#because 1 of them was based on in-class discussion and a reading they were supposed to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

phykios · 3 years

Text

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

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

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

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

Percy might hate college.

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

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

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

“How bad is it?”

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

“Ouch.”

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

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

Percy slams the computer shut.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

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

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

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

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

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

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

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget--”

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

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

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

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

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

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

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

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

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

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

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

“Hey mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

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

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

“Thanks, mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

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

“It does.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

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

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

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

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

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

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

It’s… not what he expected.

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

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

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

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

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

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

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

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

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

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

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

“Gross.”

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

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

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

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

“The what?”

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

“That doesn’t help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

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

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

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

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

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

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

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

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

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

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

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

“You’re so weird.”

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

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

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

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

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

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

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

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

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

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

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

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

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

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

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

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

“Annabeth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

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

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

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

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

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

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

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

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

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

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

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

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

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

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

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

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

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

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

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

Well, most of them, anyway.

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

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

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

“And how big were these models?”

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

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

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

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

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

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

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

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

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

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

“At my… summer camp…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

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

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

The baby says nothing.

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

Junie blinks at him.

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

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

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might be in over his head a little.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

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

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

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

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

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

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

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

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

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

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

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

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

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

And he closes his computer.

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

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

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

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

***

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

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

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

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

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

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

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

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

He starts. “What did you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

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

Annabeth gapes.

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

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

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

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

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

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

“No, why do you ask?”

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

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

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

“Can do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

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

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

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

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

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

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

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

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

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

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

“Then let’s make it happen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

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

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

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

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

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

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

Junie beams at her.

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

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

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

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

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

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

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

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

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

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

730 notes · View notes

zhenjun · 4 years

Text

white people, your cosplay is yellowface

Content warning: images of yellowface that may be upsetting below

Note: I have made the decision to remove the images of modern-day cosplayers. I stand by my initial choice to include them, as I believe actually seeing images of modern cosplay side by side with “real” yellowface was essential to understanding the point. However, this post has gotten much more attention than I ever anticipated. I had, at the time of making it, fewer than 30 followers.

In addition to harassment from sockpuppet accounts, assertions that my opinion on racism is less important because I am in the diaspora, misinterpretation about what this post was initially about (several people claimed cultural appropriation), threats to report and suspend me, and, apparently, discussion on twitter, for my own mental health, I am taking these images down.

I will no longer be responding to criticism or questions on the post, but I will happily answer DMs or asks on the subject. If you disrespect this or try to start more discourse, you are getting blocked, not because I want to silence your voice, but because I am a real person who can choose not to engage with people for reasons as seemingly unfair as my mental health and not wanting to continue filling my blog with the same post that honestly is upsetting for me to look at (as I already stated within the post).

If you have been blocked by me it is either due to disrespect and/or some form of unrelated drama due to how I like to interact with fandoms (i.e. ships like Ch*ngxian, Xu*xiao), not because I am trying to silence you. As I have so few followers, I am sure you can make your own post and gain even more traction than I did.

If you are white, please stop cosplaying MDZS/TGCF characters. It often looks like/is yellowface, and honestly there’s no way to respectfully do it when these media are based so heavily on Chinese culture. I’ll try to sum up why these fandoms need to be more mindful. You can find links and citations at the bottom that read best on my desktop blog theme.

The goal of yellow face in the past wasn’t always to look “authentically Asian;” white directors, actors, set designers, and playwrights set out to use what pieces of East Asian culture they found most inspiring, fun, cool, violent, or backward. Sometimes, white people had "good" intentions" with their use of yellowface and were not "trying" to demean our cultures, but the practice itself did so regardless.

To summarize, white people of the past did yellowface to erase our identities, take aspects of our culture that they liked, or ridicule us. Most modern-day cosplayers are doing the first two.

Below are examples of early Hollywood yellowface and modern-day theater, as well as modern-day cosplay:

[Previously pictured was a white Xie Lian cosplayer who was very receptive after seeing this post and has since removed these images from their social media. If you happen upon any of their cosplay or other social media, please do not send them any hate.]

As you can see actress Katharine Hepburn in “Dragon Seed”[1][2] is in very traditionally inspired Chinese clothing. The previously pictured Xie Lian cosplayer was in a similar hat and wearing white robes. They both had some sort of eye makeup; Katharine Hepburn darkened her hair for the role while the cosplayer was wearing a dark-brown/black wig.

Of note, the character Katharine Hepburn plays in "Dragon Seed" is supposed to be positive; an adaption from (white) author Pearl S. Buck's novel about a brave Chinese woman who stands up to Japanese imperialism. Like modern day cosplayers of Chinese media, just because the white people creating this film did not intend to be harmful does not change that it was yellowface and racist.

[Previously pictured was a before and after picture of a white Xue Yang cosplayer with blue eyes, brown hair, half of which was dyed blonde in the before image. In the after, they were wearing a long black wig, heavy eye makeup, newly shaped and darkened eyebrows, and robes made to emulate CQL in warm lighting]

Here are before and after pictures of actress Katharine Hepburn in 1944[3] and, previously, was a white Xue Yang cosplayer in 2020. Both had altered their eyes and eyebrows as well as donned black wigs or darkened hair.

[Previously pictured was a Jiang Yanli cosplayer in a black wig and robes meant to emulate the donghua]

Yellowface does not always involve modification to the eyes. In these two images, neither Mary Pickford in Madame Butterfly[4] nor the previously shown modern Jiang Yanli cosplayer have done anything noticeable to shape their eyes. They were, however, both wearing black wigs with traditionally inspired outfits. Jiang Yanli wore a modified version of Tang Dynasty fashion.[5]

[previously pictured was an image of a Wei Wuxian cosplayer with face powdered white and rouge around the eyes. Their eyes were still blue as the Madame Butterfly’s were on the left, and they were wearing a long black wig as well as robes designed to emulate his. This image has been replaced and amended with an additional example of modern theater; the production of The Mikado where one actor is wearing a black wig, the other a Japanese inspired hat, and both are wearing Japanese robes]

The final comparison was an example of a stage actress from the 2015 Fargo-Moorehead Opera production for Madame Butterfly[6] on the left (the earlier movie is an adaptation of the play). [This image was previously erroneously attributed to the Knoxville Opera which faced backlash for their production as they had an all-white cast depicting actors in yellowface in 2019.][7]

Honestly, these images just had a strange similarity to me so that’s why I chose to put these two together. Most importantly, was the similarity in makeup, hair, and East Asian clothing. Though the image is not there any longer, but just google Mo Xuanyu cosplays and ask yourself, if you didn’t know the fandom, would you be able to spot the difference of which one is supposed to be worse?

The new image is just another example of modern yellowface in theater, where the actors do not necessarily wear extensive eye makeup to emulate East Asians but, much like modern cosplayers, nonetheless are trying to look like the Asian characters they play in a Seattle production of The Mikado.[8]

As you can see, it’s pretty sad and disturbing to see how the rise of East Asian media is creating a new modern wave of yellowface. I think white people tend to think that black/brown/yellowface is only about darkening the skin, but that is just not what many depictions of yellowface have been for East and Southeast Asian people.

I know a lot of people recognize this is wrong and I appreciate those of you that do, but if you didn’t recognize the past parallels, please read up on the links below! Researching this was honestly triggering and emotionally taxing and caused a mild breakdown, so if you clown on this post you’re getting blocked.

Despite the post losing effectiveness to an extent from taking down the modern day photos, I suggest a quick google search of cosplays from the series during/after reading this. And if you don't agree with me, feel free to block and don't send more hate to me! I'm not trying to get into fights. I just wanna feel like I have a semi-safe space in the fandom but if this annoys you, it's better to just block me.

HISTORY, Casting White People in Asian Roles Goes Back Centuries[↩︎]︎

Youtube, Dragon Seed (1944) Trailer [↩︎]︎

NBC News, 'Correcting Yellowface': One Woman's Project to Fix Whitewashing[↩︎]︎

IMDB[↩︎]

Stony Brook University, The Influence of Chang-An Culture to Korea and Japan: Cultural Diffusion in the Glorious Age of Tang Dynasty[↩︎]

Howard Sherman, Yellowface Bait-And-Switch With ‘Madama Butterfly’ In Fargo[↩︎]︎

OnStage Blog, Knoxville Opera Forgets It's 2019 and Opts for Yellowface for "Madame Butterfly"[↩︎]︎

Seattle Times, The yellowface of “The Mikado” in your face[↩︎]︎

#mdzs #tgcf #the untamed #racism #madame butterfly #dragon seed #❁#yellowface #when I describe the behavior in the note please do not assume it is about you if you've interacted with me #there are probably dozens of people I've interacted with who I may have already blocked etc.

1K notes · View notes

asterekmess · 3 years

Note

Did you ever watch Buffy? The first episode where Anya was introduced was titled "The Wish" and all I can think about is if Scott McCall had ever run into a pure Sidhe where they offered him a wish. Instead of, "I wish Buffy had never come to Sunnydale." It would be more, "I wish I was never bitten to become a werewolf." But just like all feaye tricks, the outcome is more, his Dad ended up with primary custody rather than his Mom and he was forced to leave BH. And then Stiles ended up more friends with Heather and others. And while Scott's life is worse, when he tracks down the others he finds all of theirs are greatly improved.

I think about it a lot and how Scott never really dealt with the consequences of any of his actions, everyone else did, and how an episode or mini-arc could have fixed a flaw in the show's design. I mean, we were already dealing with a lot of Celtic lore, why not someone from the Sidhe courts?

I have no idea why this took me so long to answer, so apologies for that. <3 I did watch buffy! I've seen all of it, and all of Angel as well. XD

I remember 'The Wish' episode, and whoooo boy it gave me chills. I loved how big the butterfly effect was, how something that seemed so small, something that Genuinely seemed to be the cause of a lot of problems in Sunnydale, ended up being so important to how things had progressed. Because, yeah, you would think Buffy not coming to Sunnydale would be a Good Thing, right? Sunnydale didn't have all of these insane issues before she arrived. It was quiet, and nothing big or scary ever happened. Her arrival matches perfectly with when everything started going absolutely nuts, so whatever selfish ideas Cordelia had, her thought that Buffy not coming to Sunnydale would be a good thing, makes sense. Except that, as she finds out, she's entirely wrong. Buffy's arrival was a lucky coincidence, or fate, whatever your taste leans toward. She showed up right as things started going nuts, and she kept it from going SO MUCH MORE NUTS.

Now, moving on to TW, it is a fascinating mix of being the Exact same situation, and the exact Opposite. I'll add a Read More, cus' holy god is this a lot of Rambling.

Because Scott wishing not to have been bitten...yeah, the bite Did improve things. But it improved things for him. He would absolutely regret making the wish, just like Cordelia did, because he would realize how many good things the bite had brought with it. BUT, conversely, he would have to realize how many good things the bite had brought for him, not for other people, and how their lives either wouldn't have been affect, or might've even Improved without him being bitten. Without the bite, Scott wouldn't have gotten on first line, period. His health issues made very clear in the five minutes he had them that any kind of stamina based sport was just out of the question for him. If he is unable to walk through the woods at a moderate pace without needing to grab his inhaler and stop against a tree, he just plain cannot play lacrosse for two or three hours of running at high speeds and working a bunch of muscles in his upper body. He likely wouldn't have gone out with Allison, because he would have no convenient way to get her attention. Furthermore, he wouldn't have the extra senses that both impressed her on the lacrosse field, and told him about her 'family dinner' the night of Lydia's party. (I've discussed this before, but... While it's true, Allison would have still brought him the dog; that dog would likely have attacked him, and his chances with her would have been shot in the foot when they both got in massive trouble and he likely had to go to the ER for stitches or something. Without Allison or first line, he wouldn't have started hanging out with the 'cool kids,' and quite frankly, wouldn't have had anyone to help him study for the classes he was struggling with. It's true that he also wouldn't have had werewolf things to worry about, or even a girlfriend to distract him from homework, so maybe that wouldn't have been such a huge issue, but still.

If we look at other people's lives and how They would have been affected by Scott not getting the bite...well, let's talk about that.

Stiles didn't get on first line because of Scott, or because of a werewolf bite. Or even because of the werewolf bullshittery occurring in town. He was put on first line because of his abilities, and even after being taken OFF first line for missing the game, he was put Right onto the field in the next game, chosen OVER other players who were perfectly viable options. Which means, he still would've ended up on first line. Allison wasn't interested in dating before she met Scott, and part of her draw to him was based on how 'different' he was. He knew things she didn't know how he could know, he had a weird ability to calm a furious, injured dog, and he had charisma that was ALSO gained from the bite, since being on first line made Scott Much more self-confident. If she didn't end up dating him, it's likely she wouldn't have dated at all. Which would mean no hiding from her parents, no strange conflicts of interest, AND, interestingly enough --depending on her involvement in the murders, etc that would still be occurring in town--no night in the school that would scare her bad enough to ask Kate for extra help and tip her headfirst into hunter training. AND, even if she DID still end up getting those lessons from Kate? There would be no bitterness to fuel her behavior at the end of season 1.

Allison was Traumatized after Kate showed her Derek on the grate. She was horrified, and didn't know what to do about it, and while we can ramble all we want about the morality of her not confronting her family (whom she's just discovered is willing to electrocute people) about it, the fact is that she pushed the thoughts aside to stop freaking out and went to that dance. Where she found out Scott was a werewolf, and was So fucking Betrayed that she was willing to help Kate catch him and Derek. No Scott, no betrayal, no willingness to help Kate recapture the miserable man who'd been chained up in a basement.

If we go back to that specific night, and try to unfold the events from there if Scott hadn't been bitten, things get a little complicated, but I'll take a few artistic liberties. Scott isn't bitten. Presumably, he just happens to get out of the woods in time, or he gets caught with Stiles by the sheriff, or doesn't go to the woods in the first place. These all change the possible outcomes of that night. If he hadn't gone in the first place, and Stiles went alone, would he have been bitten instead? Would Scott have been dragged into all of this anyway, but without the protection and boost of being a werewolf and cured of his asthma? If he weren't the one bitten, and he saw everything Stiles gained from it, would he still have such a hatred for the bite? Or would he want it, like Erica did, to cure him and make him powerful and cool? But, let's assume Stiles doesn't get bitten either. The second half of Laura's body still hasn't been found, and Stiles has no reason to fear running back into the preserve the next day, and no real punishment from his father as far as we can tell. So, does he go back to look again? If he did, he would run into Derek, because Derek would still be there after retrieving Laura's body himself. He would see Derek and still recognize him, and from there, things might spiral, still involving Stiles in the supernatural, and it's likely Stiles would try to involve Scott, and Again we get hit with "Would Scott want the bite, if he hadn't gotten forcibly bitten in the first place?" The answer is probably yes. He wanted to be cool, and popular, and on the lacrosse team. He wanted everything being a werewolf gave him. BUT if we're looking at this wish as similar to "The Wish," then no matter what, Scott won't be bitten. He'll be transported to a new world where it just never happened, and he'll be human, and forced to watch everyone around him be just plain different. Scott not being bitten would isolate him from Stiles, if Stiles got involved in the spn anyway. We SAW how Stiles cut off his other friends once the spn starting getting in the way. He and Harley? We have no clue how close they were. They were close enough for her to tease him about his crush on Lydia, for her to wander up comfortably to the locker and talk to them. And he cut her off as soon as the werewolf stuff hit. What if he cut Scott off? To protect him, if nothing else, like he did his own father. Once he realized the danger involved, I doubt he would be willing to put Scott in harm's way.

So, Scott would not only lose first line, lose his girlfriend, lose his popularity, lose his health and strength and heightened abilities, lose his 'importance' to the goings-on of Beacon Hills, but he would also lose Stiles, who seems to have been his only friend, unless he also had a relationship with Harley.

Okay, I've rambled enough about the what if's, so let's talk about the Reason why this wish would go so badly for Scott, in such a different way than it went for Cordelia. Cordelia, first off, wished that someone Else would not have/do something, rather than wishing for herself not to have done something. She watches how fucked up the world gets, and how much worse her life is without Buffy around to save the day. Scott wished for Himself not to have done something (even something passive, like 'get bitten') and would have to watch how fucked up his world gets, and how far behind he would fall. The other's lives might not necessarily get better, because Peter is still on the loose, and the hunters are still there, etc etc, but they would still Progress, while Scott would stay stagnant.

And WHY is that? Because Scott isn't important to the story. It DOESN'T start with him. That's the Whole Point of his character. He is supposed to be the 'everyman' who gets dragged into crazy shit and becomes integral to things that he wasn't ever meant to be a part of. The guy who wanders into becoming King or 'The Hero' that will save the world, even though he's just a small lad from a tiny town, whose highest prospects were "get on first line."

He was NEVER supposed to be Buffy, or if he was, it was done Very Badly.

But Beacon Hills WASN'T a quiet town before Scott was bitten; however much he might've said 'nothing ever happens in this town.' It was FULL of bullshittery and magic from the very beginning. There was the fire, and Paige, and the blinding of Deucalion, and the death of Alexander Argent, and the Nogitsune in the internment camp nearby. All of these things were around So much longer than Scott's bite, and they'd been affecting the world that whole time too. Because yes, in Buffy, the master was There before she was, but he was literally rendered inert by the situations he was in. And the things he'd done happened Centuries before, not six years. There is a difference. Sunnydale was Not Known for the insane number of weird deaths. Beacon Hills was. And aside from the Nogitsune, every single fucking thing that happened in Beacon Hills, was attuned to the Hale family in one way or another. Deucalion's blinding occurred during a meeting on Hale land, because Talia was known as a wise leader, etc, in the area and other wolves flocked to her. Deucalion biting Argent seems unrelated (if you even believe Deucalion did that, despite being a fucking pacifist before Gerard blinded him), but again, it occurs just a couple hours away from Beacon Hills, which is Hale Territory. The one who plays the Buffy role here? Who shows up at just the right time, and launches themself against an endless wave of evil, with slightly enhanced senses and a thorough need to do good and not back away from things that 'aren't they're problem'? The actual hero who is somehow tied to everything going on in ways even they don't understand? Was Derek. The guy who entirely unwittingly allowed Julia Baccari to survive, because he was trying to be merciful to his first love. Who entirely unwittingly was manipulated into giving up information that let a hunter kill his family. Who followed his sister back to town after six years of just trying to survive in New York, fell into a fucking tragedy, and decided to stop the bad guys anyway, even though he knew he didn't stand a fucking chance.

And as annoyed as some might get. The 'everyman' who stumbles onto the set and accidentally becomes integral to the saving of the world? The one whose ambitions are small and who expectations are smaller? Who is misunderstood, and has abilities that aren't recognized or appreciated, that doesn't really fit in, but tries their best anyway? The literal Angel to Derek's Buffy?

Is fucking Stiles. The son of the sheriff who just could not let it go when he discovered there was something funky going on. Who hung around on the edges, even though he wasn't really wanted, because he needed to help. Who ended up saving Derek's life over and over, and becoming so important as to be Derek's anchor? Who literally WENT DARKSIDE and HAD TO BE NEARLY KILLED, even though Derek didn't to kill him???

I know how it sounds, but JD SAID he took inspiration from Buffy. The issue is that his parallels are between DEREK AND STILES, and BUFFY AND ANGEL. Respectively.

Derek might act like the broody bad boy, but it is STILES' mentality that matches Angel's behavior, and it's Derek who matches Buffy.

I'm so fucking off track. Scott would be miserable if he ever managed to get a wish and used it to keep from having been bitten. And it would be sad. I would feel bad for him, had I watched something like that happen. Seeing him realize that most of the good things he had, he only got because of the bite. That Stiles would still be on first line, that Lydia and Jackson would still be the popular kids. That Allison wouldn't know he existed, or if she did would avoid him entirely. That Jackson would never have been turned into the kanima in the first place. That everyone else would move on and up in life, and he would still be standing at the bottom step. Because it wasn't his actual limitations that were holding him back, it was his refusal to accept them, to work with them, and to just plain stop Envying Everyone Around him, and start living his own fucking life instead of trying to steal other people's.

Scott wishes he were Cordelia, and I promise that would backfire too.

#personal #anti-Scott McCall #meta ramblings #go for it #this is way too long #but i had feelings #the more you guys made me talk about this #the more I want to write a Buffy fusion #or a tw rewrite with Scott not being bitten #or fucking Both #or both Combined #SOMETHING

95 notes · View notes

snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales · 3 years

Text

Blue Moon - Part 1

A/N: See masterlist for prompts used. (And the list of amazing people who have helped me with this.)

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Warnings: See Masterlist

Word count: 2,746

Xxx

“So what’s it like living with a Hale?” Stiles asked, turning away from your locker after you shut it. Both of you fell into step with Scott as you made your way to your next class.

You must have grimaced or made some face with a slight slant of your eyebrows only a Stilinski could read, because Stiles let out a snort. “That bad?”

You shrugged, sighing. “I mean, it’s not like I expected it to be a walk in the park, it is Derek Hale after all.” Scott chuckled with a gentle shake of his head, making you smile before you continued. “But I didn’t expect it to be this…. easy….. either.”

“Easy?” Scott questioned, making the same face you must have initially as Stiles let out another snort of laughter.

“Yeah, I mean, the first few days were awkward. If we weren’t training we weren’t doing anything. The man is silent, had no TV, or any of that-”

“Wait, ‘had’?” Stiles held out his hand, effectively cutting off your sentence and your steps, your shoes screeching on the floor at the sudden stop.

“Yes, had. He now has a TV, streaming services- yes, Stiles, services as in plural, if you keep your eyebrows that high they may stick that way, and it’s not the best look for you…”

“So at least there is something to fill the silence at least.” Scott resumed walking, you followed a few steps behind, Stiles lagging, jaw still dropped in shock.

“Well, yeah,” you agreed with Scott, and this time you felt your eyebrows making the face.

“But….?” Scott’s prodding was gentle, but his face held a smirk.

“But somewhere along the way we went from off handed comments during a news broadcast, or some show we were watching, to actually pausing it to have some discussion, or referencing some situation later and asking if the other had had something similar happen, or just opening up about random experiences and stuff. It’s…”

“Weird?” This time Stiles prodded, earning a glare and gentle whack on the arm from Scott.

“Well, maybe it’s because you’re…. new.” Scott opted for a more discrete word for ‘werewolf’ in the crowded hallways. “He may feel like opening up more because of the pack mentality and all.”

“No, it’s not because she’s…. new.” Stiles raised one eyebrow on the word as he addressed Scott, earning a sigh and eye roll from the young Beta. “The man is a brooding wall of leather and growls.” You chuckled at the description, making Stiles grin. “I think we finally found our miracle cure for our Sourwolf!”

“Woah, woah, woah, hold up.” You held up your hands as if to physically stop their words. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. We know you two like each other. It’s so obvious.” Stiles immediately closed his mouth, his lips a tight line, eyes wide and eyebrows in his hairline in his signature “I was not supposed to say that” face.

“What?” you deadpanned to your friend.

The bell rang, and Scott, wide eyed and smiling too broadly, gave Stiles a shove on the shoulder in the opposite direction of your next class as Stiles muttered, “Oh, look. The bell.” They both began to walk quickly the opposite way.

“Guys!” you yelled. “This is not over! But I am not responsible for you guys missing another class, what does that make, like fifteen already this semester?”

Your two friends stilled and turned on their heels, ushering past you quickly, avoiding your glare, Stiles looking at Scott and muttering, “See, Scott? I told you our class with Miss Blake was this way.”

“Ugh,” you mumbled under your breath. The sour expression stayed on your face even after you sat at your desk in the back of the class.

Chuckling, Stiles chanced a glance your way from beside you, hoping to change the subject from his ultimate fail in the hallway. “You still don’t like her?”

“I still don’t like her.” You overlapped his last few words, matching his gentle nod with one of your own as you stared straight ahead at the teacher’s still vacant desk.

“What is it about her you don’t like?”

“I just have a really bad feeling whenever I see her. Something just isn’t right.”

Scott chuckled, opening his book to the proper page. “You’re just mad that she gives you a little bit of a harder time.”

“You mean she gives me ‘more attention’?” you asked, your words rising to a ridiculous octave as they repeated Jennifer’s words she had used when she assigned you some extra credit to help raise your grade so you could stay on the lacrosse team. Your friends chuckled at your words. “I’m sorry, not everyone can be amazing at everything, being a wer-” you stopped yourself, clearing your throat before continuing- “new-” you looked at Scott pointedly, earning you a glare and Stiles’ laughter on your other side- “doesn’t allow for a whole lot of extra studying time.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N. I know you feel that way now, but it will pass,” Scott said with a smile as Miss Blake walked in, setting things on her desk, and he chuckled as you glared at her. “This is all ephemeral.”

You looked at Stiles, your face blank, voice a deadpan. “You ever buy him a word of the day subscription thing again, and I will rip your throat out.” You flickered your yellow eyes at him discreetly. “With my teeth.”

“With your teeth,” Stiles mumbled, overlapping your words, both of you nodding in agreement again. “I asked what it’s like living with a Hale, and now I got my answer.” He looked at you, shaking his head mockingly. “You’re becoming one of them. It’s contagious. We’ll call it ‘Sourwolf Syndrome’.”

Xxx

Due to your parents’ professions taking them all over the place constantly, like Allison, you were actually a year older than your friends, having to repeat a year a few grades back. But you wouldn’t change it for anything, because that’s how you met your best friends.

It helped that your parents were away on business most of the time, so no one questioned your staying at Derek’s loft for so long. You stopped by every few days to get the mail and check on the plants around the house, packing some new clothes if needed, Derek sitting outside in his car the first few times, but lately he had taken to coming in and helping you do the few things you had to do.

You told yourself it was just because of the increased threat that he wanted to be closer to his newest Beta. He didn’t have too many of those these days, you thought bitterly, smirking to yourself. You stared blankly as you rinsed out your coffee cup in the sink, and a wave of sadness washed over you as you thought of Erica, her absence still fresh and raw. The two of you had never really been close; just acquaintances at school, then pack members briefly, before she was gone.

Boyd had really withdrawn himself after that, and you didn’t blame him. You knew he probably felt how you did times ten. When Cora had been here briefly she mentioned losing a pack member was like losing a limb, and she hadn’t been wrong.

Then Derek had kicked both Cora and Isaac out of the loft, claiming it wasn’t safe with the Alpha Pack around. Isaac was staying with Scott, but you didn’t know where Cora had disappeared to. Peter was a wild card, so you didn’t even try to factor him in, and Scott outright refused to be a member of Derek’s pack. He was an Alpha with Beta eyes, and an enigma for another time.

The point was, Derek was running low in the Beta department lately.

The only reason Derek had you staying at the loft and followed you around the house when you had to go was because you were the newest, or so he said. Deep down you knew he just didn’t want to be responsible if something happened to you. He wanted to control the situation as much as possible which, you guessed, you were kind of glad, being new to this whole werewolf thing, and admittedly not wanting to stay home alone again, human or werewolf.

At least at the loft, even in the times before Derek brought home the TV and stuff, the silence had been comfortable. You’d never admit it to anyone, but just being in the presence of another living, breathing being, even one as brooding and somewhat annoying as Derek Hale, was nice.

And you sure as hell weren’t going to think about how he had helped you with your homework sometimes, especially with that English extra credit. He had a side he didn’t share often, and you were glad you got to see it. It was like a rare spotting of a mythological creature.

You smiled to yourself, watching the water in the cup filling clear now, the mug long clean, and you let your feelings wash away down the drain with the water as you turned it off.

Setting the mug in the sink, you took a deep breath, letting the feelings whirling around you fully roll off your back, rolling your shoulders back as they did.

Stepping into the doorway to the living room you saw him delicately watering some houseplant your mom babied. The first few times he had just poured water at its base, and you had to stop him, showing him how it had to be done, otherwise he’d over water it. And since then, though he had said initially that it was stupid under his breath, he took meticulous care to check if it even needed watering, and then watered it properly, like you showed him, even bringing books home to the loft about how to care for the various types of plants your mom had around the house. You found it endearing.

Smiling softly, you gently shook your head. One second you were bitter towards him, the next finding little things that made him amazing. “I’m going to go grab some clothes, my stuff got torn to hell last week when we dealt with what’s his face,” you said offhandedly, starting up the stairs. So many baddies came through this town, you got them all confused.

Derek chuckled. “Okay. You know you can always borrow some of my clothes if you need to.”

You stopped midstep on the staircase, each foot on a different step, and your grip on the bannister tightened, your knuckles turning white.

This.

This is why you had such conflicting emotions about this man. Wolf. Wolfman.

“Are you sure?” You kept your voice even, smiling softly.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, makes more sense then driving all the way over here.” His voice tried to be neutral, but it was evident he was trying to cover up something he had let slip before really thinking about it.

“Thanks. I’ll remember that next time.” You nodded once to each other before you took two steps calmly and then practically ran up the rest of them to your room.

Holding a hand to your chest, taking deep breaths to try and stabilize your heartbeat, you slumped against the door after you closed it, sighing.

You tried not to over analyze what he said, but failed.

You knew he probably was making some underhanded comment about your abilities, “coming all the way over here”, really he wanted to say, “you suck at being a werewolf, you’re always getting hurt and your clothes destroyed in the process”.

“You too, wolfman. You too,” you mumbled under your breath as you angrily rifled through one of your drawers, grabbing a few things.

You chuckled a dark laugh. “But I’m an Alpha, Y/N. I’ll heal faster.” You mocked his deep tone, your search in your drawer turning into an aimless activity, the contents totally mixed up now.

He had never been around whenever you had gotten in a hit or takedown on the baddies you guys had encountered so far in your short time in this world. For some reasons you ended up on opposite sides of the battle fields, and he never said it directly, but you knew he probably thought you sucked. How else does one end up with torn shirts from claw marks and blood being covered by your jacket?

Everyone else had called you a badass, but Derek had yet to compliment or even comment on your fighting ability. But maybe, since he trained you, that spoke more to his ability and not yours, you thought with a smirk. Satisfied with the thought, you grabbed a few clothes out of the drawer before snapping it shut.

After a few steps toward the door, you slowed to a stop, absently staring at the clothes in your hand as your thoughts cleared a little from your earlier anger.

If it was a reflection on how he thought he was, that was kind of sad. Did he really think so lowly of himself and his abilities?

You had only been in this world a short time now, but even you had to admit he was a good Alpha. A good wolfm- werewolf. A good man. He was a great person to have at your back in a fight and in mundane things like math, which was also a fight, but that was a thought for another day. He was a good friend to have, period.

Shaking your head and chuckling gently at yourself, you wondered why your thoughts were everywhere. Glancing at your calendar on the wall, you saw the full moon was coming up soon and rolled your eyes. Of course.

This would pass. This was ephemeral. You groaned softly as you made your way back down the stairs. Stiles was going to pay.

Derek met your eyes when you made it to the last step, hopping the last few inches to the first floor. He set down the watering can softly.

“Do I really sound like that?” His lips twitched upward slightly.

Screwing up your face in confusion it took you a second to realize he had heard your mutterings as you disorganized the contents of your drawer upstairs. Realization crossed your face before your palm slapped to your forehead, the groan passing your lips before you could stop it.

Derek laughed, and you looked at him apologetically, to which he motioned with his hand as if waving it away and smiled at the floor where his gaze was focused. “Don’t worry about it. I just always thought my voice was deeper than that.”

He chuckled even more as you swatted his arm, laughing gently yourself. He grabbed your wrist playfully before you could withdraw your hand, and you found yourself pulled closer to him, almost toe to toe and having to crane your neck to look up and meet his eyes that looked down at you with some emotion you couldn’t decipher.

That comfortable silence hung around you two like a blanket… Until his phone rang.

As he fished it out of his pocket, you softly cleared your throat and took a small step back, feeling Derek’s gaze on you the whole time.

“Hello?” His voice was gruff and annoyed, and he was still staring at you. It almost seemed like he was upset at whoever was on the other end for interrupting his moment with you.

But that thought quickly evaporated.

“Jennifer!” He said it with a broad smile on his face, his voice a total about face from his greeting, and his eyes moving from you to the wall behind you.

It couldn’t be who you thought. There was no way. That would be too much of a coincidence.

“No, I’m not busy,” he said, turning to the door.

Grabbing his arm to stop him, he turned to look at you, eyebrows raised in question and, if you weren’t mistaken, slight annoyance.

“What?” he mouthed.

“Who is that?” you whispered.

“A friend,” he hissed.

“Who is it?” you hissed back at him.

“Your English teacher, Jennifer Blake.” He shrugged out of your grip and out your front door, motioning you to the car.

You seethed as you turned off the lights, grabbing your bag of clothes, and locking the door after you.

Reason number five hundred and sixty two to hate Miss Jennifer Blake.

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02, @palaiasaurus64, @shydinosaurcandy, @lucyqueenofthestars, @c-breanne1999, @l4life, @ethereallysimple, @teenwolffan-with-nolife, @bellabadacadabra What’s This?

172 notes · View notes

superhero--imagines · 4 years

Photo

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here!

A/N: I apologize for all the profanity in this part ahead of time. I think I’m going to do M/W/Sat updates, as long as my writing permits, and then maybe Wed/Sat updates. I got the day off because it snowed so I thought I would post this since it’s ready haha

* Well you’re royally f*cked

* There’s a big stupid smile curled on your face, and every time you try to hide it, it just comes back wider

* You really shouldn’t be happy right now

* “What has you in such a good mood?” Edward’s got a matching smile of his own.

* Oh shit. It’s fine, you’ll just play dumb.

* “How do you know I’m happy?” How about the dumb grin you’ve got on your face you stupid b*tch.

* You would have smacked your own forehead if you weren’t aware Edward was watching your every move

* You’re lucky Edward’s nice and he doesn’t call you out on it

* “Whenever you’re happy it kind of radiates off of you,” his voice lowers “you know because of your powers”

* Ah, you didn’t know you did that

* “So what do you think about the new girl?” You blurt it out like it’s an intrusive thought

* F*ck. Just-okay just play it cool. Play it cool.

* F********ckkkkk what’s wrong with you.

* Is being happy making you act like a moron?

* He shrugs

* “Just another human, I kind of wish everyone would shut up about it though. Having to hear people talk about her and think about her is getting annoying. It’s like being in a tunnel with one too many echoes.”

* Ah, so he hasn’t noticed yet.

* “I wonder what she’s thinking about.”

* Edward just shrugs again.

* What the f*ck Edward take a hint!

* “Edward?”

* “Yes dear?” He has the nerve to grin after using that pet name. The criminal is teasing you. Some best friend.

* And still it makes you outrageously happy

* You have to force your smile into a straight line

* “What’s the new girl thinking?”

* He looks over to her, Tyler and Mike are fighting for her attention, both of them a moment away from tugging on each arm and shouting “mine!”

* You see him search, you’ve heard enough about his powers to know right now it’s like mall food court level of chatter for him, but in a few seconds he’ll focus on her and realize he can’t hear her thoughts.

* Knowing how prideful he is though, he’ll probably deny it.

* “I don’t know I can’t read her mind” he says bluntly. “Do you think the school music teacher would teach me how to play violin if I asked?”

* “What?!?”

* “I know it’s kind of inconsiderate to ask but-“ you click your tongue

* “No not that!” You gesture towards Bella “you can’t read her mind?!? Isn’t that kind of a big deal?”

* His eyebrows thread together

* “I can’t read your mind either”

* Yes but you’re from a completely different world, in a body that radiates despair (and apparently joy now). You’re basically like some type of eldritch being from another dimension.

* Edward doesn’t see it that though

* “Honestly it’s a relief, one less mind I have to tune out.” He walks ahead of you as you stay motionless in the middle of the hallway

* What the f*ck is happening?

* “Are you coming? We’re going to be late for Biology if you keep lagging behind like that.”

* How could you forget? The whole story starts because Edward is super into Bella’s blood! He fantasizes killing her for like- the entire class period.

* You were worried for nothing, just because they didn’t have the cafeteria moment isn’t that big of a deal

* The thought makes you both relieved and a little sad

* Still it’s for the best, this is the way things are supposed to be

* And who knows, if you have to leave maybe you can poach Rosalie and Emmett to leave with you

* And maybe Jasper, he won’t like having a human around the house all the time

* “Mr. Cullen, Ms. Eleazar” Mr. Banner hands you each a worksheet.

* Oh right the onion cell worksheet. Ah right the mitosis crap. Well hopefully Mike remembers enough that you both can hobble through

* “New year means new seating arrangement!” He tells you both excitedly. The seating arrangements on the projector.

* “Why am I next to Edward isn’t the seating arrangement supposed to be alphabetical?”

* “I decided to go by grade this time, you should be happy! Aren’t you two...friends?” You can tell your teacher is confused by the nature of your relationship, almost as much as you are.

* “Super happy Teach.” You mumble taking your seat next to Edward who’s grinning like an idiot

* “You can’t say he’s picking favorites when it’s merit based.” He grins and you roll your eyes

* Angela’s sitting next to Ben Cheney, they seem to be discussing the trigonometry homework, and how it’s basically impossible

* Oh right, he’s supposed to be her boyfriend this year.

* Personally you think Angela could do way better. But love is blind, you’ll ship it if you have to.

* And right on cue Mike walks in, Bella following close behind. He takes his seat on the table behind you while Bella talks to Mr. Barnes

* “Why didn’t you guys sit with us at lunch today?” Mike is practically leaned over the entire width of the table.

* Before you can say anything Edward snorts

* “Because (Y/N) was getting lectured for staying out all night again”

* Mike looks like his eyes might pop out of his head

* “W-what? Out all night?! Without inviting me!” You roll your eyes.

* “He’s making it more dramatic, I went out for a run early in the morning because I couldn’t sleep and everyone was freaking out because they thought I got kidnapped.”

* Like any vampire or human stood a chance against you and your violent mood swings

* Mike’s so caught up in lecturing you about how you need to be more careful

* “There’s a lot of weirdos out there!” Yeah you live with them

* That he doesn’t even notice Bella’s taken a seat next to him

* Now that you get a better look at her, she is kinda pretty. She’s the kind of person who probably always looks good in photographs, no matter what the angle. Nice cheekbones and big brown eyes. Modest on boobs and butt, but she’s skinny so it works for her.

* “Hey, you’re Bella right?” You give her your friendliest smile, and you don’t miss the light blush that blooms on her face.

* You’re not sure whether it’s from your beauty or because she’s just not used to so much attention. She just nods.

* “Have you already seen the three whole things there are to do in Town on a Friday night?”

* Bella actually laughs at that. She’s got dimples, and little wrinkles that show up at the corner of her eyes. It’s cute.

* “One of those things is going to the library, so really it’s only two things.”

* She giggles again.

* “Is the other one going over to your house to play monopoly?” Mike asks, a grin arching onto his face

* “No my house is out of town, the other thing is to go to the school football game”

* “I’m not really a big fan of football” Bella hesitantly says, and Mike and Edward laugh

* “Yeah no one here does, everyone goes for the half time show, or just to hang out.”

* You’re pretty sure your entire friend group only goes to the games to see your cheer routine, especially this year since you’re captain now. The first junior captain in a long time apparently. The news actually made the local newspaper.

* Everything is going good, and you’re starting to think maybe you and Bella might be friends.

* “Why don’t we have a board game night at our house again? Last time was-“

* You stop sentence, you were having so much fun you almost forgot why Edward was so obsessed with Bella.

* The slight breeze from the air conditioning brings her scent to you.

* You cover your mouth and nose with your hand

* Her scent is REVOLTING

* “(Y/N), are you okay?” Mike asks

* You vaguely feel Edward’s hand on your shoulder, has he not caught her scent yet?

* It’s pretty hard to miss

* Like gym socks, with a overly sweet base, it’s like-

* Your head snaps up, and your hand clamps over your mouth and nose even harder, but not because the scent is revolting

* She smells like cheese, perfectly aged Gorgonzola cheese, or maybe Brie?

* You smell the sweeter undercurrent stronger now, it’s like warm juicy peaches

* Roasted peach salad tossed with Gorgonzola and olive oil

* How many times have you dreamed about eating that while basking in the warm sunlight

* “I knew you shouldn’t have eaten those leftovers at lunch,” Edward says, but you know it’s performative, thank god he’s still got some sense after smelling her.

* “Mr.Banner, I think (Y/N) ate something bad, is it alright if I help them to the nurses office?”

* “Yes and hurry!” He’s practically shooing you out as Edward pulls you by the arm

* Nooooo, you wanna smell her moreeee

* You have the sense to not wine and keep your mouth covered.

* Edward doesn’t take you to the nurse, you both don’t stop walking until you’re at the parking lot

* “What the hell was that?” He asks, it’s the first time he’s seemed even remotely angry with you

* He seems more confused then angry though, you’re so shocked you actually sit down on the curb.

* And after a moment of hesitance Edward sits beside you, placing his hand over your own

* “She smells good Edward, like really good.”

* Edward laughs

* “Yeah I gathered that” he shakes his head. “I thought you were supposed to be a picky eater”

* “I aaaaamm” you moan, your head is cradled in your left hand. “She’s like one in a million”

* “You’re one in a million” you lift your head to see Edward looking at you with that stupid sh*t eating grin.

* “Really Edward my life is falling apart because I want to eat someone, and you think the appropriate response is to flirt?”

* To be fair, he’s always flirting, it’s basically apart of his personality at this point

* “You’re being melodramatic.” He chuckles and throws an arm over your shoulder. “Worst case scenario you kill her, Carlisle doles out his funeral punishment-don’t ask, and then we have to start over as freshman again somewhere else.”

* You groan, you finally worked your way up to a junior, you were just starting to get used to this crappy town, you don’t wanna start all over again in a new one

* “What’s the best case scenario?”

* Edward thinks hard for a minute.

* “Best case scenario...the music teacher agrees to teach me how to play the violin and I impress you with my magnificent playing.” You smack him on the arm.

* “Not the best case scenario for you!” You know he’s doing it on purpose. He just wants to make you laugh

* It works, you do laugh. How much more absurd could this situation get?

* “Everything’s going to be fine, if Jasper can handle having to smell 300 students he thinks smell good, you can handle 1.”

* He’s got a point

* “Wait-didn’t she smell good to you?” Wasn’t that like, the whole d*mn point?

* His eyebrows thread together and he shrugs

* “Um, she smelled alright, no better or worse than the others. I’m not sure what you smelled-“

* What you smelled? The rich but refreshing flavor profile is sublime

* The f*cking heathen doesn’t even know what he’s missing

* “But to me she smelled like peaches”

* Well he kinda knows what he’s missing

* “She’s definitely anemic though, there’s a sever lack of iron in her scent” ah that must be that cheesy smell you’re getting

* Well ain’t this ironic. The girl who’s going to steal your best friend is only getting noticed because of you.

* “I don’t know, personally I prefer Henrietta the 3rds blood, but that’s just me” he’s lying, your blood is good and all, but it’s definitely still not on par with a humans blood

* He’s just trying to make you feel better.

* He rubs your shoulder, before patting it and moving to stand up.

* “Now come on, we have to make you eat some human food so you can throw up in front of the nurse and she lets us leave school early”

* You roll your eyes, anything to leave school early huh?

* “Yeah all right, lead the way Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding”

* “Why do you always say that? I don’t brood that much anymore!”

* “You know how some people have resting b*tch face? You have resting brood face.”

* “Says the person who literally radiates despair” you shove him as you both walk towards the vending machine

* You take a deep breath as you watch Edward fumble with the vending machine

* The dork literally sticks a credit card up to the glass and demands the machine give him chips.

* (Y/N/N) why isn’t this working? Am I supposed to insert my card through this slot?”

* You laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s not doing this on purpose.

* “You’re supposed to use cash Edward.”

* You watch as he fumbles with his wallet muttering:

* “Do you think it’ll take a twenty dollar bill?”

* You watch in amusement as Edward tries - and fails- to use a twenty dollar bill, and then proceed to use obscure profanities to curse “this vile wretch of human technological advancement”

* You feel a sigh of relief escape you.

* Yeah, everything is going to be fine.

Tags: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @xxxmuxxx @puritanicalhypocrite

#twilight #twilight saga #twilight imagine #twilight headcanon #twilight reader insert #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen #emmett cullen x rosalie hale #carlisle cullen #jessica stanley #angela weber #jessica stanley x reader #bella swan #bella swan x reader #superhero--imagines

519 notes · View notes

devilsskettle · 3 years

Note

oh man i have a Lot of thoughts about the autopsy of jane doe, both positive and critical For Sure, i'd be SO excited to see your analysis of it! definitely keeping an eye out for that 👀

thanks! i'm working on something article-like to talk about the film and i don't know what i want to do with it yet lol but if i don't post it on here i'll definitely link it. it's mainly a discussion of gender in possession/occult films in the same way that carol clover describes in men, women, and chainsaws - that there are dual plot lines in occult films, usually gendered masculine and feminine respectively, where the "main" feminine plot (the actual possession) is actually a way to explore the "real" masculine plot (the emotional conflict of the "man in crisis" protagonist). typically the man in crisis is too masculine, or "closed" emotionally, where the woman is too "open," which is why she acts as the vehicle for the supernatural occurrence as well as the core emotions of the film. the man has to learn how to become more open (though if he becomes too open, like father karras in the exorcist, he has to die by the end - he has to find a happy medium, where he doesn't actually transgress gender expectations too much. clover calls this state the "new masculine," and we might apply the term "toxic masculinity" to the "closed" emotional state). part of the "opening up" feature of the story is that it allows men to be highly emotionally expressive in situations where they otherwise might not be allowed to, which is cathartic for the assumed primary audience of these films (young men). another feature of the genre is white science vs black magic (once you exhaust the scientific "rational" explanations, you have to accept that something magic is happening). the autopsy of jane doe does this even more than the films she discusses when she published the book in 1992 (the exorcist, poltergeist, christine, etc) because the supernaturally influenced young woman who becomes this kind of vehicle is more of an object than a character. she doesn't have a single line of dialogue or even blink for the entire runtime of the movie. the camerawork often pans to her as if to show her reactions to the events of the movie, which seems kind of pointless because it's the same reaction the whole time (none) but it allows the viewer to project anything they want onto her - from personal suffering to cunning and spite.

compare again to the exorcist: is the story actually about regan mcneil? no. but do we care about her? sure (clover says no, but i think we at least feel for her situation lol). and do we get an idea of what she's like as a person? yes. even though her pain and her body are used narratively as a framework for karras' emotional/religious crisis, we at least see her as a person. both she and her mother are expendable to the "real" plot but they're very active in their roles in the "main" plot - our "jane doe" isn't afforded even that level of agency or identity. so. is that inherently sexist? well, no - if there were other women in the film who were part of the "real" plot, i would say that the presence of women with agency and identity demonstrate enough regard for the personhood of women to make the gender of the subject of the autopsy irrelevant. but there are none. of the three important women in the film, we have 1) an almost corpse, 2) an absent (dead) mother, and 3) a one dimensional girlfriend who is killed off for a man's character development/cathartic expression of emotions. all three are just platforms for the men in crisis of this narrative.

and, to my surprise, much of the reception to the film is to embrace it as a feminist story because the witch is misconstrued as a badass, powerful, Strong Female Character girl boss type for getting revenge on the men who wronged her, with absolutely no consideration given to what the movie actually ends up saying about women. and the director has said that he embraces this interpretation, but never intended it. so like. of course you're going to embrace the interpretation that gives you critical acclaim and the moral high ground. but it's so fucking clear that it was never his intention to say anything about feminism, or women in general, or gender at all. so i find it very frustrating that people read the film that way because it's just. objectively wrong.

there's also things i want to say about this idea that clover talks about in a different chapter of the book when she discusses the country/city divide in a lot of horror (especially rape-revenge films) in which the writer intends the audience to identify with the city characters and be against the country characters (think of, like, house of 1000 corpses - there's pretty explicit socioeconomic regional tension between the evil country residents and the travelers from the city) but first, they have to address the real harm that the City (as a whole) has inflicted upon the Country (usually in the forms of environmental and economic destruction) so in order to justify the antagonization the country people are characterized by, their "retaliation" for these wrongs has to be so extreme and misdirected that we identify with the city people by default (if country men feel victimized by the City and react by attacking a city woman who isn't complicit in the crimes of the City in any of the violent, heinous ways horror movies employ, of course we won't sympathize with them). why am i bringing this up? well, clover says this idea is actually borrowed from the western genre, where native americans are the Villains even as white settlers commit genocide - so they characterize them as extremely savage and violent in order to justify violence against them (in fiction and in real life). the idea is to address the suffering of the Other and delegitimize it through extreme negative characterization (often, with both the people from the country and native americans, through negative stereotyping as well as their actions). so i think that shows how this idea is transferred between different genres and whatever group of people the writers want the viewers to be against, and in this movie it’s happening on the axis of gender instead of race, region, or class. obviously the victims of the salem witch trials suffered extreme injustice and physical violence (especially in the film as victim of the ritual the body clearly underwent) BUT by retaliating for the wrongs done to her, apparently (according to the main characters) at random, she's characterized as monstrous and dangerous and spiteful. her revenge is unjustified because it’s not targeted at the people who actually committed violence against her. they say that the ritual created the very thing it was trying to destroy - i.e. an evil witch. she becomes the thing we're supposed to be afraid of, not someone we’re supposed to sympathize with. she’s othered by this framework, not supported by it, so even if she’s afforded some power through her posthumous magical abilities, we the viewer are not supposed to root for her. if the viewer does sympathize with her, it’s in spite of the writing, not because of it. the main characters who we are intended to identify with feel only shallow sympathy for her, if any - even when they realize they’ve been cutting open a living person, they express shock and revulsion, but not regret. in fact, they go back and scalp her and take out her brain. after realizing that she’s alive! we’re intended to see this as an acceptable retaliation against the witch, not an act of extreme cruelty or at the very least a stupid idea lol.

(also - i hate how much of a buzzword salem is in movies like this lol, nothing about her injuries or the story they “read” on her is even remotely similar to what happened in salem, except for the time period. i know they don’t explicitly say oh yeah, she was definitely from salem, but her injuries really aren’t characteristic of american executions of witches at all so i wish they hadn’t muddied the water by trying to point to an actual historical event. especially since i think the connotation of “witch” and the victims of witch trials has taken on a modern projection of feminism that doesn’t really make sense under any scrutiny. anyway)

not to mention the ending: what was the writer intending the audience to get from the ending? that the cycle of violence continues, and the witch’s revenge will move on and repeat the same violence in the next place, wherever she ends up. we’re supposed to feel bad for whoever her next victims will be. but what about her? i think the movie figures her maybe as triumphant, but she’s going to keep being passed around from morgue to morgue, and she’s going to be vivisected again and again, with no way to communicate her pain or her story. the framework of the story doesn’t allow for this ending to be tragic for her, though - clearly the tragedy lies with the father and son, finally having opened up to one another, unfortunately too late, and dying early, unjust deaths at the hands of this unknowable malignant entity. it doesn’t do justice to her (or the girlfriend, who seems to be nothing but collateral damage in all of this - in the ending sequence, when the police finds the carnage, it only shows them finding the bodies of the men. the girlfriend is as irrelevant to the conclusion as she is to the rest of the plot).

but does this mean the autopsy of jane doe is a “bad” movie? i guess it depends on your perspective. ultimately, it’s one of those questions that i find myself asking when faced with certain kinds of stories that inevitably crop up often in our media: how much can we excuse a story for upholding regressive social norms (even unintentionally) before we have to discount the whole work? i don’t think the autopsy of jane doe warrants complete rejection for being “problematic” but i think the critical acclaim based on the idea that it’s a feminist film should be rejected. i still consider it a very interesting concept with strong acting and a lot of visual appeal, and it’s a very good piece of atmospheric horror. it’s does get a bit boring at certain points, but the core of the film is solid. it’s also not trying to be sexist, arguably it’s not overtly sexist at all, it’s just very very androcentric at the expense of its female characters, and i’m genuinely shocked that anyone would call it feminist. so sure, let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water, but let’s also be critical about how it’s using women as the stage for men’s emotional conflict

also re: my description of this little project as “a film isn’t feminist just because there’s a woman’s name in the title” - i actually don’t want to skim over the fact that “jane doe” isn’t a real name. of the three women in the film, only one has a real name; the other two are referred to by names given to them by men. i’ll conclude on this note because i want to emphasize the lack of even very basic ways of recognizing individual identity afforded to women in this film. so yeah! the end! thanks for your consideration if you read this far!

#the autopsy of jane doe #men women and chainsaws #horror #also to be clear i'm not saying that the exorcist is somehow more feminist because. it's not. i'm just using it as a frame of reference #you'd think a film from 2016 would escape the ways gender is constructed in one from 1973 but that's not really the case #i actually rewatched the end of the movie to make sure that what i said about the girlfriend's body not being found at the end was accurate #and yeah! it is! the intended audience-identified character shifts to the sheriff who - that's right! - is also a man #the camerawork is: shot of the dead son / shot of the sheriff looking sad / shot of the dead father / shot of the sheriff looking sad /#shot of jane doe / shot of the sheriff looking upset angry and suspicious #which is how we're supposed to feel about the conclusion for each character #the girlfriend is notably absent in this sequence #anyway! this is less about me condemning this movie as sexist and more about looking at how women in occult horror #continue to be relegated to secondary plot lines at best or to set dressing for the primary plot line at worst #and what that says about identification of viewers with certain characters and why writers have written the story that way #i think the reception of the film as Feminist might actually point to a shift in identification - but to still be able to enjoy the movie #while identifying with a female character you need to change the narrative that's actually presented to you #hence the rampant impulse to misinterpret the intention of the filmmakers #we do want it to be feminist! the audience doesn't identify with the 'default' anymore automatically #i think that's actually a pretty positive development at least in viewership - if only filmmakers would catch up lol #oh and i only very briefly touched on this here but the white science vs black magic theme is pretty clearly reflected in this film also

84 notes · View notes

minor-solemnity · 3 years

Text

To be a Seer pt. 1

In which there is a monster on the loose in Hogwarts, reader is a very confused fledgling Seer, and Tom fits in there somewhere. (Messing with the timeline because I can - Tom opens the Chamber in his sixth year not his fifth.) This is also basically the fic version of:

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

As you manoeuvre your way out of the classroom, you catch Riddle’s impassive stare. His expression is clear, carefully blank, save for a small furrow in his brow. He steps aside wordlessly for you, and you pretend you don’t feel his gaze on your back as you exit the room.

“I’m not saying that Blevins has no insightful commentary on the 1923 strikes, I’m just saying I find it suspicious that his sudden reversal on his previous position comes at a time when it undoubtedly would suit his own personal profits,” Lizzie says as you walk towards the eastern wing of the castle. She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder and you duck your head to hide your grin. You’d both read his column in the Prophet this morning and had promptly entered into a heated discussion about the 1923 potions strikes and the holes of Blevins’ longwinded argument that unions should have no place in wizarding society.

“I do find it interesting that he left out that his own personal stakeholder position in the Potters’ potions company,” You agree with a roll of your eyes. “You’d almost think that he has something to hide.”

“Do you think we’re going to end up doing tealeaves again?” Lizzie asks as you enter the Divination classroom together. “Merlin, I hope not. I can’t stand tea without milk.” You simply shrug a shoulder in response and take your usual seat in the corner of the room.

“Such a pointless class,” Lizzie mutters as Levintus swings into the classroom and with a wave of his wand teacups and teapots appear on the small table that you share. “I really wish I’d opted for Arithmancy.”

“You hate numbers,” You remind her and begin to pour. “And it’s not pointless. It’s about as close as the wizarding world gets to psychology.” Of all the classes offered at Hogwarts, Divination is the one you look forward to the most. Not, you suspect, for the same reasons that your cohort have. For them, it’s a chance to chat with their friends without worrying about Professor Levenitus handing out detentions, for you… for you, it's a chance to practise your skill without anyone truly suspecting that you’re Seeing anything. You don’t say any of this to Lizzie, of course, even to you, your abilities are confusing and there is something about the thought of revealing that the fog in the crystal balls clears for you sometimes that scares you.

“Hmmm, I think I’d take Freud over tea leaves.” She’s about to say more but at that point, there’s a shriek from the opposite side of the classroom and you both whip your heads around to see what the commotion is. Loretta Fawley has knocked her and her partner’s teacup over in her haste to get away from the table, she’s flapping her hands around and you can see that they’re red and shiny, as though she’s stuck them in a fire and let them burn. “What the fuck?” Lizzie murmurs, her pale blue eyes are wide with shock.

You wish you could share her surprise, but your gaze is already shifting to the back of the room. As you suspected, Simeon Avery is tucking his wand back into his robes, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. You’d seen it in the smoke three nights prior. Not this particular scenario exactly, but you’d watched as the smoke had curled and shifted in the night sky, splitting itself unnaturally until two figures had formed and the cherry of your cigarette had sparked brightly. You’d known without knowing why or when or how that Loretta would be hurt and now… Now you wish tried to do something about it before.

“Mr Riddle, take Miss Fawley to the hospital wing,” Levintus’ clear voice cuts through the relative hysteria of the class, his eyes are hard and cold and you know that he suspects one of the Slytherins. You also know that he won’t ever be able to prove it. Slytherin’s look after their own, after all, and Loretta is a muggleborn.

From his seat next to Avery, Tom Riddle stands up smoothly, his expression is one of polite concern. You stand before you can convince yourself not to. You hate drawing attention to yourself unless you have to, but you cannot stand the thought of Riddle escorting Loretta alone. He might not have been the one to cast the spell, and he might be a muggleborn but he’d also not done anything to stop Avery. “Please, Professor,” You say, pushing past Riddle to take Loretta by her shoulders, “I’ll escort Miss Fawley. I’m her house Prefect after all; she’s my responsibility.” Levintus raises a questioning eyebrow but Loretta is starting to cry and he shrugs a shoulder a little helplessly, gesturing for you both to leave.

***

You slump further into your seat, resting your head on Lucas’ shoulder as you push peas around your plate. The events from Divination has left you shaken and with little appetite. “You should eat something,” Lucas says with a small smile, his own plate has been emptied twice since you all sat down. “It’s mad what happened though, and you don’t know who hexed her?” Lizzie shakes her head and you shrug a shoulder. You know, of course, but what good would it do in saying anything? Asides from anything else, Riddle had been sitting next to Avery and his standing among the professors is such that it would be your word against his. You’re not going to kid yourself that your prefect badge will do anything to sway the professors to your view. Maybe Dumbledore would believe you seeing as it’s no secret that he doesn’t seem particularly fond of Riddle, but then again, the looks the Transfiguration professor gives you when he thinks your not looking makes you feel like he doesn’t exactly think all that much of you either.

“I just hope it doesn’t happen again,” You murmur, though you know in all likelihood it will. “Loretta is the third muggleborn this year to be on the receiving end of something like that.” Lizzie shoots you a questioning look, her brow crinkles and she prods at her pudding thoughtfully.

“You think it’s got something to do with blood status? It could just as easily be someone’s twisted idea of showing off the new spells they’ve learnt.”

“If they were just showing off, they’d wait until Defence. I don’t know… I just… have a feeling, I suppose.” You don’t mention that this feeling is based in smoke and cracked mirrors, in tea leaves and dowsing rods. Lucas wraps his arm around you and squeezes you tightly and you grin into his shoulder. Your friends are used to your more sombre moods now and they know when to relent and when to push you into talking through the muddled thoughts that run rings around your head. “Subject change?” You ask at last, “I heard that Hillary Messers is going to stage a protest over the lack of Valentine’s Day activities this year.” This statement quickly launches you all into a long conversation of the merits of Valentine’s Day with Lizzie declaring that if a single boy asked her out for it she will curse their future bloodlines. Next to her, a boy in the year below you shifts away and you laugh brightly.

Across the hall, Tom Riddle watches you.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

#tom riddle x oc #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #harry potter

127 notes · View notes

taeyongdoyoung · 3 years

Photo

summary: you have a crush on college student renjun so you make use of your best lamest flirting attempts and surprisingly they work?!

pairing: renjun x gn!reader

genre: college!au, romance, pure fluff

warnings: very lame jokes, mentions of a cruel prank in the past (someone asking out renjun as a joke, pls never do that to people!), lots of awkwardness & sweetness, a bit of swearing, reader has an obsession with renjun’s pretty hands

word count: 4.7k

It had been a while since you had a crush so strong you even had a hard time focusing in class. Usually, you were a very good student, diligently taking notes and participating when the professor asked questions. But that was until you saw Renjun for the first time.

It was like something possessed you and suddenly you couldn't think about anything else but his pretty, gentle face, his angelic voice and his lovely hands always drawing something in his notebook. It certainly didn't help much that you were seated right next to him during your shared lectures. It most certainly didn't help that you forgot all your vocabulary when you were in his immediate vicinity. Usually, your teachers and friends described you as well-spoken and eloquent, always knowing the right thing to say.

But that was, of course, until Renjun. All words disappeared from your poor brain whenever he was around. And it's not like you didn't want to talk to him, get to know him better. But you physically couldn't bring yourself to form a coherent sentence. You kept telling yourself it was just a silly crush and it would pass in time. But the more time passed, the stronger you felt the need to do something about your feelings. Naturally, you couldn't speak, but there was still something you could do. Something you probably did best. Write.

So one day, after what felt like an eternity of yearning, you finally gathered the courage to act on your emotions. Taking a small sheet of paper out of your notebook, you wrote a little something. It was probably super lame but apparently, even your writing skills were affected by your crush on him. As soon as your "masterpiece" was done, you slid it towards Renjun before you could chicken out and change your mind about this whole thing. The note had the following text:

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Your drawings are almost As pretty as you. P.S. Key word: almost ;)

The second he spotted the little note which was folded in a hurry, he opened it curiously. Once he read its insides, you could hear him snort under his breath. Was it that bad? You couldn't help but worry. Then, he took his own pen and started writing something under it. That was a good sign, right? You were feeling hopeful. Once he was done, he slid the paper towards you. You opened it in a rush. His response was:

Hey! Are you bullying my art?!?

You looked at him in confusion. How could he have possibly misunderstood? However, he was too focused on multitasking (drawing most of the time and occasionally taking notes based on the lecture) to spot your reaction. You decided you had no choice but to be as explicit as possible and wrote another note:

Nooo, I meant to compliment both you and your art, sorry if it came off wrong and lame :(

When he received it, you could swear you saw him smiling a little, which made your heart melt. How was he so beautiful? Soon enough, his reply came:

That's alright, I'm just teasing...Also, it worked.

You couldn't believe it. It worked? You'd successfully grabbed his attention by using this first-grade flirting method in college? You were suddenly feeling brave and kept writing. It was too late to turn back time.

I just think you're really pretty and cool especially when you draw but I was too hesitant to talk to you directly...

When he read your most recent note, he even gave you a look of disbelief, which you couldn't interpret until you saw his response:

Cool? Wow, that's a first...And it's ok, I don't bite.

You chuckled quietly and suddenly noticed that class was ending soon. You couldn't wait until tomorrow so you hurriedly wrote the content of your next note:

What do I have to do to get your number?

Renjun shook his head in amusement and this time, his reply came quicker than before:

*number enclosed* Here, that wasn't so hard, was it?

You could hear the lecturer saying his words of conclusion and you hurried to respond via another note, because you couldn't trust your voice to actually speak to Renjun. Not yet, at least. So, you wrote:

Thank you!!! Here is mine: *number enclosed*

And just as he received your final note, the students around you started gathering their things. You simply looked at Renjun and you still couldn't believe he'd actually replied to your silly flirting and even gave you his number! You waved him goodbye like a lovesick fool and practically ran outside of the lecture hall. Stage fright whomst? Try having a crush on the prettiest boy in the world.

After you went back home, you debated calling Renjun. Eventually, you talked yourself out of it. What if you said something stupid and embarrassing? With texting, you could at least have more time to think things through before sending them. Actually speaking to him seemed too terrifying a task to accomplish. So, you texted him excitedly and your heart did a back-flip when he replied. Was it strange that you already missed him, even though it had only been a couple of hours since you last saw him? Naturally, you couldn't tell him that, it would probably freak him out. So, you settled for texting (for the time being).

Renjun: Why did you run away after class?

You: I was too nervous to speak to you, I'm sorry!!!

Renjun: That's strange, I see you talking to your friends all the time...Am I so scary?!?

You: Nooo, you're not scary, I'm just being an idiot 😔

Renjun: Top of the class does not equal idiot but I'll let it slide this time

You: Thank you for your generosity!

Renjun: What are you up to?

You: Probably gonna work on that assignment for next week

You: Sorry, I'm so boring 😔

Renjun: First of all, you don't have to apologize so much, you did nothing wrong

Renjun: Second of all, saaame. We can brainstorm together if you want?

You: Sorry, I'll stop. Oops, I did it again. Pretend you didn't see it.

You: Also omg, yes pls, that would be great!

And that is how your friendship with Renjun started. Texting on your phones and exchanging notes during class lasted a week until you finally decided to ask him out. Again, via text, because you were feeling too shy to speak to him. The only other contact you'd had was waving at each other. And it's not like he spoke to you, either. There were two explanations for that: 1) he chose to respect your decision or 2) he was possibly just as shy as you were. Whatever the reason, you thought this could not go on forever so you managed to find the bravery to propose a date.

You: Do you wanna go out with me? 👉🥺👈

Renjun: Sure, where do you wanna go?

You: Oh, wow, I didn't think I'd get this far lol

You: Where do YOU wanna go?

Renjun: Hmm, there's this new art gallery I've been meaning to visit...if that's okay with you

You: Anything is good with me as long as I get to see your pretty face

Renjun: What

You: I said you're pretty

Renjun: Shut up, oh my God...

You: Do you want me to stop?

Renjun: Say that again

You: You're pretty

Renjun: 😳😳😳

Renjun: I can't wait to see you again

You: Same here

Once you got to the front of the art gallery, it struck you how strange it was that you would speak to Renjun for the first time ever. You mentally braced yourself as you awaited his arrival anxiously. Your nails were digging into the inside of your hands and you were terrified you'd pierce holes through your own skin. You told yourself this was silly, you had no reason to be so nervous. Renjun was a total sweetheart and he obviously liked talking...well, writing to you. You needn't worry that much, you kept repeating in your mind. You were too busy hyping yourself up to notice him approaching behind you. Too busy to be prepared for what came next.

"Hiii," Renjun greeted you with a surprise back hug.

"Oh dear," you jumped in shock as you turned around.

"Did I scare you, angel?"

Shit. Already with the pet names? How were you supposed to survive?

"No, it's fine," you waved him off, trying to play it cool. "Isn't it weird this is the first time we're actually speaking to each other?"

"Um...kinda," Renjun scratched the back of his head. "But I like it, it's what makes this so special."

"Wow, you sure do have a way with words," you chuckled.

"Shall we go inside?" he suggested.

"Yes, please."

As you looked around the art gallery, you kept pointing excitedly at the paintings, while Renjun was quietly evaluating them and telling you interesting stories about the artists. You couldn't help but be amazed by how attractive he was as he exhibited his knowledge. And of course, you couldn't help but wonder at how he was so much more beautiful than all the art you've ever seen. Naturally, you wouldn't tell him that. First of all, because it was too lame to speak aloud. Second of all, because your voice would undoubtedly betray you and crack or something even more embarrassing. As time passed, you were surprised at how easy it was to talk to him, despite your previous concerns. Renjun was very polite and soft-mannered and he made you feel comfortable, while the two of you looked at the paintings and discussed them. Once you'd seen everything, you were starting to feel a bit bummed out that your lovely date was coming to an end. When you were outside the art gallery, you impulsively asked:

"Can I walk you home?"

"I mean...sure. On one condition."

"Anything."

"I get to walk you home next time."

"There'll be a next time?" you whispered hopefully.

"I hope I don't sound presumptuous if I share my observation we both had a wonderful time."

"That's perfectly alright. Your observation is correct," you admitted.

"I live just around the corner, though. You really don't have to-"

"But I want to."

"So do I," Renjun said and the two of you began walking towards his home.

"I was wondering about something...You already know I didn't speak to you because I was feeling shy, but why didn't you? I have two theories, but I'm curious which one is more on point."

"Do tell and I'll try my best to enlighten you," he joked.

"Okay, so theory number one is you were being respectful of my wish not to talk yet. Theory number two is that you're just as shy as I am."

Renjun laughed and you could swear this was the sweetest sound in the entire universe.

"Am I so transparent? Honestly, it's a little bit of both. But there's another part you didn't guess. But it's too embarrassing."

"Come on, tell meee! It can't be more embarrassing than my lame attempts to flirt with you."

Renjun smiled gently.

"Well, to be honest, I couldn't believe you thought I was cool and pretty...I even feared this was some sort of prank. It wouldn't be the first time someone decided to mess with me like that."

"Renjun, are you serious? I don't understand why anyone would...Scratch that, whoever messed with you didn't deserve even a fraction of your attention. I meant every word I said. I really like you...and your paintings. And I'm sorry I couldn't say it aloud earlier. You genuinely deserve to hear nice things more."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," he blinked cutely. "But enough about me. I never told you...how beautiful you are. How kind and smart."

"I know," you waved him off teasingly. "But coming from you, this means a lot."

Renjun shook his head, amused by your words.

"We should go somewhere you like next time. Maybe a bookshop?" he suggested.

"Am I so transparent?" you repeated his words. "But sure, yeah. That sounds nice."

"Well, this is me," he said, pointing towards his home.

"Already? Aw, time sure flies by when you're having fun."

"I'll see you tomorrow in class, right?"

"Of course," you promised and before you could talk yourself out of it, gave him a quick but heartfelt hug. "Bye, Renjun."

"Bye, angel."

After your first date with Renjun, things were going quite smoothly. You finally got over your nervousness when it came to talking to him and the two of you would occasionally whisper things to each other during class. The first time he held your hand under the desk your cheeks filled with colour. Despite your embarrassment, you held his hand right back and granted him with a grateful smile. After that, holding hands in class (whenever you weren't busy taking notes) became like second nature to you two. It just felt so sweet and comfortable to be close to him. You couldn't wait till the next weekend for your second date. Even though you were just going to a bookshop and had nothing that special planned out, you enjoyed being around him so much that you were more than excited for spending time with him one-on-one. No professors or other students to distract you.

When the day finally arrived, you were surprised to find out your anxious self had made a comeback. Even though you were around him everyday and had grown accustomed to holding a conversation, it had been an entire week since your first date when it was just the two of you and you couldn't help but get cold feet as you were waiting in front of the bookshop. This time Renjun didn't surprise you from behind, you could see him approaching from a distance. Mentally bracing yourself for his inevitable arrival, you knew you'd be an awkward mess no matter how hard you tried.

"Hey, angel," he greeted you with the usual hug.

"It's nice to see you again, Renjun," you replied dumbly, briefly melting into his arms.

"You saw me yesterday, remember?" he teased you.

"Um, yeah, but still," you chuckled.

"Is everything okay? You don't seem like yourself," Renjun immediately noticed the change in your behaviour.

"Why wouldn't it be? Everything's peachy," you lied, but he didn't seem to believe you.

"Be honest with me, please," Renjun asked. You suddenly remembered what he'd confided in you during your first date. It was no wonder he had a hard time trusting you after someone in his past had had the nerve to pull such a cruel prank on a soul as sweet as his. You felt guilty for lying rightaway and began explaining yourself.

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I don't want to fuck anything up. Like I just did by lying and swearing. Fuck. I did it again, didn't I? I'll shut up now," you were rambling anxiously.

"Relax, Y/N, I totally get it. I was just worried maybe you didn't want to be here...with me."

"What? Nonsense. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. No one else I'd rather be with."

"Well, the feeling's mutual so there's no need for concern. Let's look at those books, yeah?"

"Yeah, sounds good, Renjun."

As the two of you went inside and started exploring the hundreds of shelves together, you felt yourself relaxing a little. Being surrounded by so many familiar titles, so many gorgeous covers was comforting. And as you kept showing Renjun some of your favourite books and telling him about your most beloved characters, he realized you were back to your usual self in no time. Attentively listening and occasionally sharing his opinions on certain authors, you didn't notice how quickly time passed by and how much you had enjoyed yourself and each other's company. Once you had looked through the bookshop in its entirety, you felt like it was too early to put an end to your date, but you didn't want to come off as too clingy or something. So, you simply looked at Renjun, expecting him to say what he wanted to do next.

"I promised you I'll walk you home this time, didn't I?" he smoothly said.

"I believe you did," you giggled. It was so sweet of him to remember such a detail.

"I'm a man of my word so lead the way," Renjun replied, offering you his arm.

"It will be my pleasure," you eagerly took his arm and the two of you began walking. You were deliberately moving at a slow place, simply because you didn't want this to end and felt like prolonging the time around him.

"Your hands are so pretty," you blurted out at one point.

"You like my hands, huh?" Renjun smirked.

"Did I say that out loud?" you were undoubtedly blushing really hard.

"I'm afraid so."

You felt completely mortified as you covered your face with your own hands.

"Hey, hey, it's fine. You can tell me anything. Chances are I'll take it as a compliment."

"Really?" you sneaked a peak. "You don't think I'm weird?"

"Maybe a little bit, but it's one of the things I like about you."

"One?" you blinked curiously.

"You're really fun to be around and you've been nothing but sweet to me. And of course, you're stunning, but that goes without saying."

"Without saying? I don't mind hearing it, though."

"I'll have that in mind," Renjun smiled gently.

"Renjun?"

"Yes?"

"Can you hold my hand?" you almost begged.

"I don't know, can I?" he tormented you with a joke.

"Will you hold my hand?" you corrected yourself.

"All you had to do was ask," Renjun acquiesced and intertwined your fingers.

Walking hand in hand, you eventually reached your place. As you two stared at one another, you refusing to go inside, him refusing to go, both of you refusing to let go of the other's hand, you thought to yourself how badly you wanted to kiss him. You had no idea if it was too early for that but you knew that the longer you tried to postpone it, the more you'd crave him. And you were an impatient person. So you quickly kissed him without thinking much. It was a bit awkward and rushed but at least, you had finally done as you wanted. Renjun looked taken aback and blinked at you a couple of times.

"I'm sorry," you apologized again. "I just..."

He silenced you softly with another kiss, this time more slowly and putting your mind and heart at ease. You lost yourself in the feeling of his plush lips against yours, finally letting go of his hand so that you could wrap yours around his neck. Hesitant at first but growing bolder by the second, you could sense Renjun's tongue testing the waters. You slightly parted your lips, letting him in. As the kiss intensified, you could feel him becoming more eager to touch you, his arms wrapped around your lower back. When you were seconds away from losing your breath, you finally broke the kiss. Opening your eyes to look at him, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. He'd kissed you back.

"I thought I told you to stop apologizing so much. Especially, when you haven't done anything wrong," Renjun scolded you politely.

You opened your mouth to argue, but when you realized your immediate response would have been another 'I'm sorry', you closed it. A second later, you came up with a different reply.

"I guess you'll have to discipline me, then," you huffed in a challenge.

"Dumbass," Renjun flicked your forehead.

"Hey!" you complained with a pout. "That hurts."

"What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?" Renjun gave an unamused look.

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," you mumbled, not expecting him to actually...kiss your forehead. But he did. And damn your knees for threatening to give out.

"Feel better yet?"

You nodded enthusiastically.

"Get inside already," Renjun tickled your sides, nudging you in the direction of your door.

"You want to get rid of me so badly?"

"No, but we can stand here forever if you don't," he rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to invite you in?"

"Don't tempt me and go," he was impossible to sway.

"Okay, okay," you relented. "See you tomorrow, Renjun!"

For your third date Renjun suggested something different. While your first and second date had all taken place in public locations, this time he offered going to his place. And maybe the shock on your face was too obvious, because Renjun was quick to keep talking and almost take it back.

"We don't have to if you don't want to! We can just watch something at the cinema or whatever. Forget I mentioned it if you're uncomfortable."

You quickly shook your head.

"No, no, I do want to come over! I was just...not expecting it."

"Yeah? You sure?"

"A hundred per cent," you nodded excitedly.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I'm at two hundred per cent," Renjun teased.

"It's not a competition," you reminded him.

"It's not if I'm winning," he kept playing around.

You rolled your eyes.

"So what are we watching?" you asked.

"You can't go wrong with Harry Potter, am I right?"

"You are so right," you squealed. "Which house are you in?"

"Don't get me started. Sometimes I get Ravenclaw, sometimes Slytherin, it's a mess."

"That's pretty cool, though," you were practically staring at him with heart eyes at this point.

"You're a Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

"Am I so transparent?" you complained, this line becoming something of a running gag between the two of you.

"Cute," he mumbled under his breath and you blushed, not managing to maintain eye contact.

When the time arrived for you to go to Renjun's place, you were more excited rather than nervous. He was so easy to talk to and you were genuinely making so many wonderful memories that you had made it your mission to not waste any second worrying needlessly.

"I have arrived," you announced the obvious as you stood at his door.

"I can see that," Renjun chuckled. "Come on in."

"I wasn't sure if I should bring something so I bought some pizza on the way. It's still hot, so I hope you're hungry," you said as you followed him inside like a puppy.

"Oh, that's very thoughtful. And I always have enough space left for pizza."

You grinned and the minute you put the box on the table and your arms were free, you wrapped them around Renjun in a hug.

"You're so warm," you murmured against his skin.

He kissed the top of your head swiftly. Soon after, the two of you were too busy re-watching Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, eating pizza and holding hands to talk much. Once the movie was over, you realized how badly you didn't want to go home and how cozy leaning your head on Renjun's shoulder felt. And how much you liked him and couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his smile and his overall existence.

"Do you want to go home already?" Renjun asked the dreaded question.

"I mean, not really, but I don't wanna impose myself on you," you whispered.

"Don't be so formal," Renjun replied. "Just stay a little longer."

"Yayyy!" you were quite overjoyed and kissed his cheek. "What do you want to do?"

"Hm, I don't know. I could give you a tour around the place."

"Sure, that sounds fun," you immediately agreed.

"Don't get your hopes up, it's just a regular college guy's apartment."

"I'm sure I'll be amazed by every little detail."

"Even my socks?"

"Especially your socks," you joked.

As he showed you around his apartment, you couldn't help but be amazed by how Renjun-like everything was. From the snug kitchen to his art supplies scattered around. Every corner made the atmosphere feel extremely homey. Until you saw something that you hadn't expected, something that hadn't come up in conversation before. A stunning grand piano. You looked at the instrument and then at Renjun and finally, back at the piano.

"Do you play?"

"No, I just keep things like that as an accessory," he responded sarcastically. "Of course, I play."

"Can you...no, wait," you stopped yourself before making a similar mistake to the one you made a while ago. "Will you play something for me?"

"Right now?"

"If it's not too much trouble," you gave him the very best pleading look you were capable of.

Renjun sighed reluctantly and sat down on the bench in front of the piano.

"Don't just stand there awkwardly, sit next to me," he urged you courteously.

You followed his advice and took the free spot. However, nothing could have possibly prepared you for witnessing Renjun's skills up-close. Watching him play was like magic. You were simply in awe and couldn't help but stare at his pretty fingers hitting the keys in just the right ways. When he was finished performing the piece, you were too frozen to do anything. Couldn't even manage to clap, even though he deserved it so much. But you were too transfixed by his playing and those damn hands of his you couldn't possibly move.

"Earth to Y/N?" Renjun went as far as snapping his fingers right in front of your face.

"Huh?" you let out.

"Did I enchant you or what?"

"I think you did," you chuckled. "Just...wow. You're insanely good."

He looked away bashfully.

"Thanks. It just takes practice."

"Nah, I've heard people play before but what you have is different. So pure and genuine. Like a blessing. And I'm not just saying that because I think I'm falling in love with you. I really mean every word."

"Care to repeat that?"

"I really mean..." you started, still not registering what exactly you'd said. How far you'd gone. What you couldn't take back.

"Before that," Renjun reminded you gently. "You know. The part about falling in love with me."

"Shit. I was thinking out loud again, wasn't I?" you asked dumbly. "It's too early for that, I know. I'm really sorry. Let's just pretend I said nothing and forget about it, yeah?"

In your panic, you jumped up from the bench and were about to escape like a coward but Renjun grabbed your hand before you could take another step.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, too," he said.

"W-what?" you stammered.

"And I don't care about whether it's too early or not. And I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear it. So the question is...what are you going to do about that?"

"Me? What...am I supposed to do?"

"What you want to do," Renjun clarified.

"Um...I want to keep falling in love with you, Renjun. And holding your pretty hands. Spending time with you. Listening to your angelic voice. What I want...is for you to be my boyfriend."

"I thought I already was."

"You were?"

"We went on a couple of dates...we kissed...Haven't I made it obvious enough?"

"Oh, right," you chuckled. "Sorry."

"Say that word one more time, I dare you," Renjun slowly ran a finger down your lips.

"S-sorry?" you had to test his patience. Before you could argue, he kissed you fiercely, wrapping his palms around your cheeks. You were drowning beneath his touch, which was ridiculous, considering he was also setting your lips on fire. You figured if saying sorry too much was going to end up like this, you would be a fool not to take advantage of it.

"Pretty angel," Renjun whispered against your mouth. "My pretty angel."

You were practically melting and the only thing holding you together were Renjun's arms.

"For fear of sounding lame, I'm inclined to say your pretty angel's almost as pretty as you. Key word: almost," you giggled, recalling your earliest attempts at flirting with him.

"Lies," Renjun shook his head.

"Hey, it worked the first time!" you pouted.

"It only worked because you're the pretty one," Renjun ruffled your hair playfully.

"Oh my God, shut up," you covered your face to hide how red it was.

"Never."

The End

#nct #renjun #nct dream #renjun x reader #nct fluff #renjun fluff #hwang renjun #nct romance #hwang renjun x reader #college au #writing

123 notes · View notes

pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years

Text

Not All Are Bad

Summary: Dabi, formerly known as Touya Todoroki, was arrested. While being interrogated, he spills everything that his father did to him and his siblings until the day he disappeared from their lives. Now, not only are you and Shouto in danger of losing your pups, your friends are too. It's up to you and Shouto to prove that not all Pro Heroes are abusive parents and spouses.

TW: Enji Todoroki's A+ parenting (heavy 600 ton sarcasm), abuse, swearing, referenced child abuse, abusive relationships (not anyone from Class 1-A), nosy reporters, A/B/O dynamics (I don't think that's a warning, but I'm adding it anyway.), mentions of sex but not actual smut because this is a SFW blog, mentions of pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy. If I forgot anything, or anyone wants me to add something, please let me know! Slide into my DM's or leave a comment. I would hate to make anyone uncomfortable and I will change it as soon as I see the notification!

A/N: This just popped into my head today, so I figured I would write it out! Also, a little run down of how my A/B/O scenarios work is under the cut with the rest of the story in case these kinds of things make anyone uncomfortable!

Quick run-down (if you don't care skip past all of the italics and find the bold words and the space where the story starts):

Alphas: An alpha is someone who's alignment makes them a lot more domineering in certain situations. They tend to be natural leaders and don't appreciate being questioned by someone they perceive as lower ranking than them. They release strong pheromones that allow them a certain level of control over the other alignments, usually omegas, but there are omegan protection laws that keep alphas from using this to their advantage in unsavory ways.

They get ruts twice a year, which means that they just get really possessive of their mates and anyone they consider family. This is expressed in different ways, from your typical A/B/O scenario when they get really h*rny, to simply scenting their mates and family more than usual. They tend to take their ruts off from work, because the chemical imbalance in their brains can sometimes make them go feral.

*When an alpha goes feral they will attack anyone they perceive as a threat to them or their families. They can sometimes go after their mates or even their pups if they think their pups are hurting their mate. It rarely happens among families, but there are extenuating circumstances. Common signs include an excessive amount of growling, snarling, howling, snapping etc. Sometimes, depending on how strong an alpha's alignment, their eyes will flash a deep crimson. (Think Kurapika from Hunter X Hunter)

*When an alpha offers to share their rut with an omega or beta, it is either a related family members (or found family, someone they feel no sexual attraction to), or someone they have been courting with. It's a big deal when an alpha requests that someone they're courting spend their rut with them. It shows that the alpha is ready to commit to a more serious kind of relationship.

*These are the alignments most likely to impregnate an omega or a beta. Rarely are alpha x alpha relationships able to conceive and bring a pup to full term. (For the sake of ease, it's the usual nine to ten months.)

Betas: These tend to be your more neutral alignments. They can smell pheromones, but they tend to have less of a reaction to the other alignments. They tend to keep the peace among packs, simply because they are less likely to become swayed by pheromones. They can snarl and growl like alphas, but they also purr like omegas, they are kind of in the middle of the spectrum.

*They don't have ruts or heats, but they aren't sterile either. They can impregnate an omega or even another beta with little issue, though they have a harder time impregnating alphas. They also have a hard time bringing a pup to term. It's uncommon, but it does happen.

Omegas: Now, most A/B/O scenarios I have read make omegas seem weak and taken advantage of. Not mine. An omega can just as easily sway an alpha with their pheromones as an alpha could with an omega. There are certain things that are just courtesy when in public, and there are laws about using one's pheromones to one's advantage. Omegas also tend to have more of the maternal instincts, but that's not the entirety of their character.

*They are the most likely alignment to get pregnant, and they are the least likely to impregnate another alignment.

When omegas get their heats, it shows mostly the same way as when an alpha goes into a rut, but sometimes they also become a lot more affectionate with younger members of their family since their maternal instincts are on a high, and they tend to become more clingy to people they see as protectors, for lack of a better word, usually their alpha friends or parents, depending on the age. Alphas tend to get possessive, while omegas become more clingy and touch-starved.

Please note: Sex and gender have nothing to do with one's alignment. One's alignment is simply something that happens by chance and rarely makes one less worthy of something than another.

Children are called 'pups' but they are still referred to as kids and children etc.

Children start presenting from as early as nine to as late as eighteen, and it's different for every child. The alignments all have different symptoms.

Alphas become easily irritated, possessive, sometimes they become destructive or even go feral when they present. They also tend to run a fever, and their eyes sometimes turn crimson, even if they don't go completely feral. Female alphas don't get their periods. They just get the rut.

Betas just tend to have their scents change. Pups smell a certain way, but when one presents, the scent changes. They also tend to be more in tuned with their packs' feelings.

Omegas become touch-starved, clingy, and sometimes more emotion. They tend to get cramps and muscle aches. Think about a girl on her period, minus the blood. Female omegas don't get periods or bleed during their heats, and neither do male omegas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Touya, Reizo, come on guys, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up!" you called, laughing as your pups practically climbed over each other to get into the hallway from their room, Reizo with his sweater on backwards and Touya almost falling on his face trying to get his pants up over his knees and his very colorful Pro Hero Shouto boxers.

"Moooommmaaa!" Reizo whined, blue eyes shining brightly as he fixed his sweater. "Touya pushed me!"

"Reizo bit me!" Touya argued, face flushing redder than his hair.

"Come on boys, come here," you cooed, crouching down and gesturing them over. "Do you love me?"

"Of course!" they cried.

"Do you love Daddy?"

"Yes!"

"So you guys must love each other right?"

They glanced at each other, frowning, but flushed, telling you everything you needed to know.

"We're family," you told them, keeping your arm firmly around each of their waists, despite Touya being almost as tall as you. "And that means that no matter how much you fight, or how much you irritate the snot out of each other, at the end of the day, you love each other. Right?"

"Yeah," they muttered, albeit a little reluctantly.

"Okay then," you said, ruffling their hair softly. "And remember, no matter what happens, your father and I will do whatever we have to to protect you and your cousins."

They nodded.

"Alright, now Daddy has the car running downstairs, so we need to get going!" you said, ushering your boys out the door, making sure to lock the door behind you.

"No one forgot anything?" Shouto asked, climbing out of the car to make sure that the boys were strapped into the car properly. "Everyone has jackets?"

"Yup!"

"You have your keys, phone, wallet?" Shouto asked you, opening the door for you.

"Of course," you replied, buckling up, letting Shouto know that he could shut the door.

"Alright, well, we have to get going anyway," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before he moved to close your door.

"Momma, Dad, why do we have to do an interview?" Touya asked, frowning.

He was your oldest boy, thirteen and a spitting image of his uncle, who he was named after, save for a white streak in his hair that covered his left eye, that he inherited from Shouto.

His quirk was a fire type quirk, and it relied on his emotions. His flames changed color based on how he felt, and when his emotions got out of control, so did his flames. Unlike what Enji had done with Touya, you and Shouto had taught your son to understand and channel his feelings so that he didn't harm himself or anyone else by accident. He was extremely in tune with his feelings, and his communication skills were through the roof, despite his age.

He was also intelligent, already having skipped two grades, and he was much more mature than most kids his age.

You supposed that with both of his parents being Pro Heroes, along with most of your found family, that he had heard and had to deal with things that other kids hadn't been exposed to. Not to mention that he had started taking care of Reizo more and more while you and Shouto were gone, despite both of you trying to make sure that one of you was always home with them.

Reizo was named after his grandmother, and he was ten, with white curls with (Y/H/C) undertones, and heterochromic eyes. One was gray, the other was the same shade of (Y/E/C) as your eyes. No one knew where the curls came from, but you were assuming it was from your side of the family, since most of the photos you had seen of Shouto's side of the family made it clear that it wasn't from him. Reizo's quirk was also some sort of mutation quirk. He was able to manipulate light at will, it didn't matter what kind.

One night, after you had woken up from a nightmare, you had checked in to make sure that both of your pups were safe and found Reizo sitting up in bed with a small ball of light in his hands. He had turned four a few months before, and while the doctors had assured you that he had a quirk, he had yet to manifest it physically.

Shouto had assured you, and vice versa, that it didn't matter if your pups were quirkless, you would love them regardless.

Reizo, even at four, had known that you were upset, so he had put on a little light show for you, and had managed to keep permanent star charts all around his room as he got older. He had memorized so many constellations and their stories that it made your head spin.

You and Shouto couldn't have been prouder of your boys, but that didn't mean that you subjected them to the media the way some heroes did with their kids.

In fact, you had tried to keep your kids as far away from reporters as you could, but you had also coached them on how to deal with them as they got older.

Touya, a recently presented alpha, had become much more protective of you and Reizo when reporters tried to stop you in the streets for questions.

Touya had never been violent, and you had been so proud of him when he had hung a reporter with his own tongue after they had gotten under Touya's skin with personal questions they had no right asking a thirteen-year-old.

"Because some things have been happening with your uncle Touya recently, and people are nervous. We're hoping that this makes them feel safer," you explained, turning in your seat to look at your boys.

Shouto's grip on the wheel tightened enough that it made a small noise, and you reached over, touching his thigh lightly.

"Hey," you whispered, turning back around, "it'll all be okay, we haven't done anything wrong. They have no reason to take the boys from us."

"I know, but he screwed everything up, not just for us, but for our friends too."

"Wait, what?" you asked.

"Bakugou called me to tell me that every hero with pups is going to be getting investigated, just to be sure. He and Kirishima might lose Kazuki and Eichiro," Shouto murmured.

"Fuck," you muttered, quietly enough that you knew your sons wouldn't hear you.

"Bakugou isn't exactly thrilled, but he's too afraid to do anything about it like he normally would."

"I can imagine," you replied. "But it's fine. No one from our class is going to lose their kids. We all love our pups, and we love everyone else's."

Shouto nodded, and you could tell that he was really trying to believe you.

"Hey," you murmured. "We're gonna be okay. Me and the boys and you. We're all gonna be okay."

He nodded again, and his grip on the wheel relaxed a little bit.

Interviews like this always made Shouto edgy, but he was extra concerned about this one and what was at stake.

He hated putting the boys in the spotlight, he hated even taking them to a news station, but he knew that you all had to do this if you wanted to stay together.

"I love you," he murmured, taking your left hand, kissing your hand lightly.

"I love you too Sho," you told him, smiling at him softly.

"Ready to walk through hell?" he asked as he pulled up to the building.

"With you by my side?" you inquired. "Always."

Shouto, as always, climbed out first, drawing a cheering crowd, and opened your door for you.

Then you each grabbed a boy.

Touya moved to stand dutifully by his father, and they both moved to your side.

You had your hand wrapped tightly in Reizo's, who was on your left. Touya, on Reizo's left, had an arm around his brother's shoulders protectively, and Shouto stood at the other end of your little line, glancing at you and his boys every few seconds.

Cameras flashed, and there were fans there to show their support to you and Shouto. Some of them held signs, other had merch.

Touya copied his father, his eyes steadfastly forward unless he was checking on you or Reizo, and his head held high with a confidence you knew wasn't entirely faked.

Reizo, on the other hand, was glancing nervously back and forth as you made you way inside.

"Momma, I don't like it out here," he said.

"I know baby," you murmured, barely pausing as you scooped him up into your arms, hiding his face in your shoulder.

Reizo was small, even for ten years old, and you could easily carry him in one arm while the other rested on Touya's shoulder, a comforting gesture.

Reporters shouted questions, fans screamed for some attention, and some people just watched, stone faced and blank.

Touya opened the door for you, and you ruffled his hair affectionately while Shouto kept a protective hand on the small of your back.

Shouto, who had been the first of you to meet the hosts, lead your family through the building, waving away assistance with enough politeness that no one got offended, but got the point across that he didn't need their help.

"Momma," Reizo murmured sleepily.

"Yeah baby?"

"Are Touya and I going to be taken from you and Daddy?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it baby," you whispered, trying to control the pheromones that were leaking around your scent reduction patches.

You had been straight with Touya about what was going on, he didn't appreciate being treated like a child, but you had sugar-coated the explanation you had given Reizo. He still understood, but it was terms he could understand.

"I love you Momma," Reizo said, clinging to the back of your shirt.

"I love you too baby," you told him, kissing his forehead lightly.

You and Shouto had declined the list of questions the station had sent you, and your PR managers had already 'leaked' it to the media that you and your family were winging this.

You had told the boys to answer the questions honestly, unless they didn't want to answer a question that made them uncomfortable.

You and Shouto had had a long conversation with the boys about this kind of thing, about personal information protection when being questioned, tone of voice, all of it, but at the end of the day, you knew that someone would find a way to twist everything.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur before you entered onto the stage, Reizo still in your arms.

Shouto and Touya were on either side of you, and you suddenly felt as if you had two bodyguards.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Todoroki. Mr. Todoroki, Mini Todorokis," Nariko, one of the hosts, said.

Shouto nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders absentmindedly.

"Nice to see you again too, Ms. Tanaka. I apologize for my husband, his second cup of coffee hasn't really settled in yet," you snarked, nudging your husband playfully.

"Dad doesn't function properly until nine in the morning," Touya added, flashing one of those dazzling smirks that would have people bowing to his every wish in a few years.

"My own son," Shouto muttered, making you laugh.

"It seems like your youngest takes after his father," Tatsuya, the other host, offered.

"Reizo does like his sleep," you agreed, rubbing your son's back soothingly.

"He's been spending too much time with his Uncle Katsuki," Shouto muttered, and you chuckled.

"Hey, when we were in school, you and Katsuki were the only ones that went to be bed before ten," you reminded him, wrinkling your nose in a teasing way.

Shouto opened and closed his mouth a few times before he pouted, tugging, very lightly, on a stray piece of hair that fell into your face.

"So, Touya- is it alright if we call you that?- what's it like? Having both parents be Pros?" Nariko asked.

"I don't mind if you call me Touya," your son said, looking surprisingly relaxed. "You guys don't ask the weird questions that some other reporters do. But, to answer your question, it's been . . . interesting, for sure."

"How so?"

"Well, for once thing, it's always stressful seeing them fighting on TV, no matter if it's a small time attention seeker or a high profile criminal. Dad has been my role model since I was little, even more so since I presented as an alpha. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a Momma's boy," Touya said, sending you a fond look. "So I want to make sure Momma's safe."

People in the audience cooed, and you let out a small purr, ruffling your son's hair.

"What do you have to say to that Mom?" Tatsuya inquired.

"Both Shouto and I already know that Touya is a Momma's boy," you informed them. "Both boys are, though recently Reizo has been spending more time with his father."

Reizo shifted in your lap, slowly peeling his eyes open, glancing around.

He rubbed his eyes as they asked Touya a few more questions, before he crawled from your lap into Shouto's.

Shouto waited for him to get settled before moving to make sure Reizo was secure in his position.

"So, Mrs. Todoroki-"

"Please, call me (Y/F/N)," you interrupted. "We've been doing this since I was in high school."

"Fair enough," Nariko said, smiling at you. "(Y/F/N), what's it like for you? Being a mother and Pro?"

"The separation anxiety in the beginning almost made me quit," you joked, waiting for the laughter to die down before continuing. "But seriously, being a mother is stressful enough, but I was rising through the ranks, so was Shouto. We both knew that our jobs were dangerous, and we made sure that we talked it through thoroughly before we even got together. When I found out I was pregnant, we both took a few days off to talk about things. We both agreed that I was going to take myself out of the field, stick to desk work, that kind of thing, and then we argued on baby names."

"Speaking of baby names," Tatsuya said, making sure you were done before continuing, "you named your son Touya. Care to explain the name choice, given everything that's happened?"

You and Shouto glanced at each other, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was leaving this one to you. He wouldn't be able to get through it if he answered.

"Until recently, we didn't know that Dabi of the League of Villains was Touya Todoroki. Shouto and the rest of his family thought that he was dead. I don't know the full story, since Enji didn't like me to begin with, and Shouto doesn't talk about him much. Shouto was separated from his siblings because of his father."

You tried to reign in all the angry pheromones leaking out, but it was hard. You had never really liked Enji Todoroki, in the uniform or out of it, and hearing about the abuse over the years from Shouto and his siblings had lowered your opinion even more.

"Anyway, when we started talking about names, Shouto brought Touya up. He said, 'I want there to be one Touya Todoroki that gets to see all the good the world has to offer'. Once he told me that, I couldn't say no, besides, I wanted there to be one Touya Todoroki that saw what love was supposed to be."

You took Shouto's hand, interlacing your fingers, and your son took your other hand.

"You got what you wanted," your son told you, voice cracking with emotions.

"So, Touya, do you think that your parents are a good example of love?" Nariko asked.

"Without a doubt," Touya replied, almost instantaneously.

"You answered that very quickly," Nariko told him, eyes wide.

"For those who don't know, my quirk reacts with my emotions," Touya said, setting his hand on fire, the flames a bright gold. "The flames change color based on my emotions. From the first day that my quirk appeared, neither of my parents have ever lost their patience with me. They have both taken the time to communicate with me. They taught me that showing emotions isn't a bad thing, it's something that makes us human.

"My parents have never raised their voices at us, me or Reizo. Even when we probably deserved it, they've never yelled at us out of anger or frustration. Never. They've never laid a hand on us either. I've never seen Dad's eyes change color even a little bit when talking with me, my brother, or my mother. He's gotten mad at a few people who can't take a hint, but he's never been violent around the house. He's never yelled at Momma, and Momma's never yelled at him either. Not in the time I can remember. Dad taught me how to be a good alpha. I said earlier he was a like a role model to me.

"I watched the way he treated Momma and followed his example. Now I know how to treat my future mate, and how to make things work. My parents are a good example of a healthy relationship, love, acceptance, parenthood, and a bunch of other things. They taught me and Reizo that communication is the key to everything. If only it was the key to cooking, because I think that's the only thing neither of them can do."

The audience had been cooing at your sons little speech, then laughed at his unexpected joke.

Tears stung your eyes and Touya seemed to panic a little bit.

"Sorry Momma, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"I know honey," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm just happy."

He sank into your hug, arms tight around your waist.

Shouto rubbed a hand down your back soothingly, and you pulled away, wiping your eyes.

"So, Mr. Todoroki, you've been very quiet," Tatsuya said. "Why are you letting your wife and son answer everything."

"If there's one thing I've learned in the fifteen years that we've been together," Shouto said, "it's that my wife has a way with words that I lack. Luckily, both our sons have inherited that from her. Besides, I like hearing her and my children talk. I like hearing their voice much more than I like hearing mine."

"And you said you didn't have a way with words," you teased, and Shouto chuckled.

Reizo rubbed at his eyes, glanced around, and crawled over your lap to get to Touya, who let his little brother tuck himself into his side, yawning.

"Finally awake baby?" you asked, turning your attention to your youngest son.

"Yeah," he murmured, stretching before he settled down again. "'M not used to being up this early on a weekend."

"We know," Touya teased, patting his brother on the head.

"Rude Touya!" Reizo whined.

"Boys," you chirped, "save the bickering for when we get home okay? Let these people do their jobs."

"Sorry Momma," they both muttered.

You smiled at them, and Shouto shook his head with a small smile.

"Are they always like this?" Nariko asked, trying to hide a giggle behind her hand.

"Pretty much," you admitted, smiling brightly. "But they are our sons, it's to be expected that they get a little snarky."

"We certainly were," Shouto muttered.

"To say the least," you agreed. "God, high school was rough. We were such problem children, I don't know how Aizawa dealt with us, or any of our other teachers for that matter."

"Speaking of your U.A. days, Touya, you're in class 1-A currently, aren't you?"

"Yes, I recently got my acceptance letter," he confirmed. "I can't wait! I already met some of my other classmates already, since they're cousins of sorts, but it's gonna be great to see where Momma and Dad went when they were my age."

"And you were accepted through recommendations, but you took the public entrance exams didn't you?"

"Yeah," Touya said, nodding. "I wanted to show everyone that just because I was accepted through recommendations didn't mean that I didn't have the power to back it up, or that I thought I was better than anyone else. I wanted to prove that it was through my power that I got in."

Shouto's eyes shined at the words his son used, and you took his hand, remembering the words that Izuku had told him at your first Sports Festival together.

"That's my boy," Shouto murmured, leaning across your lap to ruffle his son's hair.

Touya grinned, fixing his hair.

"Reizo, do you want to be a hero?" Tatsuya asked him.

"No, I want to be a natural disaster first responder."

"Why don't you want to be hero?" Nariko inquired.

"Because I don't want to steal my brother's spotlight," Reizo teased, cutting a playful glare at his brother. "Besides, they're heroes too, they just aren't Pros. Most civil servants are heroes, they just don't have the same title. Momma and Daddy taught me that!"

Reizo beamed at you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him, wrinkling your nose at him, which he did back at you.

"(Y/F/N), Mr. Todoroki, do either of you have anything to say to the people who are questioning whether Pro Heroes can be effective parents?"

"I can't speak for all Pro Heroes," you said, your voice going colder. "But I can confidently, without hesitation, tell you that the entirety of my graduating class- those that have kids- are better parents than most of our grandparents were. None of them would ever hit their child. And yes, we're all training our kids to use their quirks, but it's to teach them control, and we aren't training them for battle. Our children are not soldiers. And I think some people need to be reminded that while heroes are capable of handling situations that others are not because of our training, we're still human.

"Every time we leave our kids, every time we go out, we know that we might not make it back home. I worry about my kids whenever I leave for patrols. Every time I come across a strong opponent, I worry about whether my kids are safe, whether Shouto is safe, whether I'm going to make it back home. And to those that are specifically questioning Shouto's ability to be a parent, I'm disappointed in you. For those that are more than willing to let him walk in harm's way to risk his life for them, but doubt his parenting skills, well, ask any alpha from our class and they will tell you that I was not an easy omega to get to know.

"As an omega that was almost deemed unbreedable, unmateable, for me to let Shouto anywhere near me should be proof enough, not to mention the fact that we have two amazing pups. Not every hero is Enji Todoroki. Not every hero is thinking only of themselves or their image. The reason we're heroes is to help the world. We're not looking for fame and glory. We're looking to keep the world safer for our mates and our pups. We're heroes, but we're human, we're parents. I'm disappointed in every person that ever praised Enji Todoroki for his parenting skills, I'm disappointed in everyone that was fooled by his 'hero' persona. He may have had a license, but when it came down to it, he was no hero, not in any of the ways that mattered."

You leaned back against the couch, tearing your eyes away from the camera, leaning against Shouto's side.

"I have to agree with my wife on this," Shouto said. "My father set the bar pretty low when it came to what being a functional parents as a hero looks like, but our class is setting the bar high. None of our friends have pups that are terrified of when they walk through the door after patrols. None of our nieces and nephews have ever hated their parents with serious intent. Every member of our class, which we all know is still referred to as 1-A, adores their children. Even Katsuki does, and when we were in high school all he cared about was being number one. He took time off from work to raise his pups, and if that doesn't speak volumes, I don't know what does. When we get home, Touya and Reizo always jump to their feet and hug us.

"Katsuki's kids are the same way with him and Eijirou. The number of times (Y/F/N) and I have been knocked over when we get home from patrols is insane, honestly. Denki and Hitoshi's kids are just like Denki, always smiling. We've made mistakes of course- what parent doesn't?- but that doesn't make us bad parents. My father was a bad parent, most of the time he was a bad person, and I made it my mission to not be like him in anyway. I think I did pretty well."

You took Shouto's hand, squeezing it.

"Our class is one big family," you murmured, "and every time the kids are with us or any of our former classmates, they always smile. Like Shouto said, we've made mistakes, and we'll probably make more. We're human, it's what we do, but we're trying our best to be good parents. Our boys know that we just want what's best for them, that we support them no matter what. We taught our kids that it's alright to be afraid of things, but we also taught them that we shouldn't be something they feared. Class 1-A wanted to be the kind of parents where instead of them thinking 'Oh shit, I can't tell Mom or Dad' we wanted them to think 'I'm in trouble, I need to call Mom and Dad'."

"It sounds like you did a very good job," Tatsuya said.

"He's right!" Touya and Reizo chirped.

"You all agreed to wing this interview. We personally watched your PR agents tear up the copy of questions we were going to ask you, though (Y/F/N)'s went further and dissolved hers in water, so you had nothing to prepare yourselves with. Why would you do that?" Nariko asked.

"Momma and Dad are great parents," Touya began. "We knew that any questions you asked us would have only good answers. They get frustrated with us, they get mad, but they handle it well, they never take it out on us. Twist our words however you want, but at the end of the day, that's my final answer. I wouldn't want anyone else to raise me."

"Same," Reizo said. "And anyone that thinks Momma and Daddy are bad at what they do needs to get their eyes checked."

"Reizo," you chided.

"Sorry Momma, but it's true," Touya agreed.

"My boys," you murmured, pulling them both closer, resisting the urge to cry.

"There you have it folks," Nariko said. "I don't think there are any other questions we need to ask."

"None," Tatsuya agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the interview was on TV, and you couldn't resist the urge to watch it.

You were home by yourself for now. Shouto was out on patrol, Touya was at the dorms getting settled in, and Reizo was at a friend's house for the night.

It was clear how much your boys adored you, and it was clear that neither boy was frightened at all of you or Shouto.

Katsuki had called, practically in tears, though whether that was from the sappiness of you and your family or the kind things you had said, you weren't sure.

Most heroes had been cleared of any suspicion, they had started in the higher ranks and worked their way down, so you and the rest of your class had been cleared already.

After you had all learned that you were cleared, kids had been dropped at grandparents' and other trusted family and friends so the adults could celebrate.

It had been nice to see everyone, and there had been a lot of tears (Izuku and Katsuki were the worst, though you had been close to them), but there had also been a lot more laughter and drunken shenanigans that you would never tell your kids about.

Your ranking, along with Shouto's had shot through the roof after that interview, and you and your husband had both gotten tons of fanmail apologizing for ever doubting, and other that said they had never doubted at all and that they were glad that you were cleared.

Shouto had been so relieved when the investigations had been dropped, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"I told you," you had told him one night, and he stumbled across the interview on twitter, along with someone's breakdown of it.

You were lying in bed together, his arm wrapped around your waist as you laid on his chest.

"I know," he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

"You will never be like your father, and you will always be my hero, same with the boys."

"Speaking of the boys," Shouto began, cheeks tinted a little pink.

"Oh no," you teased, pushing yourself up to see his face.

"I . . . I want to have another pup," he admitted. "I want to try for a girl this time."

"Upset that both of our boys are almost as devoted to me as you are?" you asked playfully, moving to sit in Shouto's lap as you both readjusted.

"No, I love that our boys love you as much as they do, but they are Momma's boys," he said. "I want a Daddy's girl."

You couldn't help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss him.

"Let's ask the boys in the morning," you suggested. "Then we can try for a girl."

Shouto beamed at you, and you shook your head at him, kissing him again.

"Dork," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I would've asked sooner, but with the investigations going on, I didn't think it was the right time."

"You're right, it wouldn't have been, but we would've worked it out. We always do."

Shouto nodded, burying his face in your neck.

"I love you Shouto," you told him.

"I love you too (Y/F/N)."

#shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #fluff #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: endeavor

95 notes · View notes

recurring-polynya · 3 years

Note

For Stuff For Renji's Birthday Prompts: 1) time travel turn back the clock nonsense, bc I'm an enabler and Karakura teens plus shithead Renruki teens has *Byakuya voice* strong comedic potential OR 2) Hisana lives but due to wacky circumstances, nobody notices Rukia's existence at the Academy... until they've graduated and Renruki have joined Squad 11. Dealer's choice! (Honestly whichever you pick, I might try writing the one you don't. I am not a writer these 2 just live in my head rent free)

Why would you make me choose between these, whyyyyyyyyyy?

To be honest, I almost did them both, but this was the second one I did, and I figured that I should probably do some other people’s prompts, and then I ran out of time. I might do you some time travel shenanigans later. (This should in no way stop you from writing these, I would flip my chips if you wrote something, let alone something based on my horrible ideas)

In any case, I couldn’t resist the second options and I have spun it out into a delightful bit of Byakuya-torture. Please enjoy!!!

Special thanks to @kaicko for helping me come up with the clerical error, because you all know me, I can’t just say “a clerical error.” 😂

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 💀 💀

“How is the tea?” Aizen Sousuke asked smoothly.

The tea was excellent, but Byakuya wasn’t in the mood for Aizen’s needy attempts to ingratiate himself. “Adequate,” he replied dryly. “You said you had something to discuss with me.”

“Ah, diligent as always, Byakuya,” Aizen sighed, “always eager to get back to work. I’ll get to the point: I happened to speak with your wife recently at a fundraising event. She’s very interested in the people of the deep Rukon, and said she travels to South Rukongai frequently.”

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. “What is your point?”

“Well, I thought it was a bit of a strange occupation for a woman of your wife’s noble standing, but then Gin reminded me that she was actually from there herself, that there had been a bit of a to-do when you two married. I don’t tend to follow gossip myself--”

“I repeat, what is your point?” Byakuya gritted your teeth.

Aizen made a pissy little throat clearing noise and fiddled with a folder on his desk. “The fact is, Byakuya, your wife reminds me a great deal of a young woman who served in my squad a few years ago, whom I recalled also hailing from the Rukon. I wondered if there might be a.... connection.”

Byakuya’s shoulders stiffened. Impossible. He had put watches on all immigrants to the Seireitei. He would have reviewed anyone who came from the South 78th.

“Inuzuri Rukia,” Aizen read from his file, and Byakuya’s blood ran cold. “Shin’ou class of 2066. Unseated. Petite, like your wife. Dark hair. Very striking eyes. Unfortunately, an unremarkable shinigami. Potential for a good kidou user, but didn’t take direction well. More interested in sword combat, although she had little aptitude for it. Ah, here it is. Hometown: District 48, South Rukongai.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Byakuya said flatly. “Inuzuri is the 78th district of South Rukongai. Why would she carry a surname from a different district?”

Aizen made an exaggerated frown. “Very strange! A clerical error perhaps? Hold on a moment.” He stuck his head out of his office door and said something to the shinigami on reception duty. “Fortunately, there’s an easy way to clear this up. It’ll just be a minute.”

Byakuya gripped his teacup, unsure of how to feel. A clerical error. Class of 2066… she would have enrolled in 2060, in the middle of Hisana’s worst turn, when she had been bedridden for nearly four years. Their attention would have lapsed. It made sense.

“She does not sound like your usual recruit,” Byakuya accused. Aizen was constantly finding ways to skim the highest performers from the Academy, all the gifted children.

Aizen looked sheepish. “Ah, well, you see, there was a young man of some talent that I was eager to recruit who was… attached to her. I thought she might have some potential if properly guided, but it never panned out.”

Aizen’s good deed was suddenly beginning to make sense. The girl had transferred out and taken Aizen’s prize with her. He wanted Byakuya to go fetch her away in hopes that the talented one would come home. Byakuya actually felt much better now that he’d identified Aizen’s ulterior motive, and further, that it had more to do with his own petty recruiting schemes than Byakuya’s family (specifically, Byakuya’s wife).

There was a knock at the office door, and upon being bid entry, a young woman walked in. Although indeed petite and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Hisana, and Byakuya remarked as much.

“Oh, no, this is my Seventh Seat!” Aizen chuckled. “Miss Hinamori, you were friends with Inuzuri Rukia, isn’t that correct?”

The young woman’s eyes had gone wide when she recognized Byakuya. “Er, yes, sir,” she said, her eyes darting between the two captains. “We shared a room while she served here.”

“Do you happen to remember what district she was from?” Aizen asked in an overly friendly manner.

“Oh, sure, it was South 78,” Hinamori replied. “Inuzuri, of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know all the outermost ones,” Aizen said in his goofy voice again. “Her paperwork says 48.”

Hinamori’s brow furrowed for a moment and then her face brightened. “She and Abarai had very heavy accents when they first came to the Academy, and used a lot of deep Rukongai language quirks. I don’t remember all of it, but they both used to use ‘shichi’ instead of ‘nana’ for seven, especially when referring to their district. They weren’t very fond of their home district. I wonder if the registrar misheard.”

“Well, there you go!” Aizen said, slapping his hands on his desk. “A very logical explanation!”

Hinamori beamed.

Byakuya found Aizen’s need to be liked by his subordinates very unprofessional and off-putting, but he tried to push it aside. He was trying not to be too eager, but this was probably the best lead he’d had on Hisana’s sister in all the years they had been searching. “Where is she now?” he grumbled.

Aizen turned his doe eyes on his fawning subordinate once more. “I don’t suppose you still keep in touch? She couldn’t have lasted very long there, they must have transferred again?”

Hinamori made a face like she didn’t want to say the answer. “I’m afraid that Kira and I had a bit of a falling out with Abarai and Inuzuri when they left. I haven’t talked to them in a few years, although we still have some mutual friends. As far as I know, though, they’re both still at Squad Eleven. I heard they were doing fairly well there, actually.”

The room seemed to retreat around Byakuya. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the reverberations of the most horrible words he could possibly think of: Squad Eleven.

---

Byakuya knew it was poor etiquette to visit another captain’s squad when the man was out, but he absolutely could not stomach the idea of discussing the matter of his wife’s sister with the Kenpachi, so he waited until Zaraki and his miniature lieutenant were sent out to go trample half of East Rukongai before visiting.

He also knew that he probably should have said something to Hisana, but he couldn’t bring himself to get his wife’s hopes up, only to dash them, should this turn out to be nothing, like so many leads before it. So, the secret sat in his stomach, heavy and acidic, jostling with the guilt of his breach of etiquette.

“Is there someone here,” he gingerly asked one of the gentlemen on gate duty, “who takes care of administrative matters for the squad?”

The man swiveled his head, which appeared to grow directly from his torso with no need for an intervening neck, to his fellow guardsman. “What?”

The other fellow had been busy trying to remove wax from his ear with a pinky. “WHAT?” he shouted back.

“Paperwork!” Byakuya said a little louder. “Is there an office of some sort? A person who knows what’s going on?”

He supposed he could have asked for the girl, Inuzuri, directly, but he didn’t feel… ready.

“I think he wants Ayasegawa,” the neckless guard hazarded.

“WHAT?”

“I’ll be right back.”

Eventually, the burly gentleman returned. With him was a strangely elegant person with a silky curtain of hair cut severely to chin length and piercing violet eyes. “It really is you,” the lovely man said with a level of disdain that Byakuya almost had to admire. Before he had a chance to get offended, the man dipped into a respectful bow. “Welcome to the Eleventh, Captain Kuchiki. Fifth Seat Ayasegawa at your service. What in Soul Society can I possibly do for you?”

“Apologies for visiting while your captain is abroad,” Byakuya replied, not meaning a word of it.

“Oh, he’ll be very sorry to have missed you,” Ayasegawa frowned. “But I’m sure you could make it up to him later.”

Byakuya’s eye twitched. “Perhaps. I have come to enquire about a young woman whom I am told transferred to your squad three years ago.”

“Does she have a name? That might make it a little easier.”

“Inuzuri Rukia.”

Both of Ayasegawa’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved into a feline grin. “Ninth Seat Inuzuri, of course!”

Byakuya blinked. “Ninth Seat? Captain Aizen told me she was middling at best.”

Ayasegawa's face suddenly went stiff. “She was not well-served at the Fifth, but she has bloomed here most beautifully. Inuzuri is my personal protege, you know.” He stared at Byakuya under hooded eyes. “What is your interest in her? Captain?”

Byakuya took a deep breath through his nose. “My wife is also from Inuzuri. She is trying to locate someone she knew there. It is possible this Rukia is that someone.”

Ayasegawa frowned. “Well, I can introduce you, if you like. I should warn you, though, Rukia doesn’t have a lot of lost love for her hometown.”

“My understanding is that there isn’t much to love about it.”

“Mmm,” Ayasegawa agreed. “Well, come along, let’s go find her.” He concentrated for a moment, clearly trying to find her reiatsu. She must be a woman of some power, after all. “Ugh! She and Abarai are at it again! Every day!”

Byakuya swallowed stiffly.

“Well come on! She’s out at the training fields, clobbering our Tenth Seat, yet again.”

Oh. That kind of “going at it.”

Ayasegawa was shaking his head. “The two of them are literally an unstoppable force and an immovable object.”

“Abarai was also at the Fifth?,” Byakuya probed cautiously. “I was told they were close.”

“Of course they’re close!” Ayasegawa scoffed. “They’re partners!” He thought for a moment. “Abarai is from the 78th as well, you know. If Rukia turns out to not be your girl, perhaps one or the other of them knew the person you’re looking for. Abarai is one of those people who just… knows everyone. He’s the personable half of the pair.”

“‘Partners’?” Byakuya echoed. “What… kind of partners?”

Ayasegawa stared back at him like he was insane. “Partners.”

This path of inquiry clearly wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but wasn’t particularly relevant, either. “I did not think kidou-type zanpakutou were permitted in the Eleventh,” Byakuya sniffed. “Aizen’s records indicated Inuzuri wields an ice-and-snow type.”

Ayasegawa gave a little shrug. “Zanpakutou classifications are arbitrary. Obviously, if she had a bunch of showy blizzard attacks like Matsumoto’s little prodigy friend, it would be a no-go. Rukia can take the blade of her sword down to sub-zero temperatures. She has a weapon-shattering attack and she doesn’t feel pain when she’s fighting. It’s fundamentally no different than a zanpakutou so massive that only the wielder can lift it, or a whip sword that’s controlled with one’s reiatsu.”

This sounded like a quibble to Byakuya, but it’s not like he had come to the Eleventh looking for sound logic.

“She’s incredibly fast, probably the fastest person in the Eleventh, although no one’s really sure what Yachiru’s top speed is,” Ayasegawa continued on. He glanced at Byakuya slyly. “I hear you are very fast.”

“You have heard correctly.”

“That’s why Abarai can’t beat her. If he could land one really hard hit on her, she’d go down, but he’s not fast enough and she’s just too agile. He’s my partner’s protege, you see, so I have to take their little scraps very personally.”

How did this man talk so much?

“What did you say your wife’s relationship was to her again?”

“I did not.”

“Ah, right. Oops, look out!” Ayasegawa abruptly dove to one side as a giant mass of shihakushou and pink hair and what might be a sword came crashing through the split rail fence surrounding the training field.

Byakuya was not in the habit of ducking, so he merely plunged the force of his reiatsu down into the earth like a piton. It was almost, but not entirely sufficient. Byakuya gritted his teeth as he was driven back, dirt piling up behind his heels as he skidded backwards.

When they finally came to a halt, Byakuya looked down at the meaty youth lying at his feet. This must be the infamous Abarai, although he certainly didn’t look like one of Aizen’s usual simpering overachievers. The first thing Byakuya observed was the eye makeup. Most shinigami applied at least a little eyeliner, on grounds of tradition, but few bothered to blacken the entire eye socket, as in the skeletal facepaint of old. The second thing Byakuya noticed were the tattoos painted across his forehead and neck. They were black and spikey and horrible. The third thing was the hair, which was bright pink and spikey, and utterly at odds with the makeup and tattoos. The fourth thing was the big, sheepish grin, which honestly just tied the whole hideous tableau together.

Byakuya glared down at the lout, and in a moment of pettiness, flared his reiatsu to a level that should have sent blood spurting out of his ears.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to do much to someone who has a weekly sparring slot with the Kenpachi,” Ayasegawa commented dryly.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” the lummox cheerfully apologized as he sat up and brushed himself off. He had an Inuzuri accent so thick you could spread it on toast, an accent that Hisana tended to slip into only when she was extremely bent out of shape. Abarai snapped the sword hilt in his hand, and the tangled pile of steel on the ground neatly retracted into something that looked a little more like a weapon, if a weapon were designed by a creative and overly violent child.

“That’s a captain, you buffoon!” another voice rang out, and every muscle in Byakuya’s body locked. “Show your respects!”

The voice clearly affected Abarai as well, because he leapt to his feet, spun, and slammed into a bow. “My apologies, Captain…” his eyes glanced up and abruptly widened, “Kuchiki.”

“Greetings, Captain Kuchiki! Welcome to the Eleventh Division! I apologize very profusely for throwing Tenth Seat Abarai at you!” A second young person had come to join Abarai in his bow, and they both rose in unison, Abarai looking suddenly pale and nervous, his companion looking calm and confident.

So this was Inuzuri Rukia. She had Hisana’s voice. She had Hisana’s stature, and standing next to Abarai made her look positively childlike. She wore the same dreadful eyeblack, but the eyes that shone out of it were a variation on Hisana’s, harder and three shades more purple. The rest of the face was Hisana’s. Her hair was dark, shaved on the sides, arranged into porcupine spikes on top, although one lock hung down stubbornly between her eyes. Her ears glittered with silver piercings. At least she was free of awful tatt-- wait, no. Byakuya had missed them at first, because they were white. Abarai’s tattoos were spiky and sharp, but Inuzuri’s were graceful swirls, like ribbons wrapping lazily down her forearms. Even her reiatsu was like Hisana’s-- but instead of a cool, refreshing wintergreen, Inuzuri’s was the bone-deep cold of winter, a cold so harsh it burnt in the lungs.

There was no doubt.

This atrocious delinquent was his long-lost sister-in-law.

“Can we help you with something, sir?” Inuzuri prompted. “Abarai here’s a big fan of yours.”

“Shut up, Rukia,” Abarai managed through gritted molars.

“Inuzuri Rukia, you died as an infant thirty-six years ago and were sent to the 78th District of South Rukongai, is that correct?” Byakuya said stiffly.

Inuzuri and Abarai both bristled, a pair of mongrels raising their haunches. “That seems about right,” Inuzuri replied slowly. “My early years are a little hazy.”

“My wife, Hisana also died thirty-six years ago and was sent to Inuzuri with her infant sister,” Byakuya went on. “They were separated. My wife has been looking for her sister ever since. You… resemble her greatly.” Byakuya let the implication hang in the air. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was silence for a moment. Then there was the distinct noise of a laugh that, having been held in, had escaped through someone’s nose. “Sorry! Pardon me!” Ayasegawa wheezed, clapping one hand over his mouth and looking away. “Bit of. Dust. In my throat.”

“I told you! I told you, you looked like that picture of her in the Bulletin!” Abarai was hissing.

“I thought you were lying because you thought she was pretty!” Inuzuri hissed back.

“I thought she was pretty because she looks just like you!”

“Now is really not the time, Abarai!” She cleared her throat and tried to stand up a bit taller, a futile effort. “So, uh, so what? What does that mean, if I am her sister? Does that… does that make me noble?”

A higher pitched wheezing came out of Ayasegawa. The level of impudence was extraordinary.

“I would like you to come to my home to meet her, first,” Byakuya put off making any promises. “We can discuss what comes next. As a family.”

“I’m at work right now,” Inuzuri excused.

“Inuzuri, I need to know how this pans out, you can have the afternoon off,” Ayasegawa informed her.

Inuzuri’s confidence seemed to be draining out of her. She took a tiny step closer to Abarai and groped for his hand. “I’m bringing Renji,” she declared.

“Is he compulsory?” Byakuya asked. Inuzuri was absurd looking too, but at least she was small.

“He’s my family,” Inuzuri insisted.

Byakuya’s brows furrowed. This could prove problematic. “In any sort of legally binding sense?”

“We’re engaged!” Inuzuri announced.

“We are?” Abarai goggled.

“I told you I’d marry you if you could ever manage to beat me in a fight! What else would you call that?” Rukia hissed at him in a voice that was still, unfortunately, perfectly audible.

“I’ve been trying every day, and honestly, Rukia, it’s not looking good for me!”

“Can you just go with it for once, instead of arguing with me every time?”

“If you want to leave and never tell anyone you found her,” Ayasegawa put in, “I am very bribable.”

Byakuya was sorely tempted.

---

End note: To further explain the number mix-up, as I understand it “seven” in Japanese can either be said as “nana” or “shichi”. People usually say “nana” for two reasons-- 1) to avoid confusion with 4 (”shi”, although you can also say “yon”) and because “shi” is a homophone for death. Given how shitty the districts in the 70s are, I rather liked the idea that they residents use the “shichi” pronunciation as a bit of gallows humor. (And if you don’t have a rude nickname for the town you grew up in, well, congrats for not growing up somewhere shitty)

I don’t actually speak Japanese, tho, so forgive me if this is all nonsense. 😁

#renji's birthday 2k21 #my writing #i loved writing this with my entire being #thank you so much #all i ever want in the way of prompts is cursed suggestions that come out of conversations i have in the bowels of my ao3 comments #strictly speaking this isn't very renji-centric but he does reach new peaks of himbo-dom in this au so i will allow it #the byakuya - yumichika interaction in this fic is so powerful #also a i z e n

43 notes · View notes

prettylittlebutterflie · 3 years

Text

It All Started With A Break

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31840603

Okay, so I have fallen down the rabbit hole known as MariBat and I just can't stop all the ideas I have because of this and decided that enough is enough and I am doing it.

This is my very first fanfic - or any fic actually - but I hope you guys like it and be WARNED that some of you may find some part of this story that's similar with another and that may've been because I really liked the idea when I read it and wanna have a kinda similar thing here and the same goes with some trope of this fanfic in the future, but I'll do my best to keep it unique. I am also new to the DCU, but I'm doing research and planning to binge watch stuff and if you could please help this poor soul find a way to navigate and somehow get an idea on how that universe work (especially abt the batfam), I'll be forever grateful to thy savior.

This fic is canon until S4 Ep 1&2 (Truth & Lie) of MLU and as for the rest, I'll let you guys know.

So yeah, that's all. Enjoy and hope you guys like it. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

P.S. Sorry I kinda ranted, this is my first time actually posting smth so bear with me people

SYNOPSIS

It’s been four years ever since Hawkmoth, who now goes by the name Shadow Moth, began his reign of terror in Paris. Four years worth of akumas that have brought pain and suffering. Four years of no rest in controlling their emotions, afraid of what may come if they were controlled.

After four long years, the Miraculous Team can finally see a ray of light. Everything they have sacrificed for that one goal they all share is finally going to be repaid… Not.

Locating Hawkmoth was easier said than done, and the frustration is finally getting to them. With that, it was decided that they need a break from their hero lives — ok, maybe not. After all, Shadow Moth is proving himself to be a workaholic (like dude, don’t you have anything better to do than destroy everyone’s schedule?) — but anyways, it was clear. THEY. NEED. A. BREAK. Away from Paris. Away from Hawkmoth. Away from the frickin akumas.

So yeah, that’s how it was decided (more like forced) that they are going to America to relax, let loose, and have some fun. After all, who knows, maybe a break is all they need to get things to start getting better — or worse.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

PROLOGUE

“Alright. So, we are going to take a break—”

“For two months.”

“For two months. And because it’s supposed to be a break, that means—”

“No thinking of anything Moth related.”

“No thinking of anything Moth rela— Moth related?”

“You know, Hawkmoth, Red Moth, Shadow Moth, those Moths.”

“Right. Moths. Aside from Moths, it also means—’

“No thinking of akumas.”

“No thinking of akumas. For this entire break, we’re not going to think about—”

“Anything Miraculous related.”

“Anything Miraculous related. Alya, do you really need to do that every time I’m about to say it?”

“It’s because she knows you. We know you. It’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how you always promise not to worry about something, especially anything Miraculous related, just to break it the moment anything related to it comes up. So, yes. She needs to say it and repeat it as much as possible for it to go through that head of yours.”

“Guys, I swear, I’m really going to follow through with this plan. I did agree that we need to unwind ourselves since we’re getting way too stressed and that won’t help us focus on our job.”

“Only after we bugged you about it. Get it? Bugged. Pfft—”

“Hey! Puns are my thing. And you shouldn’t be saying it like that. You’re making it ape-solutely obvious and that makes it not punny anymore”

“Dude, do you really have to do that? That’s so not paw-some. Pfft—”

“All puns aside, it is true that we had to convince you, Mari-hime, to agree on taking a break. Although I rarely take a break from fencing, my Mother and I are aware of the importance of having one and may I also remind you that you were the one who taught us that.”

“And that’s why I told you guys to go have one.”

“But you plus the kitty are the ones who need it the most. Remember what future-me said? About you two always leading us and how she— or rather I am the last one called upon? That means you guys are always gonna work while the rest of us may or may not be needed in some fights.”

“There is a 97.6% probability of you two showing up in fights.”

“Because we have to. It’s our responsibility as the one leading our team.”

“M’lady’s right. Besides, there were only the two of us in the beginning and with all the akumas, we just got used to it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest. The music I’m hearing from both of you is filled with the stress you guys have and it doesn’t sound nice. Maybe you two unwinding will help make it more beautiful and even more powerful than before.”

“Fine. We’re all taking a break—”

“Especially you and Adrien.”

“Especially Adrien and I, for a month. Now, does anyone have any ideas on how we're gonna do that?”

“Ooh! Me, me! I have a competition coming up this summer break so I can’t really go anywhere too far since I have some training to do.”

“I’m sticking with the ape. Gotta keep an eye on him if I don’t want him messing up with the timeline. Plus, it’ll be pretty fun beating him up every time he asks for a challenge.”

“Hey!”

“The same goes for me. Someone has to make sure the correct time is recorded with not a single millisecond of it missed. Kwami knows how many times he messes it up whenever he does the recording himself.”

“Okay. So Kim, Alix, and Max will be staying in Paris. Are you guys sure that you’ll be able to take a break even if you’re in the city?”

“Yeah, we're fine. And I am totally beating you next time, little bunny.”

“Whatever. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, y’know.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, I have an internship in America this coming summer. The one at the Daily Planet. I just got the email and I was finally given an invite!”

“Really? Cool! Told you you’ll get it, babe!”

“Yeah! That’s really awesome, Alya! So I’m assuming you'll be accepting that?”

“You got it, girl! I mean, this is the Daily Planet we’re talkin’ about. I’ll learn so much about writing and journalism there, I’ve just got to take it.”

“So Alya’s going to America. Anyone else with plans outside of the country?”

“There will be an upcoming world-class fencing competition this summer and Mother and I have discussed my participation in it. It will be held in the States as well, specifically Gotham, two weeks before the end of the summer break. Maybe you should participate in it as well, Adrien. That way, you’ll have an excuse for your father to leave the country. I’m sure Mother will be happy to convince him as well to let you participate in it. That way, at the very least, I’ll have someone I know who’ll be an actual challenge.”

“Really? That actually sounds great! I’m sure Father would agree if your mother’s the one who suggested it. Thanks Kagami!”

“Okay. Kagami and hopefully Adrien will have a fencing competition in America too.”

“My Dad is having a tour in America right now. He’ll be having the last one at Metropolis during the summer break. He actually wants me to go with him, but I declined. It’ll be great if we all could go there and see it.”

“Dude, that’s so cool! Maybe you’ll even get to perform with your dad on stage. You did make that song with him that reached the record chart’s top. I’ve even made a playlist based on it.”

“Okay then, that makes Alya, Kagami, Adrien, and Luka going to the States. Chloe, do you also have plans to go there this summer? Maman said your mother was thinking of inviting you to be one of the models in an upcoming fashion show there.”

“She did mention something like that, but I wasn’t really paying attention to details once I found out that it’ll be outside of Paris. I’ll discuss it with her again then I can have my much needed vacation in the States.”

“So now that makes five of you going to America. Nino?”

“Well, I don’t really have any plans this summer. Just chill out and relax, y’know, make some playlist, listen to some music.”

“Ooh! How about you come with us, babe? That’ll be so cool and not all of us will be doing something most of the time while we’re there. You can just chill and relax there and maybe you could even study the kind of music they listen to and make a playlist out of it.”

“I would love to go, but I don’t think I really got the money for it. ‘Sides, my parents might not allow me to go out of the country.”

“You’re already 18 and if your parents ever say no, just tell them that you want to really relax, without keeping your emotions in check and have the freedom to let it out. I’m sure they’ll understand and unlike my Father, they actually listen to you.”

“As for the money, I have some savings and if you want I can lend you some-”

“But-”

“Lend. I’m not just giving it to you. You will have to pay me back, alright? And if you try to say no again, I’m going to insist that you don’t pay me anymore.”

“You sure? You're the best! Thanks, Minette.”

“No problem. So now that makes six of them—”

“Seven.”

“What?”

“Seven. We’re including you.”

“Me? But Alya, I already got plans this summer.”

“Plans? What plans?”

“I was planning on working on my commissions this summer an— Guys, can you all stop rolling your eyes on me and no, Chloe. I don’t need you doing it again.”

“Girl! We all agreed that we’re going to take a break this summer. How does doing your commissions sound like a break to you?”

“You all got your own thing to do this summer and mine just happens to be those. Also, the break was for anything Miraculous related. My commissions don't exactly fall under that.”

“Nope. We actually all agreed that for you, commissions should be added to the list of things you get to take a break from.”

“Adrien! I thought you’re supposed to be my partner? So much for the two of us against the world.”

“He is still your partner alright. But also, as someone who truly cares about you, he decided that you really needed a break. And besides girl, this could be your chance!”

“Chance? What chance?”

“Your pen pal! Doesn’t he live in Gotham? You could go and finally meet him. Who knows? Maybe something might happen.”

“Ooh, he’s from there? That’s awesome! You should totally go meet him. Maybe you could even go on a date or two-”

“A date?! Kim, he’s just a frie-”

“You stop right there, Dupain-Cheng! It’s ridiculous, utterly ridiculous! All of us already had enough with Adrikins always calling you ‘just a friend’ when it’s pretty obvious how totally untrue that statement was. We don’t need you ending up just like him, thank you very much.”

“But he really is-”

“Yeah right. If he really is just a friend, then why do you guys stay up all night talking to each other? You always immediately check your phone whenever a notif comes up and you smile like a love-sick fool whenever you read his messages for you. And don’t get me started on the way you gush about him non-stop.”

“There is something beautiful in your music whenever you talk or even think about him.”

“Your smiles are much brighter compared to before the two of you got to know each other.”

“Markov and I also have a record of your heartbeat and we have observed your heart beating faster whenever we talk about this certain topic.”

“And it's been more than a year since you two have become pen pals. The two of you are now so close that it’s a wonder why you guys still haven’t video-called each other just because you insist for your first time seeing each other to be in person.”

“I think it’s rather romantic. They’ll look into each other’s eyes for the first time then BAM! They’re finally together. But I still plan on giving him a shovel talk the first chance I get. Can’t have him break my twin’s heart without him knowing I have the god of destruction on my side.”

“What do you mean shovel talk- I mean, what even gives you the idea that he thinks of me that way for you guys to assume that we’ll end up in… in that kind of relationship?”

“He’d be an idiot if he still hasn’t fallen in love with you.”

“Literally almost everyone I know had a crush on you or have you forgotten already that my boyfriend’s one of those people?”

“I know for a fact that that’s true since I’ve already admitted that one of my reasons why I began bullying you back then was because I had a crush on you.”

“I must admit, I think I also had the same feeling towards you at the beginning of our friendship until I really got to know Luka and you helped us get together.”

“Oh! There’s also that. Do you actually know just how many people you’ve helped get together, buginette? Alya’s even written an article about it at the Ladyblog of how you are also known as Paris’s own cupid and how all of the couples you’ve paired ended up living a happy life together.”

“Everyone’s been saying how Ladybug’s the next best person they can go to if they ever want to find love after Andre.”

“And yet every time you try to pair yourself with someone, the magic just doesn’t seem to work.”

“So we all decided that we’ll be Ladybug’s cupid and pair her up with the boy she just can’t seem to get off of her head.”

“Now, you coming or what? I won’t be taking the money you’ll be lending me if you say no. I’m only going with these dudes if you also come or else I’ll just end up getting bored when there’s no one who can go around the city with me.”

“...”

“““...”””

“Fine. You guys win—”

“““YES!”””

“So here’s the final plan for the break. Kim, Alix, and Max will be staying in Paris for Kim’s competition, while the rest of us will be going to America doing our own stuff—”

“With you finally meeting your pen pal.”

“Yes. Alright. I’ll go and meet my pen pal. And during the break, no thinking about anything miraculous related. If ever there’s an akuma, only those who’ll be needed will go. Max will bring us to the akuma’s location and if there is anything going on that we can’t be excused of or if the fight goes longer than expected, Alix will bring us back in time making it look like we just went to the toilets, the usuals. Any questions?”

“““Non.”””

“Good. Operation: Taking a Break is good to go.”

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Yay! Finally got to post it. So comments? What do you guys think and who do you think who is saying what? I know there will be new holders in S4, but I decided I’ll either make them a temp or they still don’t know the other’s identities bc of stuff, so yeah. Still thinking abt it. Adios (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31840603

#first post #maribat #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #maridami #marinette dupen chang #damian wayne #batfam #batfamily #team miraculous #miraculous team #ml x dc #miraculous ladybug

58 notes · View notes

link4eva · 3 years

Text

Kiro’s S2 Growing Troubles Company Project Translation [CN]

Hey! This is a continuation of Kiro’s Season 2 Campus Youth Company project which you can read here!

This translation was done through the power of Google Translate.

This translation contains spoilers for content that has not yet been released to the ENG. If you wish to not be spoiled then please don’t look below the cut.

Enjoy~

*Spoilers below for future content!*

[Stage 1]

Kiro: MC, did you see the notice that Teacher Huang posted in Moments?

MC: What notice?

Kiro: Summer camp, the whole class together…. I really want to go.

MC: I also want to go…. Sketching in the village at the foot of the mountain to escape the summer heat sounds very pleasant.

The director who came to participate in the pre-launch preparations of the film just stepped into the conference room and undoubtedly overheard our conversation.

Director: Do you mean the class that you re-lived high school with before?

MC: Well, Teacher Huang was the headteacher at the time, and we were just discussing their summer camp.

Director: Summer camp? It sounds too student-like.

Director: Anyway, there is still a while before that happens, so go if you want and take advantage of the time off to rest as soon as possible. And….

She thought about it for a moment and then gave us a smile.

Director: If this summer camp experience can be filmed, it will be good promotional material after the movie airs.

I met Kiro’s eyes and have already made a decision.

Kiro: Let me ask Teacher Huang first if we can participate.

Kiro fiddled with his phone, typing and sending messages. I didn’t know how long he was going to be typing for so I leaned in to take a look….

It takes up more than a dozen lines of the text box.

After a while, Teacher Huang sent a voice message.

Teacher Huang: Of course, you’re very welcome to join us. Although you and MC spent only a short amount of time with us, you are still members of the class.

Teacher Huang: I will send you a registration form in a moment, you just have to fill it out and give it to me. The students would be very happy if they heard the news.

Kiro looked at me with a “yeah”, sent a thank-you reply, and when he raised his head again, he had a bright smile on his face.

On the day of departure, Kiro and I arrived at the designated place early to wait for the bus to arrive. *Changed some wording*

The departure time was set at 7 o’clock in the morning, but even still with it being midsummer, the sun was so fierce that people couldn’t open their eyes.

As I looked at the road, I put my hand on my forehead to block the sun. Kiro opened up his suitcase and put his fisherman’s hat on top of my head.

I turned my head and was about to talk to him when a blue and white bus had approached us and was slowing down.

Kiro greeted him as soon as he saw the bus number!

Kiro: 8516, it’s this one!

When the bus stopped, he immediately took my suitcase and walked to the outside of the bus, put both suitcases into the storage, and stepped onto the bus.

Kiro: S-urprise!

The students inside saw us getting on the bus, and at first, there was no reaction, and then burst into applause and cheers-- *Changed some wording*

Classmates: Kiro!

Classmates: Oh my God, are you coming?!

Kiro: Hey, long time no see~ Happy summer everyone~

Kiro: Teacher Huang said that this summer camp is a group activity that the whole class must participate in, and I can’t be absent of course.

Mr. Huang, who was sitting at the front, stood up and dragged Kiro and me onto the bus.

Teacher Huang: Kiro and MC, find a place to sit down and fasten your seatbelts.

Teacher Huang: Okay students, now the whole class is here. I announce the official opening of the 3rd summer camp. *I think it was supposed to be “3rd” but I’m not entirely sure*

[Stage 2]

The itinerary of the summer camp is quite packed.

Occasionally, we would go up the mountain to sketch and take pictures with our classmates. We would also occasionally go to town to shoot some material for the film advertisements.

By the third day, Kiro and I had collected a whole 5G’s worth of vlog material. Kiro was very satisfied with the results of this trip.

Kiro: After the fifteen-day summer camp is over, maybe I can go back to sort out the material and edit. *Changed some wording*

Kiro: By the way, are there any arrangements for the afternoon, or are we going up the mountain with them?

Kiro and I were talking and walking to the door of the homestay. We ran into a few classmates, who we were closer to, sitting in the corner and whispering amongst each other. *Changed some wording*

Kiro glanced at me and leaned forward curiously.

Kiro: What cake? Are you talking about who has a birthday?

Classmate A: Hush! I’m staying in the same room with Shu Shu, and I happened to see her birthday when I checked it, which is today.

Classmate A: And it’s her eighteenth birthday this year, which is very important. We just want to give her a simple celebration.

Classmate B: We just took a look and there isn’t a store that delivers. So, we want to take a taxi into town and order the cake there.

MC: ….But if you leave now, you will definitely be late. Teacher Huang also arranged for the seniors in the village to tell you about folk tales.

Kiro took on this task, almost without thinking.

Kiro: It’s okay, the two of us can go buy cakes.

Kiro: We visited the town a couple of days ago so we’re familiar with the route. Just leave it to us, you can go to class with peace of mind.

I also nodded and quickly agreed.

MC: We can also buy some decorative ribbons and balloons so that it will have a somewhat celebratory atmosphere.

Before they could say anything, we waved to them.

MC: Leave it to us~ Let’s keep in touch and call me if you need anything!

(At the Cake Shop)

Shopkeeper: Our cake bases are all freshly made so you two will have to wait a while.

Shopkeeper: The cake you order is relatively big. In addition to writing “Happy Birthday” on it, you can also write 1-2 blessings.

As the shopkeeper said this, he took out a pen and paper and gave it to us.

Shopkeeper: Write the blessing on the paper and then I’ll take it to the pastry chef.

Kiro: Okay~ Let’s think about it first.

Kiro took the pen and paper and sat down with me in the corner of the cake shop by the window.

Kiro: What would be the best blessing to write to an eighteen-year-old birthday star….

MC: It’s a bit difficult, so let’s change our mindset. What did you want most when you were eighteen?

Kiro put the pen cap on his forehead and thought about it for a while.

Kiro: I didn’t think too much about what I wanted “most”. There were already a lot of things going on at the time, and there was no time to stop and think about it.

Kiro: What about you, what did you want when you were eighteen?

MC: I didn’t really have anything specific either, it’s just that there is a feeling that it’s important to get through each day one by one.

MC: Hope that from this day on, life will change something. I hope that from this day on, nothing will change in my life. *Changed some wording*

Kiro: That’s it.

Kiro looked at the crowd coming and going outside the window. After a while, he took off the pen cap and seemed to have an idea.

[Stage 3]

That night, when they came back from the mountain, Kiro and I had already decorated the living room with balloons and flowers.

The owner of the hotel kindly gave us several large boxes of Coke. The red cans filled the long table and made up the words “Happy Birthday”.

Shu Shu’s eyes were covered by someone from behind as she was led step by step.

When everyone arrived, the student who was covering her eyes, released his hand. She opened her eyes bit by bit and saw the lively surprise in front of her.

She was at a loss for a while as she covered her eyes in surprise and laughed twice, her eyes welled up as if she was holding back tears.

Shu Shu: Haha I knew it!

Shu Shu: Damn, you secretly planned a surprise birthday party…. Originally, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to cause you trouble.

Kiro took out the cake from the refrigerator and put it on the table carefully.

Kiro: The eighteenth birthday is very important, so it should be celebrated!

I drew two tissues from the tissue box on the table and wiped her tears.

MC: The birthday star can’t shed tears today, wipe them quickly and prepare to blow out the candles to make a wish.

When Shu Shu took the tissue, she smiled at me with tears in her eyes and took my hand. *Changed some wording*

Shu Shu: I’m overwhelmed with emotions right now. *Changed some wording*

Shu Shu: I actually didn’t plan to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. Growing up is a very important thing. Am I not ready yet?....

Shu Shu: Say it out, don’t laugh at me. *Changed some wording*

I couldn’t help touching her head and using the remaining tissue in my hand to wipe off the two teardrops on her face.

MC: You don’t have to think so seriously….

I winked at Kiro, and he quickly leaned over, putting on a brilliant smile to comfort Shu Shu.

Kiro: It doesn’t matter, it’s normal to have such thoughts.

Kiro: I have had similar thoughts before. I think it must be very hard to grow up. It is necessary to face all kinds of challenges in this world alone….

Kiro: No longer can I be carefree like a child.

Shu Shu was obviously touched by Kiro’s words. She nodded to Kiro with affirmation in her eyes, waiting for him to continue.

Kiro: But actually, did you know that growing up is more fun than being a child?

The dozen or so pairs of eyes in the living room were all looking at Kiro. It seemed that they were all confused, but they didn’t say the same as Shu Shu.

They all seemed to want to hear the answer to the question from Kiro’s mouth.

Kiro: No matter how carefree life was when I was young, I always lived within the limits of freedom given by adults.

Kiro: Only when we take that step into adulthood, the door to exploring the world is officially opened to us. The most intuitive is the freedom to control time and money.

Kiro: You can book plane tickets at any time for an impromptu trip, and you can lie down on a comfortable bed for a whole day.

Kiro: You can earn money to buy things you like, and fill the refrigerator with your favourite drinks and snacks.

While talking, Kiro and I looked at each other.

Kiro: You can also confess openly to the person you like, and walk openly while holding hands on the street.

I nodded my head, knowingly. Instead, he patted Shu Shu on the shoulder and continued to encourage her with a smile.

Kiro: So don’t worry, if you blow out the eighteenth birthday candle, you won’t become a boring adult in an instant.

Kiro: Look at me, I have liked playing music and games since I was a child. Even now, I still play music and games in the same way.

Kiro: Believe me, you can freely choose your lifestyle and like it too.

[Stage 4]

Seeing the thoughtful expressions of my classmates, I couldn’t help but blend into the atmosphere.

MC: Do you have plans for what you want to do in adulthood?

MC: When I was a child, I always thought that I must go to an idol concert after work and buy tickets for the first row.

There was a burst of laughter from all around, and the students chimed in one by one.

Classmate A: I just want to have the freedom to drink milk tea. My mother said that milk tea is junk food and never allows me to drink it. I want to drink milk tea in my dreams. *This kid’s a big mood lol*

Classmate B: I want to own a cat. My parents don’t like pets, especially my mother, who dislikes cats that shed hair. I said I would clean up after them myself, but she still refuses.

Classmate B: Once I start working, I will move out and adopt a stray cat.

Classmate C: My parents are very supportive of me. They agree on whatever I want, so I want to be independent early on, find a better job, and earn money to be filial to them.

They talked enthusiastically, drawing up a blueprint to be fulfilled in the future.

In the middle of the conversations, the stars in the mountains are all bright, vying to flash the most dazzling light in the Milky Way.

I quietly approached Kiro and sighed softly.

MC: Eighteen is a very beautiful age.

MC: It’s great to have hopes and dreams in my heart.

Kiro smiled at me with his arms folded and his head tilted happily.

Kiro: What are you talking about, MC? Every age is like this, and the age with hopes and dreams is not only eighteen.

I accepted his smile knowingly, opened the cake box with him, and put Shu Shu’s birthday candles on top.

Kiro: Come on, let’s get back to the task at hand. Turn off the lights--

As I lighted the candles, the classmates also stopped talking and sang a happy birthday song in unison.

Classmates: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you….

MC: Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you~

Kiro: Come and make a wish.

Shu Shu was pushed to the front by everyone, there were tears in her eyes and an uncontrollable smile, her hands were folded to her chest.

Shu Shu: Shall we make a wish together?

This proposal was approved by everyone, Kiro and I were also pushed towards the cake.

The light of the candles flickered in the darkness, reflected in everyone’s eyes, and then slowly, they closed their eyes one after another.

I secretly looked at Kiro, and under the dim light, he opened his eyes and stared seriously at every face present.

Perhaps the subject of “youth” and “growth” has a new meaning in his mind.

After some exploration, it will become his superb performance in the movie.

Kiro: Shu Shu, can you blow the candles?

Kiro asked softly, his eyes fell on a line of blessings on the cake-- Listen to the inner voice and move forward freely.

[Stage 5]

The night before we left the town, Kiro took me to take a walk outside as a final farewell to this summer camp.

Involuntarily, we talked about the confusion of the students about “growth”.

Kiro: In fact, growing up is not terrible, but the journey of facing the unknown is terrifying.

Kiro: When I first made a movie, I was also very nervous. Everyone on the set seemed to be very experienced and skilled. Only I was a novice.

Kiro: I often couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night, and I kept thinking about what to do the next day in my head-- not deliberately, but uncontrollable.

Kiro: Every time that I feel I can’t do it, I just bite the bullet and move forward.

He raised his head, letting the evening breeze in the mountains ruffle his bangs, his eyes looking towards the night were clearer than the blue in the sky.

Kiro: Haha, if you tell the kids this kind of thing, they might feel more scared.

Kiro: But the process is not scary at all.

Kiro: When I look back, I will only find it difficult, but it’s nothing.

He said, turning his head to see the road we have travelled.

Kiro: As it is now, I walked a long way without knowing it.

My heart was filled with the tranquillity of the night, I breathed in the fresh air and stretched out my arms.

MC: And-- There are always beautiful scenes along the road, which makes people forget the tediousness of going forward.

I lowered my eyes and looked at him with a chuckle.

MC: Maybe there will be a very interesting person who can walk with him.

I stopped and stretched out my hand to hold Kiro’s sleeve.

MC: I’ve been thinking these two days, there really isn’t a single moment when we will suddenly change from children to adults….

MC: Like me, I often forget that I am already an adult, and people around me often complain about me, just like a small child.

MC: Maybe it’s because someone has been tolerating me….

MC: No matter what wild ideas I have, he will agree with me, understand me, and support me unconditionally.

MC: Surrounded by this kind of love, I may never be able to become an adult.

Kiro was taken aback and then curled the corners of his mouth, smiling gently at me in the quiet summer night.

Kiro: Who said so? *This line came out kinda wonky so I hope this is right*

Kiro: I have the people who support me the most, understand me the best, and tolerate me in every possible way, making me feel that I can do whatever I want.

Kiro: Often more capricious than children, and often makes me feel lucky.

Kiro: --The world of an adult is wonderful, and the world of a child is very happy.

He stepped forward and I saw the stars, the moon, and the mountains reflected in his eyes as well as myself in between.

Kiro: And I can have two worlds at the same time.

End

#mr love queens choice #mlqc #mr love game #mlqc spoilers #mr love dream date #mldd #mlqc season 2 #S2 Translation #mr love kiro #mlqc kiro #mldd kiro #周棋洛

25 notes · View notes