higher immediately after a changing of the guard, I’d say the passing of the mantle from one Robin to another has never been consensual and likely contributed to their complexes.  They are held together by the thinnest of threads.  We can snap that if we need to… but I don’t think we want to go that far.  If we snap that… I don’t know how much damage that will do or if they will come back from it.” She cautioned hesitantly.

“Agreed.  I don’t want to go there.  There is plenty to use without going into the family issues, without causing irreparable damage.” Marinette concurred.  They didn’t want the Bat family in Paris but they didn’t want to destroy them either. She wasn’t willing to let herself or her team become monsters in order to stop them.  At the end of the day, they were ultimately all on the same team, they all wanted the same outcome, they just had different ways they wanted to get there… and different ideas about who got to decide that… and who should lead it…

“God these people need a hug not whatever that ‘family’ of theirs is providing each other.” Nino said aghast at the report.

“Marinette’s already on top of that, at least for one of them…” Alya smirked.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Marinette narrowed her eyes at her.

“I’m on top of that one,” Nino grinned, raising his hand.

“Oh God.  Seriously we need to investigate that brain bleach thing,” Marinette groaned squeezing her eyes shut trying to keep that image from appearing.

“Okay,” Adrien announced over everyone, “we all agree after this whole Hawkmoth thing is over, I get to kick Constantine’s ass and we all portal over to the Batcave and hug the insecure, unfairly cute, prickly, little echidnas until they feel better, right?” Adrien asked solemnly.

“Ugh, fine but I’m not hugging the gremlin.  Someone else gets that one,” Chloe called out throwing out her arms.

The room stilled as everyone else looked at each other, “Not it!” they all called at almost the exact same moment.

“Damn it,” Nino cried as he realized he had been a few seconds slower than everyone else.

“That’s what you get for being a turtle.  When the confrontation happens, I got the pampered rich kid.”  Chloe announced.  This was her area.  She knew just where to push kids like that, like her.  She knew exactly what to say to get them, her, to hit them at their most vulnerable.  To push just enough to make an impact without breaking them.

“No, Chloe.  We don’t want to tip our hand and we need you guys to stand sentry.  I want you, Alya, and Nino to hang back acting as scouts. This is likely to go bad and I need you guys in a triangular formation a block out watching for akumas.  Adrien and I will talk to them.”

“Alone?” Nino asked tentatively.  His job was to protect.  He didn’t like the idea of not being close enough to act if they should need it.

“They aren’t going to attack us, at least not physically.  And we will take an extra miraculous each.” Marinette smiled gently to placate him.

“Are you sure two is enough, m’lady?” Adrien asked curiously.

“You sure you aren’t just trying to keep it a bit more intimate for you and your boy?” Alya waggled her eyebrows.

Marinette glared at her, “Two should be enough.” She said ignoring the previous statement, “Combined with your two, we should be able to cover what we need to. It’s just the Batfamily.  We should be able to handle them with just one each even if they wanted to attack us.” She grinned at Adrien.  “Magic, gotta love it.”  

“Okay but when he calls you incompetent, which he will, you need to push back.  Point out the ways he’s failed.  He isn’t better than us, no matter what he thinks and the sooner you make him realize that, the sooner the real conversation can start.” Chloe warned.

“He is all of, what, 13?  We are not going to try to emotionally damage a child.” Nino stated flatly.

“As long as he thinks he is better than us, he won’t take us seriously.” Chloe warned.  Nino just glared back at her, not willing to give in on this.  “Fine, if you don’t want to point out his failings, then point out the most impressive things we’ve done that they haven’t.  That should suffice.  Not as effective, but it should get you there.”

“Okay, if we’re going to start discussing strategy, we’re going to need some sustenance.  Let’s get dinner ready so we can start discussing the plan for tonight,” Alya said throwing Nino’s legs off her lap.  Marinette and Nino followed her to the kitchen leaving Chloe and Adrien behind.

“You know, I noticed something with your analysis, Chloe,” Adrien started quietly keeping his eyes on their friends.

“I would hope you noticed more than just one thing,” Chloe chided him.

“Cute,” he said rolling his eyes, “Jason was the only one you said was dangerous, why is that?  

“I thought it was obvious?  The others have a limit.  I don’t know that he does.  And Marinette likes him, a lot.  He has a power to hurt her that the others don’t.  And they are very different.  They are both willing to go as far as necessary to help others, but to her that means killing herself, to him that means killing everyone else and himself,” She looked at him uncertainly, “and I’m not sure how she will react to that.”

“You think he would do that if we let him stay here?”

“I don’t know enough about him to predict what he will do.  He dialed it back to work with the bats again but… There really isn’t that much on him. I can tell you what Red Hood has done and that is bad, but not Jason Todd.  Since he disappeared, presumed dead, hell maybe he was, who knows what happens in Gotham, there is nothing on Jason Todd.  If you want me to try to predict, you can hop on down to Africa and see if you can borrow the kwami of prediction.  Until then, it’s all guesswork.  I need to see him.  See how he acts before I could even try.”

He stared at her for a few seconds a look of utter confusion on his face, “You think the kwami of prediction is in Africa?”

“Do you ever hear any miraculous related shit doing down in Africa?” she fixed him with a knowing stare.

“No,” he said cautiously

“Exactly, because they know what’s coming and they do their fucking jobs.” She winked at him and walked away.

<><><><><> 

Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damian sat in the living area of Bruce’s hotel room in various states of suited up for the night.  They had barely had time to throw their bags in their rooms before meeting up to prepare for the night.  Damian was completely dressed and ready to go on a moment’s notice, as always more than ready to focus on business.  Bruce and Tim were in everything but their masks, choosing comfort until they had to leave.  Jason was sitting in a large chair in just his pants and shirt, attempting to look relaxed and nonchalant about them being so close to the girl he met at the gala. They were all staring at a massive screen linking them to Dick, Alfred, and Selina in the Batcave.  

“So, how’s Paris, boys?” Selina asked from her position lounging in one of the chairs.  “Meet any interesting people yet?  Jason?”  She added with a smirk.

“You know Bruce, all work and no play.  We haven’t gotten a chance to get out and meet anyone.  Doing this instead.” Jason shrugged with a practiced indifference, forcing himself to recline further back into the chair in an effort to seem casual.  

“Haven’t even gotten to see the Eiffel Tower yet?” She asked in mock sympathy.

“Oh, no, we saw it… from the plane.” Jason played along.

“You really should make sure to visit the Eiffel Tower while there, Master Bruce.”  Alfred threw in trying to downplay his amused smile.

“It’s not as impressive as you think it will be,” Tim muttered to nobody in particular.

“We’re here for a reason, Jason.  If we don’t want to lose today, we need to get started immediately…”  Bruce admonished him but upon looking up and seeing Alfred’s unimpressed look added, “We can get lunch near the Eiffel Tower tomorrow.  Better?” He looked to Alfred who switched to small smile instead.  Taking that as approval, Bruce nodded to Tim indicating they were ready for him to start his presentation.

Tim nodded to Bruce and moved to the front of the group and pulled up an image from the Ladyblog displaying five superheroes and their names on half of the screen.  “I’ve found a few local resources on the heroes we couldn’t see back home and have downloaded their contents and sent them back to you guys,” he said nodding toward the half of the screen displaying the cave, “so you can look through the information as well.  I’m not sure what is preventing the data from being accessible from America, but I suspect magic.” He glared at the screen like it personally offended him, “I hate magic.

“I’ve only had about 30 minutes to prepare so this is going to be brief.  I mainly focused on… well actually I mainly focused on figuring out the best resources for information, downloading copies of the site content, and sending a copy back to the batcomputer.  But after that, I mainly focused on figuring out who the heroes are so we know who we might run into and who to look for tonight.  

“The available information indicates a villain named Hawkmoth appeared in Paris roughly five years ago…”

“Huh. Where have I heard that before?” Jason muttered from his seat.

“… and the heroes Ladybug and Chat Noir appeared at the same time.” Tim continued a bit louder this time.  “There appear to be five regular heroes and a few heroes that appear from time to time. Here are images of the heroes we know about,” he nodded to the image on the screen.  He switched briefly to another image displaying the lesser known heroes before returning to the image of the main five heroes.  “Not every battle is caught on camera and of the battles that are caught, most of the actual fighting is not caught, making it easy to miss heroes and villains in the fight.  The resources make it clear there likely are more heroes that we don’t know about, which I would say is a definite since your girlfriend didn’t appear on any of the sites.” He nodded toward Jason who just huffed and crossed his arms in response, not willing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“The primary heroes are Ladybug and Chat Noir, with Ladybug as the leader.  Those are the two we need to convince if we want any information.  We know a few identities of past heroes, including a girl who lives in this hotel, Chloe Bourgeois.  She was a bee themed heroine named Queen Bee.  Since then another bee themed heroine has appeared and is one of the 5 regulars.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at the screen, “It looks like the same person.  Could it be her in a different costume?”

“I don’t think so,” Tim answered shaking his head, “When I was looking at her page on the sites I think I saw that she has been seen at the same time as the new bee hero.  I can analyze it more when I get more time, but the local experts don’t appear to think they are.  We don’t know the identity of the new bee.”

“You think they look similar?” Dick asked incredulously.  “You’re crazy.  Their costume, hair color, eye color, height, everything is different.”  Jason looked between Dick and the image of the two bee wielders a few times.  One of them was crazy, he just wasn’t sure which one of them it was.

“Figure out where she lives then you should arrange to run into her tomorrow.” Bruce said nodding toward Tim.

Tim gave a single nod to Bruce accepting the assignment.  “There seems to have been a massive overhaul of heroes about a year into the fight.  All of the heroes except Ladybug and Chat Noir were replaced with new heroes.  No explanation was given… or maybe there is one I just haven’t found it yet.”

Damian scoffed, “There’s one villain and five or more heroes and they haven’t been able to take him down?  Pathetic. These are the people entrusted with objects capable to destroying the world?”

“I haven’t been able to get much information yet so we don’t know exactly what is going on but it looks like there is more than just Hawkmoth.  He might be a leader or mastermind behind the villains.  I’ve seen at least a few other villain names mentioned when looking up the heroes.”

“Do we think they all have a miraculous as well?” Dick asked.

“Not sure.  I haven’t gotten that far yet, but it stands to reason.” Tim nodded absentmindedly.

Jason moved closer to the screen staring intently at the pictures of Ladybug from different years.  There was something familiar about her but there was something else sitting on the edge of his consciousness, he just needed to figure out what his subconscious was trying to tell him.  His eyebrows furrowed and he narrowed his eyes trying to block out anything but the images.  His eyes widened as the realization suddenly hit him, “Mother fucker!”  He whipped around to Tim, “Do we have any indication of how old these heroes are?  They look like babies in those older pictures.”

Tim shrugged, “Haven’t gotten that far yet so, not sure.  But I glanced at a section on Ladybug and Chat Noir throughout history so at least for them, somewhere between 5 and 5000.  I should have a better idea tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to read a bit more.”  He squinted at the pictures, “You think they look young?”

“You don’t?” Jason asked incredulously.

Damian examined the images a bit harder as well.  “They do seem around my age in the first images.”

“Really?  I’m with Tim, I can’t tell either.  I can’t get a good feel for age when I look at the pictures.” Dick’s voice came over the speaker.  “That’s strange.  Their faces are at least partially exposed.  I should be able to get an idea at least.” He paused for a few seconds. “Do you think the magic is helping conceal their identities as well?”

Tim stared at the images as well, moving slowly closer to them, “Maybe,” he nodded subconsciously, “I can’t get a feel either.  The longer I stare at them the harder it is to tell anything.”

“Magic.” Bruce shook his head in disgust.  “Anything else to tell us tonight, Tim?”

Tim shook his head “Not today.  I’ll have more tomorrow.”

Bruce nodded a thanks and switched places with Tim.  Damian scowled at Tim and moved to put some distance between him and Tim.  Tim fought off rolling his eyes in annoyance, but only just managed it.  Bruce turned to the rest of the team, “Okay, as soon as we are done here, we’ll start scouting the city to see if we can make contact. We are not looking to be too subtle with this.  We want them to know we are here.  If you catch sight of them, let the rest of us know we will send someone to talk to them about a meeting later tonight or tomorrow.  I want to make this very clear.  Our goal today is to meet the local heroes and set up a meeting in the next few days in order to gather more information.   The primary mission is recon.  We have no idea what exactly is going on here or how dangerous it is.  We are not engaging tonight.  We want them to trust us, think we’re on their side, and get as much information out of them as we can, on the situation and the miraculous.”

“If we want them to trust us, we should leave the rabid squirrel here.  Or better yet, send his petty ass home.  He’s only going to cause trouble.” Jason griped, motioning toward Damian.  Tim did roll his eyes this time.  It was a stupid fight to pick.  Damian wasn’t going anywhere.  Damian wanted to come and Bruce gave in.  They were just on containment duty now, trying to minimize the damage Damian would do.

“You’ve made your feelings more than abundantly clear on the matter, Little Wing, frequently.  Damian is there now.  Deal with it.” Dick reprimanded him, tired of this conversation. Jason hadn’t gotten his way in their discussion in the Batcave.  He hadn’t gotten his way discussing it the next day.  He hadn’t gotten his way in the car on the way to the airport or boarding the plane or on the plane or deplaning or while checking into the hotel, he wasn’t going to get Damian kicked off the mission now.

“Someone needs to be there to make sure you don’t tell them all our secrets trying to impress some vapid, philistine harpy.” Damian snapped turning his back to Jason.  

It was a small miscalculation, but in this family that is all that is needed. By moving away from Tim, he had placed himself close to Jason and by turning, he had left himself open to Jason’s much longer arm reach.  Jason grabbed Damian’s cape and yanked back sharply.  “Watch your mouth, you puerile, creepy, little shit.”  Damian let out a startled grunt before landing with a loud thump on the ground.  He growled at Jason and tensed to pounce on him.

“Jason!” Bruce admonished moving between the two boys.  “Let’s focus on the mission.”

Jason rolled his eyes.  Of fucking course that would be Bruce’s reaction. “Right. Don’t want to prevent the oncoming disaster if it’s coming from inside the house.” He leaned back in the chair with a huff.  “You want to focus on the mission, Old Man?  Fine.  Coming at them with an almost full team that includes this asshole,” he motioned toward Damian, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘trust us’, does it?  Do we really want everyone to show up to this thing?  Maybe one or two of you should stay in the room.”

“Considering your girlfriend threatened to leave us bloody and broken, more is probably a safer bet.  We probably should have insisted on Dick coming as well, maybe have the girls meet us here too.  And do you really want to leave Damian unsupervised?” Tim asked with a raised brow fully facing him.  The only way to attempt to contain Damian at this point was to keep him close and Jason knew it.

“You could stay with him.  We weren’t planning on actually having a discussion tonight anyway.  That way you could get more research done and someone could watch the child.” Jason reasoned. Tim nodded in thought.  Not a bad idea at all.  He would like more time to research before they actually interacted with any of the heroes.  But it came from Jason so there must be something wrong with it.  He just needed to figure out what it was.

Damian growled at the description.  “I am not a child.”

Jason scoffed back at him, “You act like one.”

Damian jumped at him flipping midair and unsheathing his katana, landing with it a few centimeters from Jason’s jugular, “Could a child do that?”

“One just did.” Jason glowered at him, hitting the sword away.

“Jason has a point.” Dick spoke up, breaking the tension.  Damian whipped his head to Dick’s image on the screen his face giving away a flash of hurt before almost immediately schooling his expression into a blank look.

“Did that hurt to say?” Jason asked with a smirk, “It looked like it hurt. That’s okay sometimes the most satisfying things do.”

“Yeah, that’s healthy,” Tim muttered to himself.

Dick rolled his eyes and continued on, ignoring Jason, “Sending so many, especially hostile ones, looks like a power play.  It looks like you’re trying to intimidate them.”

“We are,” Damian snapped at him.

“You aren’t.” Dick corrected him. “You’re trying to get them on your side. You are trying to get them to trust you.  Not scare them.”

“We won’t all show up to meet them.  I’ll take the lead along with Tim.  Jason and Damian will hold back and watch.” Bruce clarified.  “For tonight I want everyone out and about so we can cover more ground and hopefully either run into one of the heroes or make our presence known enough to get their attention for tomorrow.”

“If this” Damian indicated all of them in the room, “is all it takes to scare them, they need our help more than we thought.”

“He didn’t say it would scare them, he said it looks like we are trying to scare them.” Jason responded with a sharp edge to his voice.

“You’re welcome to stay back in the room.” Tim offered annoyed with the conversation.

“I have information I want too” Jason growled at him.

“We are not here to get information on that woman.” Tim rebuked him.

“You aren’t” Jason muttered turning away.

“Jason” Bruce said sternly, “We are here to collect data on the miraculous and the heroes and see how much danger we and the world are in and if something needs to be done.”

“Not get you a date with a girl you don’t know and don’t even know if she is interested.” Tim taunted him.

“This is not about getting a date,” Jason defended himself.

Tim, Dick, and Damian all scoffed in unison while Bruce and Alfred gave Jason a skeptical look.  Selina sat in the background with an amused smile.  Really, the only result she was interested in from this mission was Jason finding his girl.

Jason glared at him before turning to Bruce, “I know what we’re here for…” He wouldn’t turn a date down if it should come up and if he managed to find her, he was definitely going to ask her.  But, his priority was to help her, which meant both finding her and getting information on the miraculous.  If he wanted to achieve both of his goals, he first needed to focus on that the family wanted… for now, so they would be distracted and he could focus on his other mission alone.  “What exactly were you thinking might need to be done?”

“Whatever we have to.” Bruce responded calmly but with steel in his eyes.

Jason furrowed his brows at Bruce.  That explanation was significantly more hostile than the original mission statement.  Not that he was surprised, but Bruce stating it so plainly meant he considered it a higher probability.  “That’s a far cry from the ‘we’re just gathering information’ mission you extolled earlier.” Jason gritted out.

“It’s all related.” Bruce stated.

“Why do you think we’re here, Todd?  We need to figure out if we need to acquire the miraculous and how to do so.” Damian snapped at him.

“You’re planning on taking the miraculous?” Tim rounded on Bruce, his confusion evident, having come to the same conclusion as Jason.  “You said over and over again you didn’t think we needed to worry about the girl that broke into the cave and now you’re planning on stealing their miraculous?”

“We are not going to steal their miraculous!” Jason exclaimed.  What the hell was going on?  He had thought they were making progress.  Bruce agreed to investigate and offer help fight Paris’ villain and now they were planning on taking out the heroes themselves.

“We are going to assess the situation.” Bruce clarified trying to pacify them and bring emotions down to a quiet rumbling rather than a full out roar. Completely content was never an option and Bruce knew it.

“We wouldn’t steal Green Lantern’s ring, we shouldn’t even be thinking about touching theirs.”  Jason yelled.

“We would if he were evil.” Dick reasoned, not at all surprised by the turn of events and long past getting upset when Bruce made plans like these. Bruce liked to be prepared.  The Paris heroes might not ever do anything evil. They might become allies, but that wouldn’t stop Bruce from figuring out their weaknesses and how to take them down should the need arise.

“If they were evil, Constantine wouldn’t be helping them.” Jason argued back, his face starting to turn red, “Not wanting to have you interfere doesn’t make them evil B.” Jason argued back.

“We are not planning on taking anything, but we need to be prepared if things go bad.  We don’t know enough to even begin to guess what could go wrong to cause us to step in. At this stage, we are just trying to get an idea what is going on so we can get a better idea of what to ask later so we can make a plan.” Bruce started moving toward the balcony doors as he pulled on his cowl, “Now finish suiting up.  Let’s go.”

“Oh this is going to go just fucking swimmingly,” Jason muttered under his breath as he pulled on his jacket and grabbed his helmet.  Tim hummed in agreement and started bracing for the worst, which was standard practice at this point.

   Chapter 5

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 Note: *Sigh* I honestly thought they would meet again, kinda, in this chapter, but then they didn’t, the unruly bastards.  So very sorry.  Next chapter I promise!  I swear it is the next scene.

[beanieman]

Shinalice Tattoo And Flowershop AU: Shin Gets A Tattoo

(Their designs in this are from by the wonderful art @yttdie made that inspired me to write this fic. You should go check their art out, it’s so good!) 

Shin lingers outside the door to the tattoo parlor, clutching a bouquet to his chest. He's really going to do it. He's going to get his first tattoo. He's not sure if he's shaking from excitement or nerves as he enters the small parlor. It's the first one Shin's ever been inside. It's not at all the shady place movies depict them as. Abstract art lines, black walls, and Alice's colorful flowers are placed in a vase on the front desk. Next to the vase is a small bell with a sticky note reading "Ring Me!" attached. Shin takes notice that Alice's handwriting is surprisingly neat as he rings the bell.

"Coming!!!"

Alice pops his head out from a small room in the back, giving a wave and genuine grin when they lock eyes. It makes a heat rush to his face that Shin wasn't expecting. Today was an awful day to use a headband to push the hair away from his face. Now all his crimson blushes are on display for all to see. But Alice doesn't seem to notice as his eyes glint with recognition.

"Shin! Did you finally come to take me up on your offer? I remember it vividly! You gifted me flowers for free, and I'll repay my debt by giving you a discount on a tattoo!"

"So you remembered...I want to cash in on our deal. I brought more flowers for your shop. I was thinking they'd be a good reference for my tattoo."

He hands over the bright blue bouquet he was carrying while avoiding eye contact. Handing off flowers may be his job, but most of his clients aren't handsome tattoo artists.

He notices how tenderly Alice takes them like they could be made of glass. For a man who looks so intimidating, he's much more gentle than he looks.

"What are these called?"

"Forget me not's. Ahaha, I was thinking getting a cluster on the back of my hand would look cool..."

"We'll match in that case!"

Alice holds his hand out, showing again the daffodil-covered skull on the back of his hand. It was a big inspiration for him. He loved the way the tattoo looked under the cool blue lights of the flower shop. But for Alice to point it out so bluntly like that....it makes him a little flustered. It doesn't help when Alice puts his hand on his back to guide him over to a chair in the corner.

For a second, he gets so caught up in the euphoria of having an attractive man caress him that he forgets he's about to get a needle shoved into his skin.

But then Alice brings out the ink.

And reality hits.

This is going to be painful.

Looking around, he tries to find anything to distract him as the needle begins to buzz. His eyes land on Alice's muscular arms covered in tattoos. He has a sleeve with multiple sections. At the very top is ink with a deer's head laying on top of a flower bed. In the middle of his arm are chains surrounded by a wall of blue. And at the very bottom, a lone X that looks like it marks a treasure on a map. If nothing else, it's the perfect conversation starter.

"Do your tattoos have meaning?"

The needle is already touching his skin before Alice can respond. Bright colors explode under the tip as the flower begins to form. It's painful, but he tries to focus on Alice, whose eyes are narrowed steadily in unbreakable concentration.

"A few! The chains you see are to recall my time in a band of legends!! As a symbol of the end, I had the letter X tattooed when I departed from that very same band."

"And the deer?"

"They're majestic! Not every tattoo has to have meaning."

Alice's hand works with a speed Shin has never seen. He's grateful for it. His only goal going into this was to not pass out by the end. Which seems more reachable with how fast Alice works.

"What about your tattoo? Do these forget me not's have a meaning to you?"

"N-Not really. I just like flowers."

He gesture's to the tiny daisies plastered around his pale blue shirt as proof, but his words aren't entirely true. Forget me nots symbolize true love and respect. They're a promise that you'll never forget the receiver because of how deep your affection runs. The idea of someone caring that much for him one day... it's a nice thought. But to admit all that to an acquaintance? Not happening.

They banter back and forth for another hour. What he learns about Alice is he can make a conversation out of anything. Even seeing birds soaring out the window gets them on the topic of air travel. His charisma is admirable, but not more than his tattoo skills.

His pen flows quickly and steadily, producing thin lines that pop under the blue coloring. His bedside manner isn't bad either. Even with such an intense pain that pierces his hand, Alice keeps him distracted, making it easier to ignore. He makes it so easy to ignore, in fact, that when Alice proudly proclaims

"It's done!"

Shin can hardly believe his ears. He looks down at the ink that's now stained into his skin. He didn't get his hopes up for the final product, but...he loves it. It's everything he wanted it to be and more. Alice looks satisfied with the final product as well. He beams with pride at Shin's look of awe. He must see that look ten times a day, and yet he still looks thrilled at Shin's joy.

"Are you impressed, Shin? It's some of my finest work! Be proud to be adorned with my talent, mwahaha."

"Heh...looks really good, Alice. The flowers were a good trade….so about paying."

Alice looks down to Shin's newly tattooed hand and back to his face. He glances away and shrugs his shoulders casually.

"Consider it repayment for the flowers. You don't have to pay anything at all! Just leave a good review on our establishment page, please, and thank you."

"Eh?! Well, if you say so...Are you expecting more flowers to make up for the price?"

"W-Well, no, not at all. But perhaps we could get a coffee sometime? To make up for the difference. If you don't want to, don't worry yourself-"

For the second time today, he can't believe his ears. It almost sounds like...Alice is asking him out on a date. Surely he means as friends. Yea, that's all it is. Their places of business are side by side. Why wouldn't they want to get to know each other more? Not that he's opposed to treating it as a date...but no need to make assumptions.

"Uh, yeah-that sounds good! Ahaha, really good! Er...I should get your number…."

They exchange numbers with shaky hands. Both of them trying to look cool as they put the digits into their phone. Shin can feel how crimson his face is. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid, "I need to get back to my shop. Flowers won't sell themselves. I'll text you later."

"Good luck on your ventures! I'll be searching for the best possible spot to find coffee in the meantime."

Shin turns to wave goodbye, only for the door to stop him as he runs face-first into the glass. A thumping sound echoes through the small shop as he stumbles back.

"Are you okay??"

"Yes!!"

He doesn't look back to see Alice's confused face as he darts to from the shop and back to his own. He's in such a hurry; he doesn't even see a woman dressed in black enter the parlor behind him.

But she distracts Alice's attention from his blunder, as she's a face he knows well.

"The hell? Was that the flower shop guy you wouldn't shut up about?" Alice feels heat rushing to his face at the call out. Okay, he might have a crush on the cute flower man next door. Sue him.

"Yes! Yes, it was."

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 14

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: Katriona Cassopeia (in mention) belongs to the gorgeous @kc-and-oc

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning:

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea @thatravenpuffwitch

Man, we were killin' time We were young and restless We needed to unwind I guess nothin' can last forever Forever, no… ~ Bryan Adams - Summer of ‘69 ~

Much to his relief, Orion’s fear of having been discovered seemed to prove unwarranted. Skye was a direct person, never shy to speak her mind; if she had truly seen something not meant for her eyes during the interview, Orion was sure she’d have already come and spoken to either of them.

But nothing of the sort had happened. She had acted just like she always did and his first surge of worry had died down again. Sometimes even the most focused mind was prone to being tricked and, as he had to admit to himself, focus was something he found himself lacking in these days.

It wasn’t only because of Lizzie’s teasing getting riskier that he found his mind wandering more often than not. Ever since the show they were meant to be playing for the children from the foster system had shown its face on the horizon, an ever present restlessness had been growing in Orion.

Dreams that he had pushed to the edges of his mind a long time ago had started haunting him again; they kept coming back whenever they held an event stirring the buried memories of his childhood. He loved seeing the light in the children’s faces when they were spending time with them; he knew it was a rare sight, after all. The emotional mess Orion carried back with him afterwards was the dark side of the coin, however.

The charity event was scheduled for the next day; they were to play a small acoustic set for the children in the afternoon and their regular show only a few hours later on top. To keep their spirits high before the double load, Ethan had scheduled a day off for them.

The weather was still uncharacteristically hot and so most of the band and crew had found themselves at the small pool on the rooftop of their hotel. Much to everyone’s surprise, even Artemis had joined them.

Charlie had followed Skye’s advice to take Artemis for drinks a few days prior. He had been unusually tight-lipped about it when they had asked him how it had gone down.

“It was good,” he had shrugged, “told you she’s not as bad as you all think.”

While the young pyro tech still kept her distance from the rest of them, Orion had seen her chatting with Charlie outside of their work on stage since then. He was glad she seemed to be taking a step into the right direction, lowering her armour even for the tiniest bit.

But Artemis’ tentative attempts at integrating herself with their group lounging by the pool were counteracted as soon as she took her shirt off. Everett audibly wolf-whistled at her black bikini with surprisingly colourful patterns crisscrossing it. Her withering glare was met with a lewd grin as Artemis picked up her stuff and dumped it on the deckchair farthest away from them.

Lizzie gave Everett a smack on the back of his head. “Well done, Ev, you’ve scared her away. I wanted to have a chat with her.”

Everett looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “I’m not stopping you. Two beauties in bikinis getting close? Who would I be to object? You could rub her back with sunscreen.”

He laughed to himself. “If Artemis isn’t up for it, I’m always here for you, gorgeous.”

A hint of the same irritation Orion felt flickered over Lizzie’s face. “You’re a real mood today.”

She got up from her own deckchair and started over in Artemis’ direction anyway, but was stopped by Charlie catching onto her wrist.

“Woah, where are you going, little rockstar?”

“Go and talk to Artemis, see if I can convince her to come over if Ev shuts up.” She gave the singer lounging in his chair a dark look.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Charlie said and pulled her down next to him. “Trust me, if you push her you’ll be the one scaring her away. She’ll come over if she wants to.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to object but Charlie shook his head. “You can’t force her, sunshine.”

“Fine,” Lizzie snorted, not pleased by the situation, “so what’re we gonna do now?” She nodded in the direction of the pool. “Anyone up for a round of water polo?”

Everett declined, preferring to seek a better place to tan, while Merula did the opposite and withdrew to the shade with a book. So it was Charlie, Lizzie, Andre and Skye who made their way to the water. Orion would have joined them, but he was preoccupied with some ideas that had been floating around in his head since that morning; he wanted to write them down before he’d forget them.

He was lying on his stomach on his deckchair, notebook open in front of him, but found it hard to concentrate. The match of water polo going on in the pool had turned into some kind of wrestling match, like it always did eventually. Lizzie and Skye were sitting on Charlie’s and Andre’s shoulders respectively, trying to knock the other into the water; a lot of giggling and shouting was involved as they fought for the upper hand.

What really distracted him though, was the way the sunlight was refracting in the water droplets on Lizzie’s skin when she moved. It let her slender body shimmer, her tan she always got so quickly in the summer months a beautiful contrast to the vibrant red of her bikini. Her wet hair looked a lot darker than it actually was and it was clinging to her back.

Skye almost managed to knock her off Charlie’s shoulder and Lizzie laughed as she righted herself again. It was the kind of laugh that made her stand out amongst all the others, bright and captivating. It gave her an aura that was impossible to escape, drawing eyes whenever she entered a scene. She had the ability to light up a whole room with her smile, as fresh and beautiful as a sunrise.

“I’d say I’m 95.9 % sure what you’re staring at, my friend,” Orion suddenly heard the voice of Murphy next to him, “or should I rather say who?”

Orion tried not to let his surprise show; he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard his best friend approach. “Your meaning is obscure to me,” he answered evasively. “I’m simply trying to work here.”

Murphy couldn’t hide his smirk. “When you’re working, your attention is usually 87.5 % focused on your work, more if no one is distracting you. Four out of five times you don’t even react when spoken to.” He glanced down at the mostly blank page of Orion’s notebook. “Today I’d say your focus is reduced to abysmal 30.9 %.” Never missing a detail, his eyes flicked to the still on-going wrestling match in the pool.

With a sigh, Orion closed his notebook and rested his head on his arms. Murphy was far too observant to be lied to, but he didn’t have to know all the details either.

He indicated their laughing friends with a slight nod of his head. “It is good that our friends are having a great time, it strengthens their bond of friendship. But they are making a lot of noise, it’s bound to draw attention.”

The dismissive sound Murphy was making clearly showed that he wasn’t buying it. “It’s obvious they’re distracting you. But from what I’ve seen, 95.5 % of the time you’ve spent looking at them were devoted to one of the pairs, and while I do have to admit that Andre’s new gold bangles are surprisingly flashy and apparently water resistant, I highly doubt it was him that drew your attention, same goes for Skye, although her hair usually is an eye catcher, I’ll give you that. That leaves Charlie and dear Lizzie, and last time I checked, you weren’t one for redheads, that’s more my thing. Not that I want to say I find Charlie particularly attractive, although some might say so, but I digress. So only one option remains, and as the one and only master of logical deductions, the great Sherlock Holmes, once said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable…”

“...must be the truth’,” Orion finished with a sigh. “I know the quote. You're quoting numbers all day every day, do you really feel the need to go into literature as well now?"

Ignoring him, Murphy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly satisfied with his conclusions. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Orion wasn’t answering immediately; he didn’t like Murphy’s prying at all. “Are you done, Detective McNully?”

“Fine, don’t answer me then, I don’t need confirmation,” Murphy snorted. “The stats never lie, my friend.”

Orion rolled his eyes, hoping Murphy wouldn’t delve into another one of his statistical sprees. Although he was right in that his numbers were seldom wrong, Orion himself preferred a more open-minded view of his surroundings to Murphy’s cold, analytical observations; especially, if these observations were directed at his own behaviour.

But of course, Murphy wasn’t deterred. “To the attentive observer, which of course you know that I am, all the facts are there. Eight out of ten times your mood changes for the better when Lizzie enters the room. Seven out of ten times she starts smiling when she looks at you. You two look at each other during shows and soundtracks 46.4 % more often than at the others and yes, I factored out the times when you need to because of the cues she’s giving you, thanks a lot for asking. You hug each other at the end of the shows significantly longer as well. When you leave the backstage area, you’re never leaving together but almost always in close succession.”

The blond sound technician crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Are you really sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?”

Orion was more than a little shocked at all the facts Murphy had just thrown at him. “I had no idea it was that obvious.”

Murphy shrugged, a sly smile appearing on his face. “Only to me. You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember, and my above average observational skills, which of course not everyone possesses, solved 82.3 % of the mystery.”

“What’s with the rest?”

“What I can offer in facts, I sometimes lack in interpreting. Katriona connected the dots.”

“Obviously,” Orion sighed.

“So, what’s the deal with you two? Are you dating?” A frown appeared on Murphy’s face. “I thought you had a clause about this in your contracts. Ethan’s not going to like this.”

Orion vehemently shook his head. “No, you got that wrong. We’re not dating, everything is just like it has always been. We’re just enjoying additional pastimes, which - I’ll give you that - may exceed a regular friendship.”

He looked at Murphy intently. “No one besides you knows about this, and I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.”

Murphy made a non-committal sound. “Of course this doesn’t include Katriona.”

“As if any of us could keep a secret from her.”

“I normally don’t go for absolutes but that’s 100 % true,” Murphy laughed. He looked at Orion curiously. “So how long has this thing between you and Lizzie been going on now?”

“A while,” Orion answered evasively.

“The definition of ‘a while’ ranges from two weeks to up to a year. Judging by my numbers, it’s definitely not the former. Doesn’t sound like a short lived fling to me.”

“I wouldn’t call it a fling,” Orion said; it was surprisingly hard to put what was going on between them into words. “But we’re definitely not emotionally involved with each other. It’s not a matter of the heart, more of a physical extension built on the base of our friendship.”

Murphy leaned back into his wheelchair and grinned. “The old classic, friends with benefits.”

“If that’s the label you want to stick on it.”

Murphy hummed in response, following Orion’s gaze to the pool again. His voice was quieter when he spoke this time. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? We are both on the same page about it.”

“Just saying, things like these seldomly work out as well as they start. Approximately 89.6 % of physical relationships end in chaos, tears or both.”

The memory of his own initial worry emerged in the back of Orion’s mind. He watched as Skye gave Lizzie a final push that sent her toppling from Charlie’s shoulders. She shrieked before she crashed into the water, but was already laughing again when she resurfaced; Orion firmly pushed his concerns away.

“It won’t escalate with us,” he said. “Both of us value our friendship, and the fate of Equinox even more so. We’ve established very clear rules. I appreciate your worries, but they are misplaced.”

“As much as I love rules for the structure they’re bringing, rules can easily be broken,” Murphy said. “Just be careful, okay? Mixing friendship with sex can be a lot of fun but the devil’s in the detail.”

They both watched Lizzie climbing out of the pool and heading over into their direction. When she passed Everett, he pulled down his sunglasses and watched after her, his eyes very slowly travelling up and down her body. He said something to her Orion couldn’t hear, but Lizzie only rolled her eyes, shot something back and continued on her way. Murphy's eyes flicked from her to Orion.

“Aren’t you bothered with Ev hitting on her?”

Orion shrugged. “Why would I? She’s not my girlfriend, and she can perfectly handle herself, as you’ve just seen.”

“That she undoubtedly can,” Murphy laughed, “I’ll better be off now and leave you two alone. I wonder where my beautiful wife is. I haven’t seen her in quite a while now.”

[itsclydebitches]

(WLW anon) I really don’t like the “bad rep is better then none at all”. I hate that. We should want good rep, because bad rep has been used time and time again by homophobes as to say we shouldn’t get representation. To me it’s not “gay can have the same flaws as het”, it’s “fix the flaws in the het”. Also I know Renora being independent was a good, I was just saying in comparison BB. Also, yes, they were separated, but also didn’t stop thinking about each other. Especially bad with Yang.

Indulge me for a moment because I want to take a trip down memory lane and list some—just some—of the queer rep that has been important to me over the years:

Ellen comes out both as herself and as her character… years later, she’s a hated millionaire who is criticized for how she treats her staff

The wildly influential Buffy gives us two women entering a loving relationship… except then Tara is killed off, Willow goes evil for a time, and Buffy comes under fire for Joss Whedon’s everything

The beloved and respectable headmaster of one of the most popular book series ever published is revealed to be gay… except it doesn’t count because it wasn’t in the text and now all of Harry Potter is cancelled because JKR is transphobic

Kurt is an unambiguously gay teen in a hugely popular TV series, acting as one of the first overt representations a generation has seen… except he’s way too stereotypical and Glee is a joke now

Orange is the New Black gives us a number of queer women, including one of our first trans characters… but isn’t it problematic that they’re all criminals?

Brooklyn Nine-Nine hosts an out gay captain and gives us a bisexual coming out story that resonated with many, myself included… except now we’re supposed to hate all the characters on principle because they’re cops

Korra and Asami walk off into the spiritual sunset together… but they never kiss or anything, so that doesn’t count either

Steven Universe gives us a queer relationship and a wedding… but it’s an issue that this is just a kid’s show and, really, does it count when the rep is embodied by space rocks whose entire species only creates a single gender? Feels like a cop-out

Same with Good Omens. Yeah, Crowley and Aziraphale clearly love each other… but you never see them kiss or declare their intentions. It’s great ace rep though! Unless you want to level the criticism that asexual characters are always nonhuman

A character intended to be a minor guest becomes a show staple and eventually declares his love for one of the two main characters… except then Castiel immediately dies, Dean doesn’t respond, and they never meet on screen again

I finished Queen’s Gambit the other day and the main character had a one-night stand with a woman! … but everyone is talking about how bisexuality is used to represent her lowest point, so that’s bad too

I could go on for literal pages. Some of these arguments I agree with (Dumbledore), others I’ve pushed back against quite strongly (Crowley and Aziraphale), but all of them are valid criticisms depending on what part of the queer community you’re in and what your expectations are. My point here is that it’s all “bad rep.” I mean that seriously. If anyone reading this is scrambling for the comment section to say why [insert media title here] is actually fantastic rep, I guarantee that someone disagrees. Or if they don’t, give it some time. Just wait until the characterization becomes offensively outdated, or another part of the story ruins the relationship, or it comes out that the author did something truly horrific, or the terminology changes and it’s labeled as “problematic” now… just wait. At some point, any rep we feel is good rep now will be criticized, cancelled, and dragged through the mud. The rep that I personally haven’t seen much push-back against—like the beloved Captain Jack Harkness in Doctor Who, or Schitts Creek that just won a ton of awards—is wrapped up in the criticism, “So it’s all just about able-bodied, cis, (mostly) white dudes, huh? :/”  Even the argument that queer characters need to be written by queer authors doesn’t hold up. I absolutely adored Sense8. “Wow, a gay main character in a loving relationship with another gay man, both of whom enter a loving poly relationship with a woman, another lesbian trans main character who marries the love of her life on screen, an entire cast arguably queer due to them sharing orgy scenes centered around the emotional intimacy they share, everyone survives, and this was written by two trans women! Great, right?” Well, not according to the wealth of opinions explaining how Sense8 is horrible rep, actually. Every piece of rep we’ve got is either currently flawed or will become flawed in the future.

So what do we do with that?

That’s where my “I’d rather have bad rep than no rep at all” comes in. For me, that’s not waving the white flag. That’s not an oath that I won’t expect better rep in the future (I do) or that I won’t criticize the rep we get (BOY DO I), but rather just an acknowledgement of reality. The vast majority—if not the entirety—of rep is “bad rep” in one way or another, but I’d still rather have it than nothing at all. Because I’ve lived just long enough and studied media just enough to know what nothing looked like. It was watching all queer characters meet untimely deaths. Before that it was watching queer characters be derided and treated as jokes. Before that it was nothing but coding, where queer characters didn’t exist except in our own headcanons and interpretations. Obviously “bad rep” covers a very large range of issues and “They haven’t even confirmed this relationship yet” is a bigger issue than “This queer character embodies one or two, mild stereotypes,” but ultimately I’d take any of it over nothing at all. And enjoying what we’ve currently got doesn’t mean I’m willing to settle for it indefinitely.

To use an iffy analogy, imagine there’s a factory. This factory makes plates. So. Many. Plates. Big plates, small plates, plain plates, decorative plates, plates for every possible occasion in your life—and everyone with a steak for dinner is pleased as punch. You though? You’ve got soup. You need a bowl. Your entire life you’ve been struggling to eat your soup off a plate (it doesn’t work) and listening to friends and family claim that the plate with a slightly raised edge could be a bowl if you squint (it’s not). To say it’s frustrating is an understatement.

But then, one day, the factory starts producing bowls too. Hurray! Except as soon as you get your hands on one, you’re told you really shouldn’t be using it, let alone praising it. Look at the state of that bowl! It’s cracked right down the middle, ugly as hell, shoddily made all around… you’re not really going to settle for that, are you? And no, you obviously still want the factory to produce better bowls, but at the same time, this is a bowl. You’ve never gotten one before and you can finally enjoy your meal, even if the soup leaks at times. Sometimes a lot. But you’re still feeling better about your meal than you ever have before. And what you then begin to realize is that lots of the plates are a mess too. They also have cracks, they’re also ugly, many are also shoddily made. The difference is that the factory is producing so many plates at such a rapid pace that every steak eater is able to get by. One plate breaks completely? You’ve got a thousand fallbacks. Don’t like the look of this one? A thousand other options. You disagree about what “shoddily made” means? Luckily there are enough plates that everyone can find what they prefer! But the bowls… there’s only a few. Some are really expensive. Others are only available for a limited time before they suddenly disappear. Your bowl breaks and you have to wait months, years sometimes, to get another one. You’re constantly told to go buy this one obscure bowl no one else has heard about and yeah, you like it... but you’d also like to buy one of the bowls everyone is already enjoying. You find yourself looking at the plates and thinking, “I’d like that. I’d like to have so many options that the flaws, while still a problem, are much more bearable.” You’re still going to demand that the factory get its shit together, you’re still going to (rightly) complain about the awful quality of your bowl… but it’s still nice to have a bowl, period. There are still things you like about it, even if it’s a mess: the color, the size, the beauty of the shape of it. Its potential. You’re still pleased you have something to enjoy and that helps serve the need you’re looking to fill, even if that something is imperfect.

That’s “bad rep is better than no rep.” To bring this very long response back to Blake/Yang, I don’t think their problems negate their benefits. Is their relationship currently non-canonical and filled with a number of writing issues everyone has a right to be angry about? Yup. I express that anger a great deal. Are they still half of a team on a very popular show that is (presumably) set to be canonized as queer? Yup. I’d much rather live in a world where big shows like RWBY try to include queer rep and fail in a multitude of ways—with the expectation and hope that they’ll continue to improve—rather than in a world where authors a) don’t care or b) are too scared to try. Because that’s where a “good rep or no rep” stance leads. The danger isn’t homophobes because they’re, well, homophobes. It doesn’t matter if the rep is good or not, they hate it on principle. But if queer authors writing for other queer identities, or allies writing queer identities, or even queer authors writing their own experiences (like in Sense8) continually come under non-stop fire for their attempts… there’s a good chance that many people won’t ever try. We’re already seeing that here on tumblr with young authors admitting that they wouldn’t touch [insert topic here] with a ten-foot pole because just look at what happens when you get it wrong. And authors will get things wrong because authors are fallible people forever unlearning their own ignorance. So though it might sound strange coming from a blog that has turned into such a RWBY critical space, I am glad that RWBY’s queer rep exists, despite all the frustrations that I share about it. I think a RWBY with various types of “bad” queer rep is better than a RWBY with no queer rep at all, particularly when “bad” or “good” is so intensely subjective. There’s a middle ground between passively accepting whatever we’re given, and tearing into rep with such ferocity that we end up rejecting it all. There’s a space where we can be critical of rep and embrace the parts that work for us, simultaneously.

I hope and expect the het rep will get better too, but… that’s never going to happen instantly. To quote RWBY, there’s no magic wand we can wave to fix all our problems. Rather, it will take slow, plodding, meandering, lifetimes’ worth of work to see that change occur and I personally don’t want to spend the one life I have waiting for that perfect rep to show up. Because it’s unlikely that it will. While we work, I’d rather find the good in what rep we’ve already got.  

[nostalgiaruinedme]

Hey I love your fics and writing style and well since I've been meaning to start writing fics I wanted to ask you if you have some advice you'd give.

Ohhh advice? Sure, I can do that! I shall bestow all of my knowledge upon you now, but you gotta look below the cut. Shhhh, it's a secret~

Okay really I just knew this was going to be a really long post and didn't want to clog up everyone's dash lol. ONTO WRITING ADVICE

I kind of live by these rules in writing:

1. Know the rules before you break them 2. ANYTHING can be inspiration 3. Remember the doll 4. Use your resources 5. Don’t hold yourself back 6. Practice 7. Enjoy yourself!!

1. Know the rules before you break them

Pay attention in English class (or whichever class for the language you're writing in) and learn the grammar!! I don't always have perfect grammar in my fics and sometimes I consciously choose to ignore grammar rules to make it more impactful, but you HAVE to know the rules before you break them. Study those grammar lessons! Learn how to use the fun punctuation, like semi colons and em dashes and en dashes and all that good stuff. I know they're scary, but they're a lot of fun too.

ALSO PLEASE USE PARAGRAPH BREAKS IM BEGGING that's like, a HUGE problem I see with a lot of new writers. Paragraph breaks are not optional!! Change 'em when the main topic of the paragraph switches or when a new character is speaking. Overdoing it with paragraph breaks is better than underdoing it, I promise.

2. ANYTHING can be inspiration

Have you ever played Story Cubes?

If you haven’t, it’s essentially this game where you roll the cubes, they each land on a different image, and you gotta tell a story that uses all of those pictures. Some are literally just a question mark or a speech bubble and that’s what you have to use. Me and my siblings used to play the game a lot. And you know what? Some of those stories are the most creative ones we’ve ever come up with. When I say anything can be inspiration for a story or a character, I mean ANYTHING!

I based my Donnie design off of the vintage globes and journals I have in my bedroom.

My little sister threw a pillow at me and it inspired a funny scene I wanted to write in another fic

I designed two OCs off of Mars and Pluto and an ENTIRE 40,000 word fanfiction based off of a space documentary I watched

My NaNoWriMo story last year was based off of the concept of shadows and how cool I thought it’d be if they could talk

Me and my friend made an entire dystopian original story commenting on our world today. It was first inspired by a crack self insert Death Note RP we had at 13 years old. Not kidding.

Literally anything can be inspiration. Challenge your mind!! The best ideas come out of completely ordinary and unexpected opportunities, in my experience. You don’t need one of those super detailed and crazy expensive prompt books (though they are fun) to write a great story. Use music, use a color, use the sky, use your favorite food, use anything! Just find inspiration!

3. Remember the Doll

Remember Mulan?

We never got to see the Huns destroy the village and we didn’t get to see them kill anyone there either. But by showing that doll there, the animators took an entire battle full of death and destruction and summed it all up in one, heartbreaking moment. You don’t need to spend ten pages writing about how horrifying the bad guy was and listing everything he did from start to finish, nor do you need to write an analysis on why she’s bad. All you need to do is show one or two very meaningful ways they impacted the world... and you can do that with something as simple as a doll lying on the ground in a burning village.

Because the doll is there; the little girl is not.

There’s a quote that sums this up really well, and I have it written on the dry erase board by my desk.

“You don't write about the horrors of war. No. You write about a kid's burnt socks lying in the road.”                     - Richard Price

And adding onto that, try to write more about what’s there, not what isn’t. Mulan didn’t say ANYTHING about the girl in that scene, but by showing what was there, it told us a story about what wasn’t. Focus on what is in the scene and it will tell your reader about what isn’t.

I do think writing a balance is good though, so I try and keep it around a 3/1 ratio of what is there vs what isn’t. Remember this is art though, not math; you can change the formula as you please just to make it feel right. It all depends on the scene and what you want.

4. Use Your Resources

You know how, in the artist community, there’s this sort of stigma around using references? And some artists have to make posts reminding others that there’s nothing wrong with using references and you even should use them?

It’s the same concept in writing!

There is NOTHING wrong with looking to other writers’ work or keep a thesaurus constantly open or bookmarking a reference page of other words to use than “said”. Nothing wrong with it at all! When I write, I always have two tabs open: my writing document and thesaurus.com. I have a folder on my computer bookmarks of ways to describe a smile and a body language dictionary. Before I write fanfic, I watch a “best moments of *character*” compilation video on Youtube to remind myself of how they speak. I watch fight scenes from The 100 or Avatar or Marvel while I write my own battles!

There are SO MANY resources out there for you to reference. Use them! And if you need some to start with, shoot me an ask. I have a ton.

5. Don’t Hold Yourself Back

One of the scariest parts of writing is the thought of “what will people think?” Creative writing is EXTREMELY personal, and you’re going to find a lot of you inside your work, including the thoughts you didn’t want anyone to know about. 

People will discover how often you think about love. People will discover how dark your mind can get. People will discover the morals you hold that even you didn’t know about. They’ll discover that the person you swore you’ve moved on from is still on your mind. They’ll discover that the pain you swore you got over still hurts you.

“you can tell the deepest truths with the lies of fiction”                     - Isabel Allende

This thought scared me a lot, and still does. I’ve let go of and forgotten about so many story ideas because they were just a little too personal. I could write it and not publish it, but what if someone still sees? Writing, like all art, comes right from the heart and reveals a lot about a person. That paranoia of being known kept me from writing so much.

But I promise you, your most powerful stories are going to be the most personal ones.

I wrote Hated Resemblance based on my thoughts about myself, and I wrote Dagger From the Mirror based on thoughts about myself too. A lot of it is dark, most is painful, and all of it is scary to show the world. But I wrote it anyways and it’s created something pretty amazing.

Hell, even now I’m wondering if I should post that lil anecdote, but I think it’s the best way to make this part of my point stronger. See? Writing about things that affect you is the best way to make them impactful, even for something as simple as advice.

And even if you want to write about light and happy stories- you’re still going to have to get personal.

This all got pretty deep but my point is this: Don’t hold yourself back. Write what you feel you need to and it don’t worry about what anyone will think. Don’t hide that one sentence because you’re scared who will read it because you’re scared to be known so deeply. Add it in even when it’s scary. 

That’s something I’m still learning how to do, and it’s a slow process that has taken years... but it’s worth it, I promise.

“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.”                     - Natalie Goldberg

6. Practice

I started writing in 1st grade. I’ve written regularly since then, and this is my word count every month this year:

Most of that is fanfiction. Some are just random thoughts, some are really thought out posts or answers to your questions, and some are made up of original stories. That total words written number is since November.

You don’t have to write this much every month, I promise, I just don’t really have any other hobbies lol. My point is that practice is really really really important. Write a paragraph or even just a sentence every day. You’re gonna improve so quickly, I promise.

“Write every day. Writing is a muscle that gets stronger with use.”                     - Abbi Glines

But take breaks too!!! Don’t overwork yourself. Burn out is a real thing and you shouldn’t force yourself to write just because you’re scared you don’t write enough! Write at a pace that’s comfortable for you. There will always be writers out there who write more than you and even more writers who write less than you. That’s okay. Everyone has a pace they’re comfortable with, and you just gotta find yours. As long as you’re writing consistently, the numbers don’t matter too much. 50 words a day or 5000 are both good!

7. Enjoy Yourself!!

You’re here to have fun!

No matter what you’re writing (angst, romance, fix-it, AUs, hurt/comfort, fluff, ANYTHING), remember that fic writing is supposed to be fun!! You’re not getting paid to do this. On one hand, that sucks, but on the other hand it gives you the amazing opportunity to write literally whatever you want! Find projects you’re enthusiastic about, meet other writers, do collabs, make playlists for your story, create over powered OCs for the hell of it, ignore plot holes and write without regard to canon, or write the most realistic and in-depth canon-compliant book ever. Create the most self indulgent story you can think of! 

Have fun. This is your story and you get to write the rules. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.

Oh yeah, and one more thing. Be proud of yourself. You can get all of the comments and feedback in the world, but if you’re not proud of what you wrote, it’s gonna be hard to look back on it with joy. Be proud no matter how many reads it gets—you made it!

“I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.”                     - Steve Martin